This Time Will Surely Be Different

Italian futurists of the early 20th century worshiped technology and the idea that a constant stream of progress - be it industrial, political, or social - would gradually find itself blanketing the entire West. Through the enormous forces of nationalism and mass production, societies could now be structured in manners similar to the burgeoning technologies and organizations of Europe. Gone were the errors of past polities, with their myriad emphases on class, religion, and cultural transgressions. Instead, the modern world, and most crucially the modern nation, was now tasked with solving contemporary crises through the methods of science, reason, and innovation. The nation was now our body politic, our new modus vivendi, set to bequeath us utopian tranquility and abundance.

Futurism, largely an Italian phenomenon, spawned various different inspirations in the fields of art, design, dance, and literature. Architectural influences gave rise to Art Deco and its growing obsession with modernity, wealth, and progress. All across the West, new buildings, statues, monuments, and exhibits elucidated to citizens a microcosm of modernity. It was a new century, where technology’s inexorable march was seemingly limitless and without delay. Modernity’s superiority was now concrete, serving as a panacea which would solve and ameliorate all which had ailed mankind since its early steps out of the cave.

The state, public policy, and business management could now all be boiled down to an exact science, and soon, with the inclusion of urban planning, public health, and eugenics, nations were unequivocally destined to create futuristic cities of perfect men, perfect races, and perfect relations.

Futurism ultimately did not deliver on its promises, and over the course of a few decades, its disciples and adherents slowly went on to develop fascism and its corporatist view of society. Modernity, utopianism, and technological innovation, rather than delivering peace, had transformed murder, colonialism, and ethnic persecution into a new kind of systematized horror which could reach all corners of the globe. Disruption and technology advancement become ubiquitous, and new conceptions of the state emerged from the ashes of a forlorn Europe. But peace and tranquility never managed to spring to life.

Less than a century later, the world that futurism shaped is paradoxically both long gone and ever present. Communism and fascism have been defeated, liberal democratic capitalism has persevered, and the nations of the world now find themselves cooperating within a globalized international system where war is still a reality. Questions over modernity and postmodernity have been largely shunned to the academics, as have feelings of exuberance for the future of humanity. Conversely, within the realm of politics and trade, the world has indeed finally achieved a kind of openness and technological development which would make past futurists blush.

In fact, the period following the end of the Cold War to the early 2010s seemingly served as another moment for futurist resurgence. It was to be the end of history, a new period in human history where technological advancement and human progress were destined to be intertwined with capitalism and democratization. Social media was the great disrupter, the great technological cog which was now certain to transform the lives of people everywhere. We were now connected, globalized, and interdependent, and soon walls and barriers would come tumbling down.

This was all a fictional tale of course, but in its heyday, many elites and professionals who resided in the imperial core viewed this period as a triumph. And as new technologies and industries emerged, such as with the internet, this only played further into the mass psychosis of the movement.

As we moved further into our new century, however, this narrative began to run headfirst into new and conflicting realities. Recession and quagmire came to broadly define the first decade of millennium; the internet did not suddenly create an interconnected world of entrepreneurs, coders, and change agents all linked together through a liberatory online space; and politics did not rapidly dissolve into a game of manners and system maintenance. References to some supposedly happy, mythic past began to proliferate as time carried on. Nostalgia emerged as a serious force in the American zeitgeist. Movies, art, and eventually politics all harkened back to the ostensible beauty of the 20th century and openly castigated what many described as a contemporary moment of stagnation and dystopia.

Society indeed continued to progress socially as the lineages of the New Deal and Civil Rights continued to pay dividends. Gay marriage was delivered through a 5-4 SCOTUS majority; Obamacare and Dodd-Frank proved that government and bureaucracy could, at least partially, get things done and implement reform; and all the while, new goodies and gadgets came out and further shifted our culture in a digital direction. The technological utopian future that had been dreamt of in the 1990s and early 2000s did not come to fruition, and many within the core began to sour on the idea of the future in its entirety.

One piece of art during this period of tumult and longing - a video game released in 2007 - helped to perfectly synthesize these emerging strands of nostalgia, reaction, and dystopia into a coherent narrative. Bioshock shattered traditional norms and ideas within the medium by creating, not just interesting gameplay mechanics and visuals, but also a vivid world littered with commentary on philosophy, technology, politics, and the morality behind individual choice and freedom. Well beyond just an underwater shoot-em-up, the game found itself operating as a living and artful critique which threw the player into a dystopian world of rampant individualism and untold horror.

Within the game’s setting, the underwater city of Rapture, the player found themself thrust into a technological, retro-future libertarian society filled with drugged-out lunatics, egotistical mad scientists, giant mutated humans, and the ever-present fear that the world around you was slowly succumbing to either madness or intense hydrostatic pressure. Far from a lackluster tirade, the game offered the character a slew of options, customizations, and choices which shaped both the city’s future and the broader morality of your character.

Rapture itself was presented as an architectural and technological marvel defined by Art Deco designs, experimental artistic expression, myriad neon marketing, and a total lack of regulatory oversight. Humans were presented as now being free to reach their true potential, without having to fear the censor, bureaucrat, or cleric. It was to be a society where norms and inefficiencies were surmounted through human ingenuity and the rational will of the market; where even human and biological limitations were correctable for those willing to try new chemical injections and mutations.

Taken seemingly out of the pages of a mythologized noir America, the game’s setting, plot, and attention to detail all remain truly unmatched. But after almost 20 years since its original release, what now makes the game increasingly vital as we get closer to its 20th anniversary is its scathing critique of the techno-utopian ideology that drove both futurists and Silicon Valley types alike.

Aging like a fine wine, the game’s story offers the player a powerful critique of how economic and technological history are often viewed today, presenting Rapture and its ideological underpinnings as a microcosm of America’s political economy. Far from a fictional tale, the game’s eerie and dystopian setting is now seemingly more and more an accurate description of our own country’s current moment. Bioshock is and will always remain behind a screen, but as for our own reality, it is indeed right in front us, just waiting to explode from the errors and horrors of the past and present.

The Tranquilizing Mixture of Nostalgia and Dystopia:

Many contemporary members of America’s tech ecosystem dream of building isolated utopias and new systems of governance in their own backyard. Some, especially the congregants of Curtis Yarvin, the far-right tech writer and ideologue, yearn for authoritarian “network states”, where all power and authority will be granted to corporate boards and their extremely qualified autocratic CEOs. Others demand new kinds of class-based hierarchies where deserving members of society will be granted police protection and exclusive rights while liberals and other non-desirables will be cleansed from their homes and cities. Most, not openly going to these extremes, want a geographic and political respite which will allow them to pursue their interests free from government regulation, democratic accountability, and so-called wokeism.

Proposed locations for these cities and systems of course differ. Tropical islands, tundra-bitten rock masses, the bottom of the ocean floor, uninhabited Balkan floodplains, and even space have been floated as potential areas for future colonization. But despite occasional differences over geography, where all of these not-so-liberal dreamers do agree is within their shared ideological vision of a techno-utopian society. Many describe their vision as being “techno-optimist”, or as advocating for “effective accelerationism”, but in their essence, all subscribe to the same fundamental premise: a shared utopian dream which is fearful of all government, ecstatic about technology, and spiteful toward those they deem unworthy.

Within these worldviews, regulation, bureaucratic oversight, civil rights, and the social mixing of nobles with serfs (owners with workers, capital with labor, etc.) are all viewed as horrific and stifling. Innovation, driven by its underlying class of entrepreneurs, is described as being suffocated by a society where the excesses of government intervention and social liberalism have begun to corrode the heart of our country.

Through the contorted combination of New Deal labor power, Civil Rights social protections, and mass administrative rulemaking, our country has truly gone to hell in a handbasket, chipping away at the traditions which have helped to turn America into an economic superpower. And the only way to save yourself is to self-isolate like a modern John Galt: withhold your labor, withhold your IP, and propel yourself forward toward a future which will protect your genius and freedom to innovate.

Palantir CEO Peter Thiel put this ideology best in 2009 which he wrote in an essay:

I no longer believe that freedom and democracy are compatible. The 1920s were the last decade in American history during which one could be genuinely optimistic about politics. Since 1920, the vast increase in welfare beneficiaries and the extension of the franchise to women . . . have rendered the notion of “capitalist democracy” into an oxymoron.

Capitalist democracy as a tradition is doomed, and the only way to survive is to now relocate to utopian societies where democracy will be restrained, industry will be free, and innovation will be allowed to prosper without fear of the censor or regulator. It truly is something out of an Ayn Rand novel…or a very popular video game.

If this kind of thinking sounds familiar, it should. The exact speech, given by both Thiel and Galt, is also given by Bioshock antagonist Andrew Ryan when the player character is first entering Rapture. Ryan, similar to Thiel and other elites, is a billionaire mogul who despises the world which is emerging around him. Whether it’s Soviet communism, American New Deal liberalism, or the religious traditions of old, Ryan sees all of these societal pressures as exerting undue burden on the geniuses of the world. Instead, he describes to the player his intense vision for a society where man can truly benefit from the sweat of his own brow without delay. The name for this vision and society is Rapture.

Rapture is presented as being a beacon for those industrialists and entrepreneurs who are still willing to protect modernity and innovation. Collectivism and liberalism may be popular and legitimate in the eyes of the leeches on the surface, but it is only within the minds of the elite where humanity can truly see how cancerous these ideologies are to society. Thus, from the beginning of the story, Rapture is shown as being the only solution for those who are too smart, cunning, or motivated to exist in a world of bureaucrats and parasites. This dream of utopian splendor, however, soon falls apart as the player is able to discover, by moving through the ruins, just how this utopian experiment collapsed.

We learn that scores of elites flocked to Rapture for its promise of capitalist modernity. Upon their arrival, new products, art projects, and developments rapidly emerged - sometimes literally from the ocean floor - and helped to propel small elite circles to enormous wealth and privilege. New industries, especially those in the pharmaceutical and chemical sectors, benefited greatly from unregulated markets and the potential to tap into ever-rocketing demand from the city’s upper classes. Soon, goodies and projects flooded the city at a lightning pace as artists and inventors alike ventured toward their perception of true human progress. Man’s quest for technological progress and innovation was no longer impeded, and the city’s burgeoning society found itself achieving enormous social transformation as technology and wealth creation delivered new areas for biological and social advancement.

However, this story of euphoria was not permanent. The working class of the city soon found themselves being systematically discriminated against and excluded from much of the city’s spoils. Many were free to merely sell their labor and nothing more. The lack of any social net also carried with it a heavy toll for those not lucky enough to make it rich, and thousands were quickly forced into lives defined by racketeering, turf wars, drug trades, and murder to simply afford basic necessities.

Eventually, this level of inequality, paired with chronic unregulated drug use and hyper competition for jobs and markets, beget intense class conflict and social decay. Opulent artists killed and turned their victims into literal art projects. Successful surgeons turned patients into morbid canvasses for their warped version of true human potential. Gangs set out to control entire swaths of territory through street violence and protection rackets. Progress had indeed abetted mass technological and biological achievement, but in the process, thousands were turned into cogs for an ever-expanding murderous titan.

The city’s elite initially carried on lives littered with freedom and individualism, and for the few who were very successful, it truly was a paradise with few limits. But eventually, even they find their lives turned upside down. Wars over monopoly rights and control of markets engendered mafia-like operations and violent atrocities. Unregulated products lead to a slow unraveling of people’s sanity and health as mixtures of drugs and wealth become too much to endure. Most become mindless drones, focused on preserving their power and industrial lines with no concern for anything else.

Much like with the world of Bioshock, our own elite long for seclusion and for open and free spaces where they’ll be allowed to innovate without fear of government overreach or democratic mob. They similarly view their interpretations of the future as being the only thing standing in the way of society’s complete collapse. They simultaneously seek anti-social isolation but proclaim to want to save society from itself; they want to escape society’s duties and obligations while paradoxically serving as its ultimate protector.

Marc Andreessen, a tech billionaire and infamous MAGA acolyte, in 2023 put this idea best when he released his now famous “techno-optimist manifesto.” Serving partially as an homage to Italian poet (and future fascist) Filippo Tommaso Marinetti’s Manifesto of Futurism, Andreessen’s essay is littered with the same pro-tech, pro-free market screeds that have been muttered hundreds of times by Ayn Rand, Andrew Ryan, and various politicians. The manifesto is not exactly unique in its thinking or argumentation, nor is it succinct and to the point. What does make it fascinating, however, is its ability to synthesize all the various currents and ideas within the movement into a single essay.

It’s a work which is brutally honest in its goals and orientations. Andreessen is willing to publicly acknowledge the movement’s affection with futurism and desire for a coherent opposition to liberalism, and democracy; he is willing to name both John Galt and techno-monarchist philosopher (and possible race scientist) Nick Land as inspirations for his vision; most crucially, he is willing to openly sacrifice democracy and untold amounts of energy and labor to the altar of artificial intelligence, which in his mind is necessary in order for humanity to achieve the singularity. The singularity, or the creation of a superintelligent and fully autonomous AI, is ultimately necessary because it will ostensibly be socially transformative and all-encompassing.

Similarly to Bioshock’s biological changes and mutations, the singularity is assumed to be the final step toward fixing all political, economic, and social divisions. It is to serve as the magic bullet to humanity’s unanswered and intractable conflicts. All we need to do is supplant democracy and equality, build a god machine, and then everything will finally be solved.

It is to be a world where hyperindividualism and technological achievement are worshiped and subsumed into the long edifice of human achievement. Below this optimistic sheen, however, the goal is rather clear: accelerate or die, advance or be damned.

Blinkered Elites: Or how we learned to ignore our history

Techno-utopianism ultimately destroyed Rapture. Infatuation with speed, development, and limitless innovation delivered precipitous progress, but it also generated a kind of society where few had much and most had nothing but scraps and empty syringes. Those with wealth had power, and with this power came new ideas and objectives on how to materially defend it. The great chain of industry, guided by the invisible hand of the market, did not intervene to stop massacres or monopolization through the barrel of a gun, nor did it provide healthcare or assistance to those who were suffering from displacement and poverty. It became a society where citizenship was purely transactional, granting security and freedom to those with enough wealth and power to defend their individual bounties.

Italy’s futurists in the early 20th century believed similarly that only industrial modernity and unfettered progress could save mankind from itself. Many, through these actions and beliefs, laid the groundwork for what would eventually become Italian fascism. Emphasis on order, progress, and innovation foreclosed concern for morality and democratic legitimacy, especially as conditions become more fraught and insecure. Decades of industrialization and modernization, followed by the tumultuous years of World War One, brought Italy progress and growth. But by the war’s end, the country found itself, not in a position of strength, but in one characterized by growing unrest and contradiction.

Industrial growth propelled by new inventions and production models did not paper over internal conflicts or geographic disparities. Decades of mechanical upgrades, transformations in commerce, and untold levels of productivity and scientific achievement did not magically create new societies of various individualized John Galts.

Technological progress beget growth but then buttressed the mass killing of millions through war and genocide. Various discoveries and inventions, theoretically, were set to make people healthier, richer, and more sophisticated, but no such policy was ever put in place to ensure fair distribution and reach. Most critically, as new models for growth emerged, gargantuan levels of profit were able to be accrued and invested, but this untold wealth, with all its glory and sheen, did not manage to ameliorate divisions between worker and owner.

Within Rapture, utopian accelerationism created a society where growth was massive, progress was unchained, and structural violence was exerted to provide order. For a while, this structure created a warped mirage for those rich enough to separate themselves from society, but predictably, this combination of tricks, contradictions, and smokescreens was not able to last. The same reality occurred within Europe following WW1 and its ensuing period of economic insecurity tin he 1920s. Wealth delivered respite temporarily, but soon enough, fascism came-a-knocking.

Today, we exist in a similar environment. Already, our society has experienced insane levels of technological progress and growth, especially over the past fifty years. But has growth caused our country to become more equal and stable? Corporations have never been richer or more capable of having their goals and projects realized, but has this freedom to invest and experiment resulted in an industrial or societal revolution which is beneficial to all?

Silicon Valley, the place where many of these elite futurists reside, is a direct result of this period of progress, but has its particular products and applications led to America becoming more connected and less radicalized? Progress has not cured our ails in the 21st century, nor did past progress alone solve our country’s various problems throughout the 20th century.

By looking at our own history, we are able to gain a better understanding of the world actually works in practice. Modern capitalism does not diffuse new advancements and developments automatically or generously. Technological progress, concurrently, does not occur within a vacuum or within systems of automatic distribution. Instead, research, development, commercialization, and investment all occur within complex webs of private and public funding. The gains of new inventions or models are often quickly privatized, even if they were developed with the help of taxpayer dollars.

And even if new inventions are revelatory, they are never disruptive enough to completely overhaul entire systems of production and consumption. No advancement will ever create limitless abundance in its own right, nor will some hypothetical singularity magically solve all political divisions. Technological development and its diffusion throughout society is and has always been a deeply political conflict, and to read this process in other way ignores how capitalism has fundamentally worked since its emergence.

Past utopian visions of similar caliber all failed because of their inability, either intentional or not, to understand how progress and distribution actually work within modern markets and polities. The same reality is true for our own elite: They’re reading of history and technological advancement is highly driven by their own immediate material concerns and nothing else.

Techno-utopianism is not apolitical or self-legitimizing. It is instead, just like in previous moments of disruption, a political movement driven by reaction and material interest. To follow their lead is to all but condemn us to a future like Rapture’s. But unlike Rapture, we are not excluded from its society and effects. These calls for utopian visions of democratic erosion and hypercapitalism will permanently impact our lives, just as they did for tens of millions of innocent people throughout the first half of the 20th century.

Capitalism’s failures and disruptions will not sit at the bottom of the ocean, going unnoticed. They will impact all of us if we are not able to impede them. Thus, this is where our reality becomes far scarier. Bioshock is fiction, and its horrors will always rest behind a screen. We are not so lucky. Our horrors are very much real and could again spiral out of control if we do not firmly defend our democracy against futurist ideas from both the past and present.