particular a commitment to provide the general public with education, health and
welfare services. Yet the core liberal package has changed surprisingly little.
Liberalism still sanctifies individual liberties above all, and still has a firm belief in
the voter and the customer. In the early twenty-first century, this is the only show
in town.
Electricity, Genetics and Radical Islam
As of 2016, there is no serious alternative to the liberal package of
individualism, human rights, democracy and a free market. The social protests
that swept the Western world in 2011 – such as Occupy Wall Street and the
Spanish 15-M movement – have absolutely nothing against democracy,
individualism and human rights, or even against the basic principles of free-
market economics. Just the opposite – they take governments to task for not
living up to these liberal ideals. They demand that the market be really free,
instead of being controlled and manipulated by corporations and banks ‘too big
to fail’. They call for truly representative democratic institutions, which will serve
the interests of ordinary citizens rather than of moneyed lobbyists and powerful
interest groups. Even those blasting stock exchanges and parliaments with the
harshest criticism don’t have a viable alternative model for running the world.
While it is a favourite pastime of Western academics and activists to find fault
with the liberal package, they have so far failed to come up with anything better.
China seems to offer a much more serious challenge than Western social
protestors. Despite liberalising its politics and economics, China is neither a
democracy nor a truly free-market economy, which does not prevent it from
becoming the economic giant of the twenty-first century. Yet this economic giant
casts a very small ideological shadow. Nobody seems to know what the Chinese
believe these days – including the Chinese themselves. In theory China is still
communist, but in practice it is nothing of the kind. Some Chinese thinkers and
leaders toy with a return to Confucianism, but that’s hardly more than a
convenient veneer. This ideological vacuum makes China the most promising
breeding ground for the new techno-religions emerging from Silicon Valley
(which we will discuss in the following chapters). But these techno-religions, with
their belief in immortality and virtual paradises, would take at least a decade or
two to establish themselves. Hence at present, China doesn’t pose a real
alternative to liberalism. If bankrupted Greeks despair of the liberal model and
search for a substitute, ‘imitating the Chinese’ doesn’t mean much.
How about radical Islam, then? Or fundamentalist Christianity, messianic
Judaism and revivalist Hinduism? Whereas the Chinese don’t know what they
believe, religious fundamentalists know it only too well. More than a century after
Nietzsche pronounced Him dead, God seems to be making a comeback. But
this is a mirage. God is dead – it just takes a while to get rid of the body. Radical
Islam poses no serious threat to the liberal package, because for all their
fervour, the zealots don’t really understand the world of the twenty-first century,
and have nothing relevant to say about the novel dangers and opportunities that
new technologies are generating all around us.
Religion and technology always dance a delicate tango. They push one
another, depend on one another and cannot stray too far away from one
another. Technology depends on religion, because every invention has many
potential applications, and the engineers need some prophet to make the crucial
choice and point towards the required destination. Thus in the nineteenth
century engineers invented locomotives, radios and internal combustion
engines. But as the twentieth century proved, you can use these very same tools
to create fascist societies, communist dictatorships and liberal democracies.
Without some religious convictions, the locomotives cannot decide where to go.
On the other hand, technology often defines the scope and limits of our
religious visions, like a waiter that demarcates our appetites by handing us a
menu. New technologies kill old gods and give birth to new gods. That’s why
agricultural deities were different from hunter-gatherer spirits, why factory hands
fantasise about different paradises than peasants and why the revolutionary
technologies of the twenty-first century are far more likely to spawn
unprecedented religious movements than to revive medieval creeds. Islamic
fundamentalists may repeat the mantra that ‘Islam is the answer’, but religions
that lose touch with the technological realities of the day lose their ability even to
understand the questions being asked. What will happen to the job market once
artificial intelligence outperforms humans in most cognitive tasks? What will be
the political impact of a massive new class of economically useless people?
What will happen to relationships, families and pension funds when
nanotechnology and regenerative medicine turn eighty into the new fifty? What
will happen to human society when biotechnology enables us to have designer
babies, and to open unprecedented gaps between rich and poor?
You will not find the answers to any of these questions in the Qur’an or sharia
law, nor in the Bible or in the Confucian Analects, because nobody in the
medieval Middle East or in ancient China knew much about computers, genetics
or nanotechnology. Radical Islam may promise an anchor of certainty in a world
of technological and economic storms – but in order to navigate a storm, you
need a map and a rudder rather than just an anchor. Hence radical Islam may
appeal to people born and raised in its fold, but it has precious little to offer
unemployed Spanish youths or anxious Chinese billionaires.
True, hundreds of millions may nevertheless go on believing in Islam,
Christianity or Hinduism. But numbers alone don’t count for much in history.
History is often shaped by small groups of forward-looking innovators rather
than by the backward-looking masses. Ten thousand years ago most people
were hunter-gatherers and only a few pioneers in the Middle East were farmers.
Yet the future belonged to the farmers. In 1850 more than 90 per cent of
humans were peasants, and in the small villages along the Ganges, the Nile and
the Yangtze nobody knew anything about steam engines, railroads or telegraph
lines. Yet the fate of these peasants had already been sealed in Manchester and
Birmingham by the handful of engineers, politicians and financiers who
spearheaded the Industrial Revolution. Steam engines, railroads and telegraphs
transformed the production of food, textiles, vehicles and weapons, giving
industrial powers a decisive edge over traditional agricultural societies.
Even when the Industrial Revolution spread around the world and penetrated
up the Ganges, Nile and Yangtze, most people continued to believe in the
Vedas, the Bible, the Qur’an and the Analects more than in the steam engine.
As today, so too in the nineteenth century there was no shortage of priests,
mystics and gurus who argued that they alone hold the solution to all of
humanity’s woes, including to the new problems created by the Industrial
Revolution. For example, between the 1820s and 1880s Egypt (backed by
Britain) conquered Sudan, and tried to modernise the country and incorporate it
into the new international trade network. This destabilised traditional Sudanese
society, creating widespread resentment and fostering revolts. In 1881 a local
religious leader, Muhammad Ahmad bin Abdallah, declared that he was the
Mahdi (the Messiah), sent to establish the law of God on earth. His supporters
defeated the Anglo-Egyptian army, and beheaded its commander – General
Charles Gordon – in a gesture that shocked Victorian Britain. They then
established in Sudan an Islamic theocracy governed by sharia law, which lasted
until 1898.
Meanwhile in India, Dayananda Saraswati headed a Hindu revival movement,
whose basic principle was that the Vedic scriptures are never wrong. In 1875 he
founded the Arya Samaj (Noble Society), dedicated to the spreading of Vedic
knowledge – though truth be told, Dayananda often interpreted the Vedas in a
surprisingly liberal way, supporting for example equal rights for women long
before the idea became popular in the West.
Dayananda’s contemporary, Pope Pius IX, had much more conservative
views about women, but shared Dayananda’s admiration for superhuman
authority. Pius led a series of reforms in Catholic dogma, and established the
novel principle of papal infallibility, according to which the Pope can never err in
matters of faith (this seemingly medieval idea became binding Catholic dogma
only in 1870, eleven years after Charles Darwin published On the Origin of
Species).
Thirty years before the Pope discovered that he is incapable of making
mistakes, a failed Chinese scholar called Hong Xiuquan had a succession of
religious visions. In these visions, God revealed that Hong was none other than
the younger brother of Jesus Christ. God then invested Hong with a divine
mission. He told Hong to expel the Manchu ‘demons’ that had ruled China since
the seventeenth century, and establish on earth the Great Peaceful Kingdom of
Heaven (Taiping Tiānguó). Hong’s message fired the imagination of millions of
desperate Chinese, who were shaken by China’s defeats in the Opium Wars
and by the coming of modern industry and European imperialism. But Hong did
not lead them to a kingdom of peace. Rather, he led them against the Manchu
Qing dynasty in the Taiping Rebellion – the deadliest war of the nineteenth
century. From 1850 to 1864, at least 20 million people lost their lives; far more
than in the Napoleonic Wars or in the American Civil War.
Hundreds of millions clung to the religious dogmas of Hong, Dayananda, Pius
and the Mahdi even as industrial factories, railroads and steamships filled the
world. Yet most of us don’t think about the nineteenth century as the age of faith.
When we think of nineteenth-century visionaries, we are far more likely to recall
Marx, Engels and Lenin than the Mahdi, Pius IX or Hong Xiuquan. And rightly
so. Though in 1850 socialism was only a fringe movement, it soon gathered
momentum, and changed the world in far more profound ways than the self-
proclaimed messiahs of China and Sudan. If you count on national health
services, pension funds and free schools, you need to thank Marx and Lenin
(and Otto von Bismarck) far more than Hong Xiuquan or the Mahdi.
Why did Marx and Lenin succeed where Hong and the Mahdi failed? Not
because socialist humanism was philosophically more sophisticated than
Islamic and Christian theology, but rather because Marx and Lenin devoted
more attention to understanding the technological and economic realities of their
time than to perusing ancient texts and prophetic dreams. Steam engines,
railroads, telegraphs and electricity created unheard-of problems as well as
unprecedented opportunities. The experiences, needs and hopes of the new
class of urban proletariats were simply too different from those of biblical
peasants. To answer these needs and hopes, Marx and Lenin studied how a
steam engine functions, how a coal mine operates, how railroads shape the
economy and how electricity influences politics.
Lenin was once asked to define communism in a single sentence.
‘Communism is power to worker councils,’ he said, ‘plus electrification of the
whole country.’ There can be no communism without electricity, without
railroads, without radio. You couldn’t establish a communist regime in sixteenth-
century Russia, because communism necessitates the concentration of
information and resources in one hub. ‘From each according to his ability, to
each according to his needs’ only works when produce can easily be collected
and distributed across vast distances, and when activities can be monitored and
coordinated over entire countries.
Marx and his followers understood the new technological realities and the new
human experiences, so they had relevant answers to the new problems of
industrial society, as well as original ideas about how to benefit from the
unprecedented opportunities. The socialists created a brave new religion for a
brave new world. They promised salvation through technology and economics,
thus establishing the first techno-religion in history, and changing the
foundations of ideological discourse. Before Marx, people defined and divided
themselves according to their views about God, not about production methods.
Since Marx, questions of technology and economic structure became far more
important and divisive than debates about the soul and the afterlife. In the
second half of the twentieth century, humankind almost obliterated itself in an
argument about production methods. Even the harshest critics of Marx and
Lenin adopted their basic attitude towards history and society, and began
thinking about technology and production much more carefully than about God
and heaven.
In the mid-nineteenth century, few people were as perceptive as Marx, hence
only a few countries underwent rapid industrialisation. These few countries
conquered the world. Most societies failed to understand what was happening,
and they therefore missed the train of progress. Dayananda’s India and the
Mahdi’s Sudan remained far more preoccupied with God than with steam
engines, hence they were occupied and exploited by industrial Britain. Only in
the last few years has India managed to make significant progress in closing the
economic and geopolitical gap separating it from Britain. Sudan is still struggling
far behind.
In the early twenty-first century the train of progress is again pulling out of the
station – and this will probably be the last train ever to leave the station called
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