Humanity before the human being: when the future sacrifices the present

Saving lives in poorer countries may have significantly smaller ripple effects than saving and improving lives in richer countries. Why? Wealthier countries generate far more innovation, and their workers are much more economically productive.” This is what Nicholas Beckstead, a proponent of longtermism, wrote in his doctoral thesis in philosophy. If innovation and economic productivity represent our only units of measurement for evaluating the future and the well-being of future generations, then why do we spend time aspiring to a more just and equitable world?

Originating in the United States, longtermism assumes as a current moral priority the need to influence the long and very long-term future in the best possible way for generations to come. It represents one of the main causes addressed by a particularly influential movement in Silicon Valley, known as “effective altruism,” which, grounded in utilitarian ethics, aims to maximize the good achieved for each unit of money donated by applying reason and a scientific approach to philanthropy.

In his book “The Man Who Wants to Solve the Future” (2023), journalist Fabio Chiusi attempts to answer fundamental questions for understanding longtermism: if protecting the collective good — particularly that of future generations — is considered the most meaningful action we can take, what means are justified? What do we mean by “collectivity,” and who are we leaving out?

Longtermism holds that the potential of the human species (and its full expression) must be protected at all costs, and that it takes precedence over any other moral obligation. In this view, humanity comes before the human, the collective before the individual, and the future before the present. It is not the individual or the community that must survive, but the capabilities of the human species. Longtermism considers extinction a tragedy, primarily because it would prevent humanity from realizing its potential by colonizing space and creating new advanced civilizations. From this perspective, contemporary challenges such as wars and inequalities, as long as they do not threaten total extinction, become secondary. This is precisely what Beckstead refers to when he argues that lives in poorer countries are less necessary than those in richer ones: resources should be spent on those more capable of protecting human potential in the very long term.

In longtermist thinking, the level of development of a society appears to be measured by its economic wealth and its degree of technological advancement. The dominance of reason thus ends up coinciding with that of the few who master it exceptionally well. By contrast, the role of institutions is pushed into the background, since regulation does not guarantee the “maximum expression” of human potential.

Ensuring the future is a noble goal, but it does not necessarily imply democratic outcomes. Academic Langdon Winner, in his book “The Whale and the Reactor” (1987), showed how technology, in particular, is never neutral but deeply intertwined with power dynamics.

Longtermism aligns with certain elements of thought among members of the technological elite, including Elon Musk and Peter Thiel. The latter has long supported Republican and libertarian candidates who are skeptical of state regulation and even democracy itself. Thiel’s support (primarily financial) is crucial for understanding his longtermist vision, because if protecting humanity constitutes the ultimate imperative, it becomes acceptable to reject any obstacle — whether regulation or humanitarian action — that might threaten it. In this context, the state, the body that is by definition responsible for regulation, can only be seen as an obstacle.

For Musk, longtermist thinking also serves to justify his expansionist ambitions, from SpaceX to Optimus. If the future existence of sentient robots constitutes a threat to humanity, the response is not to ban their development or stigmatize their adoption. On the contrary, according to Musk, they should be widely disseminated, provided they are designed to act in a “benevolent” way and aimed at collective well-being. Following the same logic, resources should not be used to solve present crises, but to anticipate future interstellar exploration. This would ensure humanity’s survival elsewhere, abandoning a planet torn apart by disasters, wars, or climate change — exacerbated, moreover, by the misuse of resources.

A strong faith in technology and the systematic rejection of state regulation (along with a vision of success as the extreme concentration of money, power, and influence, and the belief that the visionary entrepreneur should be able to act without constraints) give shape to what Evgeny Morozov (2014) has defined as “technological solutionism”: the idea that political, social, and economic problems can — and should — be addressed as technical challenges, reducible to logics of efficiency, calculation, and innovation. An idea perfectly aligned with the proponents of longtermism and those who support it.

At this point, it remains to be understood to what extent this current represents an ideological and, above all, political risk. Longtermism is supported by an elite endowed with high levels of capability and resources, as well as what its proponents themselves define as “transgenerational empathy.” As such, the movement appears necessary and benevolent.

However, as philosopher Emile P. Torres observes in a series of critical articles published in Aeon, Salon, and Current Affairs, this system of thought may prove far from neutral or harmless. Torres particularly criticizes longtermism’s tendency to prioritize the abstract concept of “human potential” over the concrete and present needs of individuals. This vision, based on a radical utilitarian calculation, risks justifying policies that sacrifice present rights and lives in the name of a hypothetical and undefined future.

Another problematic aspect concerns the management of priorities: if moral value is measured based on the amount of potential happiness and wealth in the future, then devastating but not existentially destructive phenomena — such as wars, pandemics, or global inequalities — risk being considered minor “collateral damage” compared to potential threats to humanity’s overall potential.

In summary, this approach entails a concrete risk of legitimizing inequalities and elitist policies, especially if longtermist arguments reach positions of power through donations and collaborations. Believing that we can act without constraints while safeguarding the future more than the present cannot fit within political logic.

When a part of the billionaire elite adopts such a solutionist vision, a seemingly harmless movement risks turning into a tool that prioritizes hypothetical future scenarios over the concrete injustices of the present.

Caption Instagram (ita e ingl)

Quanto lontano siamo disposti a guardare, quando è il futuro a determinare il valore delle vite oggi? Il lungoterminismo nasce con l’obiettivo di proteggere il “potenziale dell’umanità” — e quindi le generazioni future, anche nel lunghissimo periodo. Ma solleva una questione fondamentale: chi resta escluso quando il futuro conta più del presente?

How far are we willing to look ahead, when the future determines the value of lives today?

Longtermism emerges with the aim of protecting the “potential of humanity” — and therefore future generations, even in the very long term. But it raises a fundamental question: who is left out when the future matters more than the present?