MK: These circles were described by Lem in ‘The Futurological Congress’. At the titular congress, scientists are supposed to speak on the future fate of civilisation.
MO: But they actually end up not doing that. The main character, Ijon Tichy, only takes part in a short assembly, during which the participants communicate their ideas using numbers. Someone says: ‘4, 6, 11, which results in 22’. It turns out that they are referring to research papers the participants were supposed to have familiarised themselves with prior to the event, as there are so many there’s no time to actually deliver them all. Instead, there’s a sequence of numbers, and someone claims: ‘It looks like it’s bound to be 22’. In response, someone else stands up and says: ‘5, perhaps 6, 18 and 4’. Afterwards, the protagonist glances into the index, according to which ‘22’ denotes ‘a planetary catastrophe’.
MK: Up to a certain point, Lem had encountered neither Western futurology nor Western science-fiction literature.
MO: Up until the mid-1960s. Summa Technologiae, which he wrote basically without any contact with Western materials, unavailable to him at that time, was released in 1964. All that started being sent to him later, when he became famous and gained connections in the West. However, it turned out that he didn’t actually need those materials at all. While he himself considered this lack of access a nuisance, I personally believe that it was a blessing – having no idea what Western thought was producing, he had to come up with everything himself, thereby attaining uniqueness.
Interestingly, plenty of science-fiction authors didn’t know of the official futurological reports either. Most of them wrote whatever came into their heads, making sure that their visions made sense and that they were written properly so that they could be sold in bookstores later.
Lem compared futurology to shooting up a china shop with a machine gun: you never know what you’re going to hit. What sound will the object make? We can’t know that either. Fantasy authors create scenarios as reality shoots facts at them. If the two coincidentally align, they say that a futurological prophecy was fulfilled.
MK: Did Lem manage to shoot a lot of china?
MO: What’s particularly impressive from the contemporary perspective is his concept of ‘phantomatics’, one that can be likened to virtual reality (VR). The development of this technology has progressed a lot, though not enough for it to be available to purchase for a reasonable price. This, however, is only a matter of time – after all, there was a time when no one expected that personal computers would become so cheap everyone would have one, or even several.
MK: How did he imagine it?
MO: There would be ‘steam rooms’ (as in ‘blowing off steam’), as Lem called them, on every street corner. At these service points one could lock one’s self in a sarcophagus, plug into electrically, mechanically, chemically and in a variety of other ways, and would be able to experience sex with the Queen of England, hunt dragons or enter a fairy-tale of their choice. If that vision finally materialises in the form of VR, culture and entertainment as we know it will become redundant. Books will disappear completely – the only thing that would still be written would be scripts for the steam rooms. Same goes for film – after all, why would we still need traditional films if we had better ones: with ourselves as protagonists who seduce princesses, lead armies and sign pacts with alien civilisations?