Juan Villoro
In 2012, I visited Chichén Itzá. At that time, the New Age culture was passionately discussing the “Mayan apocalypse” that was supposed to happen on December 21 of that year. The most surprising thing was that all the hotels in the area were booked so that they could witness the fatal outcome. If the world is ending, you might as well have front-row tickets!
Humans not only adapt to bad news: they enjoy it. Is there anything more fascinating than last chances? Every Rolling Stones tour is as exciting as getting a seat at the Last Supper.
We are irresponsible, but not because of misinformation. Media expert Bernhard Pörksen noted in Der Spiegel that the world suffers from “wise ignorance.” Knowledge does not lead to action.
On June 23, 1988, James Hansen, director of NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies, presented irrefutable evidence of the “greenhouse effect” to the U.S. Senate. His words prompted the New York Times to write on its front page: “Global warming has begun.” Both the keys and the solutions to the problem were in plain sight; however, nothing was done, and carbon emissions continued.
What is the reason for our paralysis? First, there is an instinctive blockage in the face of threats. It is not easy to think about the environment every time you fill up your car with gas. Ecocide is abstract, and the need to get to work is concrete. On the other hand, fake news denies the evidence and advertising offers “palliative remedies.” The most polluting corporations launch “sustainable commitment” campaigns with images of butterflies in flight. In addition, renowned scientists argue that nothing serious is happening. German meteorologist Hans von Storch argues that we are suffering from “climate hysteria.” In 2003, when a heat wave claimed 70,000 lives in Europe, he described global warming as a natural phenomenon with pleasant consequences.
Added to this is another fact: too many disasters compete for our attention. Globally, the pandemic, the war in Ukraine, the genocide in Gaza, and extreme populism have such immediate and dramatic consequences that it is difficult to take into account more severe but medium-term threats, such as artificial intelligence and ecocide.
The fantastic thing is that, for many, the fall is not only inevitable but attractive. Schopenhauer is right again: we see what we want to see —the world as will and representation!
From the Bhagavad-gita and the Apocalypse of St. John to the novels of Margaret Atwood and Cormac McCarthy, we have exciting narratives about the end of time.
The survival instinct feeds on the difficulty of carrying it out. When you like a girl, if they tells you she’s “dangerous,” you like her even more—the abyss beckons.
While one segment of humanity learns little because it spends its time watching kittens on TikTok, another segment enjoys witnessing cataclysms. Teenagers around the world have been captivated by the devastation in various video games: Fort Apocalypse in 1982, Doom in 1993, and Deus Ex from 2000 onwards. According to DemandSage, there are currently 3.32 billion gamers, and that number is expected to double by 2029. Addiction to this alternate reality is so pronounced that in 2018, the WHO classified a new disorder: gaming disorder, which defines players who are detached from their surroundings.
But cultural representations are not responsible for indifference or fascination with the apocalypse. We are not dealing with a cause but a symptom. The real problem is that the destruction becomes real, and a phrase appears on the screen: Game over! Switzerland has embraced paranoia with clockwork precision and has 360,000 bomb shelters. That confirms, but does not stop, the desire for destruction.
Is it worth continuing to sound the alarm, to raise the red flag on the beach? Dystopian narratives often feature a minority that is saved; however, in the current situation, survival cannot be individual. The motto of the Paris Commune takes on renewed relevance: “All or none.”
The decisive issue is this: each of us harbors the hope, and perhaps the pleasure, of being the last in the series, the guest who bids farewell to the party and turns off the lights.
Further Reading: