Comes via Sore Eyes from Charlie Stross’ blog and the commentathon that ensued when he pointed out, quite reasonably (as I’ve been saying to Martin for yonks too, and don’t get me started on eternal bloody life again or We Will Have A Row) that interstellar travel’s a complete and utter pointless fantasy, and that human space travel even within the solar system is unlikely at the very best.
Comment 237 of 450-odd sums it up:
237:
For those just joining, here is a summary of many of the previous comments. Be careful! What you’re about to say might have been said already.
“I don’t know who you are, Mr. So-called Science Fiction writer, but you are a pessimist! You of all people should be pushing fantasy, not poo-poo headedness!”
“I did not read your article, but you are wrong!”
“How can you not understand that humanity will inevitably invent magic ponies, which will carry us to the stars on their backs?!”
“Why are you so narrow-minded, Mister Physics and Numbers?! Leave the equations out of space travel: they don’t belong there!”
Thank you, and good night.
Well, quite.
But this explosion of comments is the flowering of a totally erroneous political mindset, one that as far as I can see doesn’t get discussed much publicly any more in SF fandom foir fear of flamewars.
What seems to have gripped many of the engineering/libertarian-verging-on-wingnut chohort, like Instapundit and his fellow Randite robotarians – is that we can fuck up this planet, but something will save us, be it cryogenics, uploading (selected, special) personalities to computers, or maybe just the sudden miraculous invention of an interstellar hyperdrive and a handy, earth-like planet ready and waiting in some other star system.
It’s the old ‘cavalry to the rescue’ thing again. Jeez, fuck something up, wait for the grownups to come along and fix it, story of the wingnut life. But what if you are the grownup and there is no-one else? Cowboy movies have a lot to answer for.
When is the Right going to get to grips with the fact that we have one planet, and if we fuck it up, we all die. There is no afterlife, there is no Battlestar Galactica, there is no warp drive, Shane’s not coming back and there are no High Elves: there’s this planet, and when it’s dead we’re dead with it.
Nope, easier to bury yourself yourself in magical thinking by treating speculative fiction as though it were real and believing any old bollocks, if it means you can evade responsibility for your collective actions in the here and now.