Science fiction celebrated its 200th anniversary yesterday.
June 21st, 1816, was the day Mary Shelley graced the world with the story of Frankenstein; the story of someone who pondered what would happen if the dead could be brought back to life, and what it could mean for the world, not to mention the first successful attempt at a reanimation.
For two hundred years, despite the fact that, in reality, we cannot revivify long-dead people, nor can we assemble a whole human out of disparate dead body parts, run a current through them and bring them to life, we have enjoyed the fiction that we can live in a world where such a marvel could be possible.
We lived through a century where the brightest minds on Earth all concluded that we would not know powered, manned flight before the start of this century. Two engineers thought otherwise, and invented aviation in 1903.
Professor Simon Newcomb, in 1901, had this to say about powered flight:-
Professor Newcomb said:
And yet here is an insignificant little bird, from whose mind, if mind it has, all conceptions of natural law are excluded, applying the rules of aerodynamics in an application of mechanical force to an end we have never been able to reach, and this with entire ease and absence of consciousness that it is doing an extraordinary thing. Surely our knowledge of natural laws, and that inventive genius which has enabled us to subordinate all nature to our needs, ought also to enable us to do anything that the bird can do. Therefore we must fly. If we cannot yet do it, it is only because we have not got to the bottom of the subject. Our successors of the not distant future will surely succeed.
All of the science fiction for the last 200 years has been the telling of ridiculous stories: about men creating robots (before they became a common feature in heavy industry and before the Roomba), inventing lasers (before Charles Hard Townes and Arthur Leonard Schawlow developed the theory and Theodore H. Maiman built the first one in 1960) and going into space (before October 4, 1957, when Sputnik I reached orbit).
And each generation has had detractors who sat there in their armchairs and loudly proclaimed that such a thing was never going to be possible, usually prefaced with words such as "Let's face reality."
Each generation of science fiction writer has basically written stories of how some bold inventor, some creative genius, has taken a wet haddock to the faces of the armchair "experts" and gone on to change the world - at least in the books and television shows. Some things are still impossible as of the time I write this post. Psionics may never be possible, as may FTL travel, FTL communications or gravitics. And yet Traveller is predicated on the existence of such essential impossibilities, and the exploration of what the world would be like if such things were possible - and, in the case of FTL comms, categorically impossible except in the form of hard data sent to the stars on ships.
Science fiction, and Traveller's concept of science fiction, is predicated, as has all science fiction for the last two hundred years, on imagining what the world would be like if the "impossible" was possible, and even commonplace and taken for granted. I could happily write a Traveller campaign based on the travels of a mutant supergenius who wanders from system to system on various starships, whose constant companion is a tiny yet cheerful supercomputer in his backpack, and the setting would be no less absurd than that of a 3I setting which steers strictly to the canon of the CRB and never deviates from the limits of what tech is possible in the Third Imperium.
Stop looking to tear down other people's ideas, and look instead to try and see what would happen if they could be made possible - and even to thrive. Otherwise, why on earth would you want to play Traveller anyway, knowing that you don't even believe in half the technology that the setting takes for granted?