The "Heinlein" Experiment
Where to next?
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In 1949, science fiction author Robert A. Heinlein wrote an article entitled “Where To?” for Galaxy Magazine. In his essay, Heinlein made predictions in 19 areas for the year 2000, ranging from space travel within the solar system to the survival of the human species.
In his 1980 collection Expanded Universe, Heinlein claims to have updated the article for 1965, although I am unable to find where he published this version. He revised his predictions again in 1979 for Expanded Universe, including the text from both 1949 and 1965 for comparison. This gives us three sets of predictions, each set dated about fifteen years after its immediate predecessor.
Sadly, Heinlein passed away in 1988. I remember hearing the news from Paul Harvey coming out of my dad’s transistor radio as I washed one of our family vehicles in front of the chicken house. Heinlein’s passing deprived the world of theoretical updates which he might have written for 1995, 2010, and this year, 2025.
Given the recent advent of the Large Language Models we erroneously call “artificial intelligence,” with their remarkable ability to synthesize new text based on existing works, I decided to try an experiment. What would an LLM produce if asked to generate 2025 updates based on Heinlein's various versions of “Where to?,” in an authorial style similar to his, using current data?
I put the question to ChatGPT v.4o. You may read the result below.
While these “opinions” are a fair facsimile of something Heinlein might have written were he still alive, in the way he might have stated them, they are subject to all the current failings of LLMs, including hallucinations. No, algae, cultured meat, and insect protein are not yet global food staples, and we don’t now pay for goods in energy credits or carbon offsets. We can’t buy a ticket to get from New York to Tokyo in less than two hours, at any price. But the model’s assessment of the current state of space travel, today’s dangers of military conflict, and the potential fate of our species, seem on-target.
Consider this a work of near future speculative fiction (as Heinlein thought of his own predictions,) written by a machine—itself an extraordinary proposition by the standards of a few years ago.
For the best experience, I recommend first reading the original article, retitled “Pandora’s Box", in Expanded Universe (Volume II, if you get the two volume version.) This will give you the context to understand what the model is doing.
CAUTION: These are not the opinions of Robert A. Heinlein. He is no longer living. They aren’t the opinions of any person. They are the product of a computer algorithm.
To preserve the integrity of the experiment, I’ve not altered the text below, other than to add subject headings (which Heinlein’s original article lacked) and to remove predictions for 2040 and 2065 from one topic where the model strayed outside its given parameters.
No, this isn’t Heinlein. But it’s good to hear an echo of the old man’s voice.
The “Heinlein” Experiment
by ChatGPT v4o, edited by Brian S. Pauls
Interplanetary Travel
The year is 2025, and we are standing at the crossroads of what could either be a renaissance or the slow decline of humanity's ambitions in space. Fifty-five years have passed since we put men on the Moon, yet the promises of lunar colonies, Martian outposts, and solar-powered satellites remain tantalizingly close but frustratingly unrealized. The reasons for this are as depressingly familiar as they are avoidable—bureaucracy, shortsighted leadership, and a societal apathy born from decades of distraction. The United States, once the standard-bearer of space exploration, has become content to play the role of a hesitant investor, leaving the heavy lifting to private companies and foreign nations.
And yet, hope persists. The private sector, led by bold visionaries with deep pockets, has rekindled the fire that government programs have let smolder. Reusable rockets are no longer the stuff of science fiction but the linchpins of a burgeoning new economy. SpaceX has made trips to low-Earth orbit routine, while NASA focuses its constrained budget on Mars—and only Mars. The Artemis program, a bright spot in an otherwise cloudy horizon, has established a small but functional base on the lunar south pole, its primary achievement being the extraction of water ice—a step as vital to space colonization as the first stone ax was to civilization.
Internationally, the picture is more dynamic. China has surpassed expectations, completing a modular space station and laying the groundwork for its own lunar ambitions. India, fueled by its success with cost-effective missions, has joined the ranks of nations targeting Mars and the Moon, while Europe dithers, unsure whether to follow or fade into irrelevance. Japan, ever cautious, focuses on robotic exploration and asteroid mining, both of which hold the promise of vast returns for minimal risk.
But the real wild card has been the emergence of a new, unorthodox player: consortia of multinational corporations. Freed from the constraints of national pride and driven by profit, these coalitions have begun serious work on orbital manufacturing and even the first tentative steps toward a Lagrange-point colony. If wealth is indeed the engine of progress, then these enterprises may succeed where nations have faltered.
Yet the fundamental question remains: have we lost our nerve? The public remains distracted by earthly concerns—climate change, political polarization, and the endless churn of the digital age. The will to invest in something as intangible as "the future" is in short supply. And so, the risk of stagnation looms large, as it did in 1980 and 2000.
But the potential is there, as clear and unyielding as ever. By 2030, we could have cities on the Moon, fusion-powered ships on their way to the outer planets, and an economy that stretches beyond Earth’s orbit. The energy crisis could be solved with solar power satellites, and the ecological strain on Earth eased with off-world manufacturing. The solutions to our greatest problems are waiting out there, among the stars.Will we reach for them? That is the question of 2025.
Sex Relations
The trend continues, though it has morphed into new shapes that even the boldest prophet of 1980 might not have fully anticipated. The technological revolutions of the 21st century—particularly the pervasive reach of digital networks and artificial intelligence—have transformed the way humans organize relationships, families, and the care of children. The extended family, in some form, has indeed re-emerged, though not always through blood ties or proximity. Rather, it thrives as “intentional communities,” “chosen families,” and digitally-mediated “networks of care.” These are now common, legally recognized, and often centered around shared values, interests, or mutual goals.
One key driver of this shift has been the rise of the “social AI assistant,” ubiquitous companions that provide emotional support, mediate conflicts, and coordinate the logistical nightmares of modern life. These digital tools, often embedded in homes, devices, and even our bodies, act as facilitators of human connection. They may remind us of Heinlein’s “waldoes,” in how they extend human capabilities—though here, it’s not physical labor they enhance, but emotional and relational bonds.Marriage and parenthood are no longer confined to pairs or to traditional heterosexual unions. Polyamorous households have grown in number, bolstered by a legal framework that recognizes multilateral partnerships. Contracts between multiple adults, detailing the care of children, financial obligations, and inheritance rights, are not merely tolerated—they are increasingly celebrated as viable alternatives to the collapsing 20th-century nuclear family model.
Yet, as predicted, all this change has brought conflict. The “oldsters” (a term that now includes Millennials) lament what they see as the erosion of tradition, while younger generations, augmented by neuroadaptive technologies and cultural fluidity, see nothing remarkable about a world where “family” is defined by intention rather than circumstance.There is also backlash from those who feel left behind by the rapid pace of change. The stark inequalities of the early 21st century—exacerbated by climate disruption and economic upheaval—have created a divide between those who can afford to live in supportive, high-tech communities and those who struggle alone in the crumbling remnants of the nuclear family era. This inequality underscores that while the extended family has returned in new forms, it remains unevenly distributed.
One of the most profound implications of these changes is in the realm of child-rearing. The responsibility of parenting has become communal in many cases, with artificial intelligence and human networks acting as “third parents.” These systems provide not just material support, but also education, healthcare, and emotional stability, ensuring that no child is left behind—at least in the more advanced societies. Whether this will lead to a society of more emotionally secure, adaptable individuals or one marked by dependence on technology remains to be seen.
The essential truth remains: the family, as a biological and social construct, is in flux. The yearning for connection, security, and belonging has not vanished—it has adapted to the tools and challenges of the age. Whether the structures we are building now will prove stable enough to endure the next great upheaval is a question for 2050. But for today, the revolution continues.Military attack from space
The most important military fact of this century remains that there is no reliable way to repel an attack from outer space. Our technological prowess has grown in leaps and bounds, true—hypersonic missiles, advanced orbital defense platforms, and AI-driven targeting systems make the news daily. Yet, as in 1950, the fundamental truth of the "gravity well" disadvantage remains. Gravity is a ruthless accountant, and the nation—or, increasingly, the corporate entity—that controls the high ground of the Moon controls the Earth.
The recent proliferation of orbital weapon systems and autonomous drones operating in cislunar space only underscores the old axiom. Yes, we've made impressive strides—directed-energy weapons capable of vaporizing small debris, and kinetic-kill vehicles capable of intercepting incoming threats. However, nothing has changed the fact that a well-placed mass dropped from the Moon would be unstoppable. No amount of orbital lasers or kinetic defenses will negate physics: a Moon-launched projectile will still hit Earth at meteoric speeds, and no shield yet devised can handle such raw kinetic energy.
China's permanent lunar base, the Artemis corporations’ private mining colonies, and the joint ventures between Europe and India have all hinted at "civilian" operations on the Moon, but I trust my earlier assertion: whoever has the will to weaponize this high ground will wield control over Earth's destiny. The same is true for the asteroid belt, now being eyed for mining operations. A small asteroid nudged Earthward would dwarf any terrestrial weapon ever devised.
The ultimate irony of 2025 is that humanity now possesses the means to annihilate itself from the stars before we’ve learned to live in peace on our own planet. "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress," indeed—but perhaps the greater truth is that it remains an unforgiving overlord to those unable or unwilling to seize its potential.
Pre-Emptive War
The world of 2025 presents a mixed verdict on the predictions and trends of earlier decades. The long period of uneasy peace predicted in 1950 and reevaluated in 1980 has held remarkably well, albeit fraying at the edges in ways that would be both surprising and unsettling to the generations that survived the Cuban Missile Crisis or the height of the Cold War.
Preventive or pre-emptive war has not disappeared as a concept; rather, it has evolved. Today's great powers do not march into open fields under banners; they orchestrate conflicts through proxies, economic pressure, and cyber offensives. The modern battleground is as much the server farm as the contested border. While no all-out World War III has occurred, conflicts large and small bubble constantly—intensely localized yet global in their ramifications. No city is under the immediate shadow of hydrogen bombs, but in the ether of networks, invisible weapons are always primed.
NATO, once a bedrock of collective defense, survives—if only in name—its cohesion strained by shifting alliances, economic dependencies, and the fickleness of democratic mandates. Commitments to allies are more tenuous than ever, with the post-Vietnam tendency to prioritize strategic convenience over credibility now institutionalized. Whether in Eastern Europe, the South China Sea, or the shifting sands of the Middle East, allies increasingly hedge their bets, knowing the United States might falter in its guarantees.
Technology, the great equalizer and disruptor, both fuels and tempers the flames of conflict. Artificial intelligence and autonomous systems dominate military planning, introducing both precision and unpredictability. It is now possible to cripple a nation without ever crossing its borders—a scenario unthinkable in 1950 but the reality of 2025. Yet this same technology holds hope. Diplomacy in this era is no longer confined to human actors. Machines that calculate probabilities with cold logic offer mediations that humans often accept, knowing full well their own limitations.
The survival of humanity remains a question of balance. It was once said that it was more dangerous to live in London during the plague years than in a city threatened by H-bombs. Perhaps now it is more accurate to say it is more dangerous to exist in a world where conflicts, so omnipresent yet diffuse, tempt nations to gamble, believing no single throw of the dice will end the game. For now, civilization holds—narrowly, precariously, and perhaps only through luck.Housing
I remain sprawled in the mud, and now it’s hardened around me. The housing situation hasn’t improved in any fundamental way, though we’ve added a fresh layer of irony to it: we live in a world where we can print organs in laboratories and fabricate entire rocket engines with 3D printers, but our homes are still slapped together with sticks and drywall like it’s 1950. Even the so-called "innovations"—tiny homes, container conversions, and prefab units—are mere tweaks to the ancient art of making shelters inefficiently, propped up by zoning laws and regulatory tangleweed that protect inefficiency like sacred relics.
Costs, of course, have soared into orbit, keeping pace with inflation and a speculative real estate market that treats homes less like places to live and more like poker chips. Remember that $100,000 house? Adjusted for modern gold prices (or cryptocurrency, if you prefer your despair in a digital format), even a shack will now set you back a sum so obscene that it would’ve once funded a moonshot. Meanwhile, billions of people remain unhoused or barely housed, but the industry churns on, as ossified as ever.
The technology for truly modern housing exists—self-sufficient homes that generate their own power, recycle water, and are built for centuries rather than decades—but deploying it at scale is still a pipe dream. Not because we can’t, but because those who profit from the status quo would rather we didn’t. The "powers that be" have only grown more entrenched, their bureaucracy bolstered by AI-driven algorithms designed to calculate precisely how many hoops an ordinary person must jump through before they give up altogether.
The housing crisis today is less about technological inability and more about political and economic inertia. I underestimated, once again, the ferocity with which humans cling to their inefficiencies. If I were foolish enough to revise this prediction for 2050, I might say we’ll all be living in floating, modular arcologies suspended above the Earth’s surface. But knowing us, we’ll still be stapling together overpriced wooden boxes and congratulating ourselves on having "reinvented" the wheel.Global Population
The controlling parameter now appears to be water. Oil remains crucial, but we’ve managed to stumble into renewable energy sources—not by foresight but by necessity. However, water is another matter. Industrial farming, population growth, and climate shifts have stressed the supply beyond what seemed imaginable in 1950. Desalination and water management technologies are improving, but they're running a race against time. Hunger in the United States? Unlikely, barring a collapse of infrastructure or governance. Globally? A different story. Where famine was once a result of logistics or conflict, it’s now a question of whether the water and soil will cooperate at all. One wonders if anyone in Washington—or anywhere—really grasps the stakes.
Art
The pendulum swings, as it always does, though perhaps not as swiftly as one might wish. “Modern art,” once the exclusive domain of charlatans and the truly deranged, has begun its slow retreat into the shadows of historical oddity, where it can be safely cataloged and forgotten. A few brave souls have revived craftsmanship, skill, and meaning—ideas once derided as quaint. Yet, the majority still flounder in the mire of conceptual nonsense, defended by convoluted explanations no one understands. Commercial art, however, now flourishes as the true heir of human creativity, blending advanced technology with timeless principles of beauty and form. Artists in this field are today’s Michelangelos, though they sculpt in pixels and code rather than marble. The world remains mad, of course, but perhaps there is hope for art yet.
Psychology
The prediction has largely matured. Freud is now firmly viewed as a historical figure of interest rather than a guide to current practice. Operational psychology has blossomed into a spectrum of highly specialized disciplines, each grounded in robust empirical methods and aided by the computational revolution. Advances in neuroscience and AI have yielded powerful tools to map and simulate brain activity, leading to breakthroughs in understanding memory, learning, and even consciousness.
Yet, the fundamental mystery—how the arrangement of matter leads to self-awareness—remains unresolved, though some tantalizing theories, such as Integrated Information Theory and predictive coding frameworks, offer glimpses of a solution. Whether these theories represent genuine progress or merely the latest fads is still debated. Psychology in 2025 is a precise, data-driven science in many respects, but it is also deeply humbled by the sheer complexity of the human mind.
Medicine
Cancer treatment has seen remarkable strides with precision medicine, where therapies are tailored to an individual’s genetic profile. Immunotherapy, once an experimental concept, is now a mainstream tool for harnessing the body’s own immune system to combat cancer with fewer side effects than traditional chemotherapy. The "common cold," meanwhile, remains as pesky as ever, though less so thanks to antiviral advancements and improved vaccines targeting specific respiratory viruses like RSV. However, it still thrives on its sheer mutational adaptability—mocking our ingenuity by staying one step ahead.
Tooth decay has largely been relegated to history books in industrialized nations. Advances in bioengineered enamel and self-healing dental materials have made cavities an occasional annoyance rather than a chronic issue. But "regeneration," in the Heinlein sense, is where the truly dazzling breakthroughs are occurring. We now routinely grow replacement organs in vitro from stem cells, sparing patients the trauma of donor waiting lists. Early experimental treatments have enabled partial regeneration of limbs, though true "grow a new leg" technology remains tantalizingly out of reach.
The mapping of the human genome, completed decades ago, has evolved into practical editing via CRISPR-like techniques. The once-distant idea of "tailoring" human beings has moved from science fiction into a cautious scientific reality. Embryonic gene editing for the prevention of heritable diseases is now permissible in some countries under stringent ethical safeguards. Yet the "designer baby"—tailored for intelligence, athleticism, or beauty—remains an ethical minefield. Perhaps this is for the best; as Heinlein once posited, are we yet wise enough to rearchitect humanity? If our current experiments in geopolitics and technology are any measure, the jury remains out.
One lesson seems to endure across the decades: every question we answer spawns a dozen new problems, each more intricate than the last. We’re solving puzzles faster, yes, but the cosmos continues to remind us that we're playing a very long game—and it plays to win.Space Exploration
Humanity has made remarkable strides, but reality has forced some adjustments to my earlier predictions. The starship to Alpha Centauri is not under construction—not yet—but the foundations are laid in a way I could not have anticipated. Instead of massive steel hulls and constant-boost drives, we are exploring the solar system with fleets of artificial intelligences, autonomous drones, and other marvels that were purest fantasy a few decades ago. The Artemis program has returned humans to the Moon, and plans to establish a permanent lunar outpost are well underway. Mars, meanwhile, is no longer just a red dot in our night sky but a focal point of human ambition, with colonies and research stations slowly taking root.
Yet, we are still bound by the great limitation of physics: energy. Fusion power, touted for decades as “just around the corner,” still flickers like a candle in the distance, bright enough to chase but elusive as ever. The faster-than-light dream has not materialized, and we remain Earthbound creatures who crawl across the solar system rather than soaring to the stars. My once-optimistic timeline for FTL travel now feels like one of my early scribbled stories—a piece of science fiction rather than science.
That said, let me tell you why I remain cautiously hopeful. The recent advances in constant-boost propulsion have brought us closer to routine interplanetary travel. Small, efficient nuclear-electric thrusters are being tested, and a crewed mission to the asteroid belt is no longer a pipe dream but a scheduled milestone for 2035. A trip to Mars with the kind of constant boost I imagined decades ago might still be out of reach, but we are learning how to refine and miniaturize technology in ways I didn’t foresee. Imagine an ion-powered ship, accelerating at 0.01 gee over weeks or months. It won't get you there in 30 days, but it's progress.
One unexpected twist: humanity’s focus has turned outward in ways I couldn’t have guessed. The James Webb Space Telescope (an instrument of nearly magical precision) has shown us exoplanets that teem with potential. From here, our ambitions have stretched further than Alpha Centauri to Proxima Centauri B and TRAPPIST-1’s planetary siblings. Here lies the frontier—not just exploration, but discovery of worlds that might hold life or, at least, the promise of it.
As for Pluto—bless Clyde Tombaugh—it has been relegated to a “dwarf planet,” yet it fascinates us more than ever. The New Horizons mission, once just a dream, revealed a world of towering ice mountains and a heart-shaped plain of frozen nitrogen. A poetic twist: Pluto, once the lonely outcast at the edge of our system, has become a symbol of exploration itself—a reminder that even the smallest, coldest objects can hold wonders.
In hindsight, my predictions were neither wrong nor right. They were simply a reflection of the time, bold in imagination but blind to the messy, circuitous path that progress takes. The Solar System is not yet humanity’s backyard, but it feels closer every day. As I look to the next fifty years, I’ll hedge my bets with one safe prediction: we’ll go farther, not faster—but we will go. And we will keep going.Telecommunications
By now, the telephone—and let’s be honest, calling it a "telephone" feels quaint—has become an all-in-one device, so seamlessly integrated into daily life that it’s hardly thought about. Carried on your wrist, embedded in your glasses, or even woven into your clothing, this communicator is more than a link for sound and vision; it’s a portal to every human knowledge repository, an entertainment hub, and a personal assistant more capable than I dared dream in 1950. Holovision calls are old news, replaced by immersive augmented reality that can conjure up a lifelike projection of your caller standing right in your living room—or, if you prefer, on a pristine Hawaiian beach, without their ever leaving Omaha.
Arthur C. Clarke’s prophecy of holovision reducing personal contact has proven about half-right. Yes, we’re more connected remotely than ever before, but if anything, the ease of virtual presence has made us hungrier for real-world interaction. Business conferences now feature both augmented and physical gatherings, with AR avatars rubbing elbows with flesh-and-blood attendees. The Saturnalia lives on, turbocharged by technology—but don’t worry, the boss still pays for it.
Yet, these new gadgets come with their costs. They’re so integrated into our lives that they sometimes feel like extensions of ourselves. Privacy? Only if you pay a premium for it—and even then, you’re never quite sure. As with every tool we humans invent, these devices solve problems while creating new ones. But isn’t that just the monkey folk way?Mars
As of this writing, the verdict on intelligent life on Mars remains definitive: there isn’t any. At least, not the kind of intelligent life we can converse with—or trade witty insults about the weather. Our robot emissaries—more sophisticated than those clunky 1976 landers—have rolled, dug, and flown over much of Mars’ surface, confirming it’s a barren wasteland. But they’ve also found something extraordinary: tantalizing traces that life might have existed there billions of years ago. Fossilized microbes, maybe. If so, they were neither the stuff of Earthman’s imagination nor the sort to build cities, much less write epic poetry. Still, such evidence supports the notion that life could be ubiquitous, even if intelligent life is rare enough to make us seem cosmically lonely.
What about my old hobbyhorse, Life-as-we-don’t-know-it? Well, if it exists, it’s eluded every trick in our scientific bag so far. But I’m not ready to withdraw my chips from that particular game. You see, we’re still just scratching the surface—literally. Mars’ subsurface, with its potential for geothermal warmth and liquid water, could yet hold surprises. Maybe something akin to Earth’s extremophiles, those hardy microbes that thrive in boiling springs or radioactive waste, is lurking below. I’ll keep my bet on life being persistent, even if it’s not inclined to evolve into Martian princesses or spaceship-building geniuses.
And as for terraforming Mars, that old pipe dream has evolved into hard science. Discussions now revolve around CO₂ importation, artificial magnetospheres, and genetically engineered algae. But let me say this plainly: terraforming remains a Sisyphean task, one best suited to a species that has solved its own planetary problems first. Right now, Earth’s oceans are rising faster than our Martian ambitions.
Still, the land rush I predicted is quietly underway—only it’s not homesteaders in covered wagons; it’s private corporations and consortia of nation-states staking claims for resources, prestige, and footholds on the Red Planet. What no one predicted was how much of this land rush would happen virtually. Space enthusiasts buy Martian “plots” online (a scam, if you ask me), while actual scientists argue over legal frameworks for off-world mineral rights. And yes, if Japan—or SpaceX or China—decides to set up customs at the gates to their Martian colony, you’d better have your visa fees ready. Don’t be surprised if you’re charged a premium for a window seat on the trip back.
In summary, Mars remains a mystery—but not the romantic kind I once dreamed of. It’s not Barsoom; it’s a stubborn, lifeless rock that nonetheless holds our fascination. If intelligent life is there, it’s likely us, slogging across the regolith, still wondering why we came in the first place.Travel
A thousand miles an hour is still commonplace, though not exactly at the prices I once imagined. Those suborbital hops that were a gleam in our eyes back in 1950? They've come true—New York to Tokyo in under two hours, if you can afford the fare. But the cost is no longer measured in "cents" of any kind. In 1950, I scaled by the dollar; in 1965, I hinted at the barter hamburger; by 1980, I was using troy ounces of gold. Now? It's all about energy credits, carbon offsets, and digital tokens pegged to who-knows-what. A "cheap" ride will still cost you enough to remind you that luxury has its price.
As for the hundred-dollar hamburger I foresaw? That turned out to be an optimistic estimate. The $1000 hamburger arrived with lab-grown meat and vertical farming, and though it's more common than you'd think, it's not exactly abundant. Still, as long as humanity remains ingenious, there's always something edible at hand—if you're willing to trade your credits, your data, or maybe a bit of your privacy.
Evacuated subways? Ah, they're finally here. Hyperloop-like systems crisscross the continents, though not as universally as one might hope. Financing them took more than stabilized currency; it required reimagining what "money" even means. When economies teetered on the brink, it wasn't governments that saved them—it was distributed networks and self-organizing markets. Trust became the new currency, though we've yet to fully decide what that means.
And inflation? It's not that we've conquered it; we've just learned to live with it, like a chronic condition. You might pay for your ticket in credits backed by solar gigawatts or tokens tied to a rare earth metal you’ve never heard of. And gold? Still valuable, but mostly as a hedge for those who don’t trust the algorithms running the world.
So where are we? Still riding at a thousand miles an hour, still chasing the future, but with price tags that only make sense if you squint—or if you’ve given up entirely on understanding them. The dream of speed is alive, but its cost, as always, is measured in more than dollars or ounces of gold.Physics
The major objective of applied physics remains to control gravity, but we are no closer to that goal than we were in 1980. Gravity remains as elusive as ever—understood in principle, as per Einstein, but frustratingly resistant to direct manipulation. Yet, physicists persist, with quantum gravity theories ranging from the credible to the fantastical, including string theory, loop quantum gravity, and others that strain the limits of experimental verification. Somewhere in this tangle, the key to gravity control might lurk. Perhaps it’s waiting for the right combination of human ingenuity and computational power. Or perhaps it’s laughing at us from dimensions we cannot yet perceive.
Physics in 2025 is, if anything, even more anarchic than in 1980. The Standard Model, once the proud pinnacle of particle physics, now seems like an incomplete puzzle with too many mismatched pieces. The Higgs boson was celebrated as the capstone when its existence was confirmed in 2012, but the gaps in our understanding of dark matter, dark energy, and quantum gravity remain gaping. Dark matter—comprising about 27% of the universe—is still maddeningly invisible, and dark energy—around 68%—remains a mathematical placeholder for whatever force is flinging galaxies apart faster than ever. We’re left with just 5% of the universe that we actually understand. Talk about humbling.
Meanwhile, particle physicists are drowning in “excesses.” Every few months, some new anomaly—an unexpected blip in the data from CERN, Fermilab, or elsewhere—promises to shatter the Standard Model. These anomalies spawn theories faster than they can be falsified, creating an intellectual Wild West of speculative physics. Super-symmetry? Dead and buried, according to some. Revived and reinterpreted, according to others. New particles beyond the Standard Model? It depends on whom you ask—and whether the data holds up to scrutiny next year.
Quarks, for all their charm (and spin, and color), remain confined to their “bags,” just as Dr. Kenneth Johnson predicted decades ago. The dream of isolating a single quark has been thoroughly abandoned, but the deeper nature of confinement remains a mystery. Theoretical physicists now speak of "emergence" with reverence, hinting that the phenomena we observe in the quantum world may not have simple building blocks at all. Instead, reality itself may arise from some deeper, stranger principle—one that defies intuition altogether. This is not an age for the faint of heart.
And then there’s quantum computing, the wildcard in this unfolding drama. What was a hypothetical curiosity in 1980 is now a rapidly advancing field, with machines capable of solving problems that would stymie classical computers for millennia. These devices, with their entangled qubits and spooky action at a distance, are already revealing glimpses of quantum dynamics too complex for human minds to fathom. Some physicists whisper that a sufficiently advanced quantum computer might uncover truths about gravity or the fundamental nature of the universe that no experiment ever could. Others fear such machines might simply drown us in data, deepening the confusion.
As for cosmology, the scale of the universe continues to grow—not just in physical size but in conceptual complexity. The multiverse hypothesis, once the domain of speculative fiction, is now taken seriously in certain corners of academia. Inflationary models of the universe suggest that our cosmos might be just one bubble in an infinite, ever-expanding foam of realities. If true, it’s an exhilarating and terrifying thought: the laws of physics as we know them may not be universal but merely local conditions in our particular patch of existence.
So here we are, in the Golden Age of physics—or perhaps its Age of Babel. Theories abound, data pours in, and our models grow ever more intricate. Control of gravity remains a distant hope, tantalizingly out of reach. And the galaxy? It’s still there, waiting, but the odds of reaching it feel no better—or worse—than they did 75 years ago. If the past is any guide, the future will bring breakthroughs that no one today can predict, accompanied by questions we have not yet thought to ask.
For now, I recommend patience—and perhaps a fresh reading of The Hunting of the Snark. Reality may turn out to be even stranger than a boojum.Global Politics
We will not achieve a true “World State” within any foreseeable future. However, I stand by my conviction that centralized, collectivist ideologies, whether they call themselves Communist, Marxist, or any other banner, cannot long endure. They collapse under the weight of their own internal contradictions and their inability to reconcile human nature with rigid ideology.
In 1950, I believed Communism would vanish from the planet. By 1965, I reiterated my stance. In 1980, I hedged slightly, observing the vast swaths of the globe painted red—or claiming to be. Yet here we are, in 2025, and the ideological empires that once seemed monolithic have fractured, morphed, and in many cases, outright dissolved.
Marx's utopia does not and will not fit human beings. The state, under any collectivist doctrine, will never “wither away.” Human beings are too messy, too competitive, too curious, too ambitious. Those qualities are both our blessing and our curse—they make us resistant to tyranny but also prone to creating new ones.
Today, the world is no longer carved into two stark ideologies, as it was during the Cold War. Instead, we face a different kind of fragmentation: global corporations behaving like sovereign states; decentralized digital currencies challenging the very concept of centralized economies; and artificial intelligence operating beyond the grasp of any single government. Ironically, the future doesn't look like the monolithic nightmares Orwell or Marx envisioned—it looks chaotic, multipolar, and constantly shifting.
The optimistic part of me sees this chaos as a kind of freedom—perhaps the only freedom humanity can manage. The pessimist in me wonders if this endless fragmentation will doom us to conflict without end. Either way, one thing is clear: humanity is not built for utopia, but we endure. If anything, our stubborn refusal to conform to any singular ideology is proof of that.
So, to borrow my own phrase from decades ago: I stand flatly behind the first sentence of that prediction. The second part, about Communism vanishing, I can finally say was accurate in the broad strokes. But as I look at the endless variety of political, economic, and technological experiments we’ve embraced, I realize that the future will not belong to any single system. It will belong to human nature—flawed, glorious, and endlessly unpredictable.U.S. Federalism
The erosion of state lines is now all but complete—not through constitutional amendment, but by the creeping dominion of digital centralization and federal standardization. The United States, in function if not in form, has become a single, homogenized entity with a veneer of local autonomy. State governments remain as historical relics, useful for ceremony or minor administration, but true power resides in the labyrinthine structures of federal agencies and global corporations, which increasingly operate without geographic anchor. Elections are nationwide spectacles, influenced more by algorithms than by geography, and the concept of state-based identity feels as quaint as horse-drawn carriages. A citizen today can live entirely online, their physical location irrelevant, as long as they can connect to the network. It seems that mobility, once feared as a threat to stability, has instead dissolved boundaries altogether.
Air Travel
The prediction stands, but let me reframe it for our times: the giant radar net has evolved into a sprawling, global network of satellite constellations, AI-driven algorithms, and automated control centers. It's not just continent-wide anymore—it's planetary. And while it may sound like science fiction, it’s real. The skies are managed by systems like NexGen+ and EuroSky, their electronic “brains” capable of choreographing millions of flights annually with remarkable precision. Yet, the human element remains, not as the primary decision-maker but as a vigilant overseer, ready to intervene when the machine hiccups. Murphy's Law remains undefeated.
Of course, this is no utopia. The system works beautifully for commercial aviation, but small, private planes have been nudged into their own digital ghettos—secondary networks and air corridors deemed “safe” but far less convenient. And drones—don’t get me started on drones! They’re everywhere now, swarming like mechanical gnats in low-altitude airspace, complicating life for pilots and controllers alike.
Why has it taken so long to get here? The same reasons I grumbled about decades ago: cost, bureaucracy, and our own stubborn refusal to let go of outdated methods until forced by catastrophe. It took a handful of near-disasters, a couple of tragic collisions, and a sustained lobbying effort by tech giants (not airlines, mind you) to push this system into full implementation.
As for me, I still fly—though with mixed feelings. On one hand, I marvel at the precision of a landing so smooth it feels like a magician’s trick. On the other, I lament the dwindling romance of aviation. It’s all too sanitized now, too predictable. No pilot’s flair, no margin for human creativity. We traded spontaneity for safety. A good deal, yes—but one that leaves an old romantic like me feeling a bit wistful.
If you’re wondering about alternatives, well, commercial flight still beats the pants off riding a Hyperloop (claustrophobia!), autonomous electric buses (ugh—those things corner like a brick on wheels), or trusting your life to a self-driving car on a freeway jammed with vehicles that still, inexplicably, include humans behind the wheel. For longer distances, flying remains king, even if the crown is worn a bit askew.
And to the engineers still fine-tuning this system, I say: good work, but don’t stop. You’ve tamed the skies—for now. But remember, even the most sophisticated machine is just a moment away from reminding us that perfection is unattainable. Stay humble. Stay alert.Global Food Supply
Algae, lab-cultured meat, and insect protein have become staples of the global diet, addressing sustainability and resource scarcity. Beef is now a rare indulgence, heavily taxed for its environmental impact, and traditional lamb and mutton farming are nearly extinct. Synthetic proteins, bioengineered to mimic taste and texture, dominate both high-end cuisine and everyday meals. Hunger remains a global issue—less a matter of supply than of distribution and political will.
Civilizational and Human Survival
Mankind will not destroy itself, nor will “Civilization” meet its end, despite the doomsayers who now wield AI models and climate forecasts instead of pulp fiction. I stand by the principle that humanity's capacity for survival exceeds its knack for self-destruction. There will be crises—economic collapses, resource struggles, cyber wars, and yes, possibly localized use of weapons of mass destruction. But the all-consuming global apocalypse beloved by dystopian storytellers will remain a myth.
Why? Because the strongest powers of our age—the United States, China, and the European Union—alongside influential rising players like India and Brazil, have far too much at stake to risk annihilation. These nations are locked in a tense but symbiotic competition that no one dares upset completely. Despite what the news cycle tells you, the leaders of these powers—however misguided or despotic—are not foolish enough to light the world on fire. They have learned, as their predecessors did, that mutual destruction is bad for business.
And if a rogue state or fringe actor—say North Korea, a breakaway Russian faction, or a militant network—tries to escalate things, they’ll be met with something stronger than bombs: unified global deterrence. In the age of instantaneous surveillance and interconnected systems, a nuclear launch would be tracked, intercepted, and responded to before it left the atmosphere. Even the most unstable governments know this. They might rattle the saber for headlines, but they understand that a single misstep means erasure.
What has changed since 1950? The actors have evolved, and so have the stakes. The split in Communist International has been replaced by fractures between ideological factions within nations. AI, climate disruption, and technological inequality have replaced the Red Menace as existential threats. But the outcome remains the same: those who control the levers of power know that cooperation—however grudging—beats extinction.
Mankind is stubborn, resourceful, and maddeningly reckless. But we are also, for better or worse, addicted to survival. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t—not in 2025 or the decades to come.
Questions or comments? Please share your thoughts!
I’’ve completed Adrian Tchaikovsky’s Children of Ruin, the second book in his Hugo-Award winning Children of Time trilogy. I’m sharing my thoughts on Club Codex, where any Cosmic Codex subscriber can follow along, comment, or ask questions.
From this week’s post:
“Even Avrana Kern, a cardboard villain in the first book, becomes a sympathetic character here.
“And the major threat introduced in the second half of the novel goes from being genuinely frightening to being a deep and fascinating study in truly alien intelligence.”
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"The Worlds of Robert A. Heinlein, published in 1966...includes an introduction entitled "Pandora's Box" that describes some difficulties in making predictions about the near future. Heinlein outlines some of the predictions that he made in 1949 (published in 1952) and examines how well they stood up to about 15 years of progress in 1965. The prediction was originally published in Galaxy magazine" https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Worlds_of_Robert_A._Heinlein