"The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible."
From Profiles of the Future (1962), Arthur C. Clarke
That Arthur C. Clarke was one of science fiction's most profound and prolific talents is beyond dispute. Underlying his genius was not only a brilliant scientific mind, but also a shrewd grasp of mankind's often tumultuous interrelationship with technology, as well as a grand vision of human potential that still resonates more than half a century on. And it's through these qualities that Clarke crafted a legacy that defined an entire genre of creative storytelling, a legacy that in turn helped give birth to the futurist movement as we know it today.
During its infancy in the mid-1960s, futurism existed primarily as an obscure branch of game theory and social science, and was the jurisdiction of only a small cadre of dedicated academics and intellectuals. At the core of their beliefs was the idea that humanity was not beholden to fate and uncertainty, and that beyond cultivating scientific and technological knowledge we have an obligation to consciously participate in our own moral and physical evolution.
Successfully communicating this new and magnificent ideal is Clarke's greatest gift to futurism, I believe. His ability to interweave hard science with the peculiarities of human behavior provided readers with a sobering analysis of our potential to mismanage our technological prowess. Yet, for each cautionary tale of a future dispossessed by our moral frailty, for Clarke there always existed a counter vision of the future championing the immutable human spirit for positive change and transformation.
Take, for instance, one of Clarke's most elegant metaphors for humanity's turbulent romance with technology, found at the opening of the film version of what is probably his most renowned story, 2001: A Space Odyssey. The story begins with the invention of the first tool, a bone wielded by prehistoric man as an instrument of death and conquest.
The victor, reveling in his triumph, launches the bone weapon into the sky. As it rotates through the air it slowly morphs into a spaceship placidly traversing the stars. Thousands of years into the future, we witness another ship delivering its sole surviving passenger into a higher state of being, one characterized by the "star child" hovering over the Earth at the end of the story.
For me, this iconic tale speaks to the essence of Clarke's legacy: an admitted obligation to the future, one that acknowledges our transient role in the evolution of life and the power afforded to us by technology as a catalyst for both positive and negative change.
Arthur C. Clarke died March at 18, 2008, at the age of 90.
Image: racatumba (Flickr)
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