by Michio Kaku
Molly then sends Karen your profile in a video mail.
That night, you relax by having some of your coworkers come over for beer and to watch some football. Your friends could have watched the game by appearing in your living room via holographic images, but somehow, cheering for the home team is more enjoyable with your friends joining in the excitement in person. You smile, imagining that this is probably how it was thousands of years ago, when cavemen had to bond with one another.
Suddenly, the entire living room is illuminated, and it appears as if you are right on the football field, at the 50-yard line. As the quarterback makes a forward pass, you stand right next to him. The game is being played all around you.
During halftime, you and your friends begin sizing up the players. Over beer and popcorn, you hotly debate who trains the most, practices the hardest, has the best coaches, and has the best gene therapist. Your home team, you all agree, has the best geneticist in the league, with the best genes that money can buy.
After your friends have left, you still are too excited to go to sleep. So you decide to play a quick game of poker before turning in.
“Molly,” you ask, “it’s late, but I want to set up a game of poker. I’m feeling lucky. Someone must be awake in England, China, India, or Russia who might want to play a few hands right now.”
“No problem,” says Molly. A number of promising faces appear on the screen. As the 3-D images of each player materialize in your living room, you relish the idea of seeing who can bluff the best. It’s funny, you say to yourself, that you are more familiar with people in distant countries, thousands of miles away, than with your next-door neighbors. National boundaries don’t mean much these days.
Finally, just before you finally turn in, Molly interrupts you again, appearing in the bathroom mirror.
“John, Karen accepted your invitation. Everything is set for this weekend. I will make a reservation at that new restaurant. Do you want to see the profile that she wrote about herself? Do you want me to scan the Internet to verify the accuracy of her profile? People have been known to … ah … lie about their profiles.”
“No,” you say. “Let’s keep it a surprise for the weekend.” After that poker game, you feel lucky again.
THE WEEKEND
It’s the weekend now, and time to go shopping and buy a present for Kevin. “Molly, put the mall on the screen.”
The mall suddenly appears on the wall screen. You wave your arms and fingers, and the image on the wall screen traces a path through the mall. You take a virtual tour until you arrive at the image of the toy store. Yes, they have exactly the toy robot pets you want. You telepathically order the car to take you to the mall. (You could have ordered the toy online. Or you could have had the blueprints e-mailed to you, and then had your fabricator materialize the toy at home from scratch using programmable matter. But it’s always good to get out of the apartment and shop once in a while.)
Cruising in your magnetic car, you look outside and see people taking a walk. It’s such a nice day. You also see robots of all sorts. Robots to walk the dog. Robot clerks, cooks, receptionists, and pets. It seems that every task that is dangerous, repetitive, or requires only the simplest human interaction is being duplicated by robots. In fact, robots are now big business. All around you, you see ads for anyone who can repair, service, upgrade, or build robots. Anyone in the field of robotics has a bright future. The robot business is bigger than the automobile industry of the last century. And most of the robots, you realize, are hidden from view, silently repairing the city’s infrastructure and maintaining essential services.
When you reach the toy store, a robot clerk greets you at the entrance. “Can I help you,” it says.
“Yes, I want to buy a robot dog.”
You look over the latest robot dogs. Amazing what these pet robots can do, you say to yourself. They can play, run, fetch, do anything a dog can do. Everything but pee on the carpet. Maybe that’s why parents buy them for their kids, you muse.
Then you say to the robot clerk, “I’m buying a robot pet for my six-year-old nephew. He’s a very intelligent, hands-on type of kid. But he’s also sometimes shy and quiet. What kind of dog might help bring him out of his shell?”
The robot replies, “I am sorry, sir. That is outside my programming. Perhaps I can interest you in a space toy?”
You forgot that robots, no matter how versatile, have a long way to go before they understand human behavior.
Then you go to the men’s department store. Time to replace that ratty old outfit of yours if you want to impress your date. You put on some designer suits. They all look stylish, but they are all the wrong size. You are disappointed. But then you take out your credit card, which contains all your precise 3-D measurements. Your data is fed into the computer, and then a new suit is being cut at a factory and will soon be delivered to your door. A perfect fit every time.
Last, you go to the supermarket. You scan all the chips hidden in each plastic item in the market, and then in your contact lenses you compare prices to see which store in the city has the cheapest, best products. No more guesswork about who has the lowest prices.
THE DATE
You have been looking forward to this date all week. Preparing to meet Karen, you are surprised that you feel like a schoolboy again. You decide that if you are going to invite her to your apartment after dinner, you will have to do some serious remodeling of your worn-out furniture. Fortunately, most of the kitchen counters and living room furniture is made of programmable matter.
“Molly,” you say, “can you show me the catalog of new kitchen counters and furniture offered by the manufacturer? I want to reprogram the furniture. It looks so old.”
Soon, the pictures of the latest furniture designs flash on the screen.
“Molly, please download the blueprints for this kitchen counter, that sofa, and this table, and then install them, please.”
While you are getting ready for your date, Molly downloads and installs the blueprints. Instantly, the kitchen countertop, living room sofa, and table begin to dissolve, turn into something that looks like putty, and then gradually re-form into the new shapes. In an hour, your apartment looks brand-new. (Recently, you were scanning the real estate section on the Internet, and noticed that houses made of programmable matter were becoming quite fashionable. In fact, at your engineering company, there are ambitious plans to create an entire city in the desert totally out of programmable matter. Push a button, and—poof!—an instant city.)
Your apartment still looks a bit drab, you decide. You wave your hand, and the pattern and color of the wallpaper change immediately. Having intelligent wallpaper certainly beats having to repaint the walls, you say to yourself.
You grab some flowers along the way, and finally pick up your date. You are pleasantly surprised. You hit it off right away. Something is clicking.
Over dinner, you find out that Karen is an artist. Normally, she jokes, she might be penniless, starving, and selling paintings along the sidewalk for a pittance. Instead, she is a very successful Web designer. In fact, she has her own company. Everyone, it seems, wants the very latest designs for the Web. There is such a huge demand for creative art.
She draws some circles in the air with her fingers, and some of her animations appear in thin air. “Here are some of my latest creations,” she says proudly.
You comment, “You know, as an engineer, I work with robots all day long. Some are pretty advanced, but they can also act pretty stupid at times. What about your field? Are robots making inroads?”
“Absolutely not,” she protests. Karen says she works exclusively with creative people, where the most prized commodity is imagination, something the most advanced robots lack.
“I may be old-fashioned, but in my field, we use robots only to make copies or do clerical work,” she says proudly. “I would like to see the day when robots can do something really original, like tell a joke, write a novel, or compose a symphony.�
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That hasn’t happened yet, but it might, you think to yourself.
While she is talking, a question crosses your mind. How old is she? Since the aging process was medically slowed years ago, people can be any age. Her Web site did not say how old she was. But she does not look a day over twenty-five.
After taking her home, you begin to idly daydream. What would it be like to live with a person like her? To spend the rest of your life with her? But there is something that is bothering you. It’s been nagging at you all day.
You face the wall screen and say, “Molly, please call Dr. Brown for me.” You are suddenly grateful that robotic doctors do house calls any time of the day. And they never complain or bellyache. It’s not part of their programming.
Dr. Brown’s image instantly appears on the wall screen. “Is there something bothering you, son?” he asks in a fatherly way.
“Doc, I have to ask you a question that’s been troubling me lately.”
“Yes, what is that?” asks Dr. Brown.
“Doc,” you say, “how long do you think I’ll live?”
“You mean what is your life expectancy? Well, we don’t really know. Your records say you are seventy-two years old, but biologically your organs are more like thirty years old. You were part of the first generation to be genetically reprogrammed to live longer. You chose to stop aging at around thirty. Not enough of your generation has died yet, so we have no data to work with. So we have no way of knowing how long you will live.”
“Then do you think I will live forever?” you ask.
“And be immortal?” Dr. Brown frowns. “No, I don’t think so. There is a big difference between someone who lives forever and someone who has a life span so long that it hasn’t been measured yet.”
“But if I don’t age,” you protest, “then how am I supposed to know when to get …” You stop yourself in midsentence. “Ah, okay … you see, I just met someone, ah, special, and, assuming I want to plan a life with her, how do I adjust the stages in my life to hers? If my generation hasn’t lived long enough to die,” you continue, “then how am I supposed to know when to get married, have kids, and plan for retirement? You know, how do I set the milestones in my life?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. You see, the human race is now a guinea pig of some sort,” says Dr. Brown. “I’m sorry, John. You are in uncharted waters here.”
NEXT FEW MONTHS
The next few months are a wonderful surprise for you and Karen. You take her to the virtual reality parlor, and have great fun living out silly, imaginary lives. Like being a kid again. You enter a vacant chamber. The software of a virtual world is beamed into your contact lenses, and the scenery instantly changes. In one program, you are fleeing dinosaurs, but everywhere you run, another dinosaur pops out of the bushes. In another program, you are battling space aliens or pirates trying to board your ship. In another, you decide to change species and morph into two eagles that are soaring in the air. And in another program, you are basking on a romantic South Sea island, or dancing in the moonlight with music gently floating in the air.
After a while, you and Karen want to try something new. Instead of living out imaginary lives, you decide to lead real ones. So, when you both have vacation time together, you decide to take a whirlwind tour through Europe.
You say to the wall, “Molly, Karen and I want to plan a European vacation. A real one. Please check on flights, hotels, and any specials. Then list possible shows or events that may interest us. You know our tastes.” In a few minutes, Molly has prepared a detailed itinerary.
Later, when walking through the ruins of the Roman Forum, you can see the Roman Empire resurrected in your contact lenses. Passing by the scattered columns, stones, and debris, you gaze on the might that was once Imperial Rome at the height of its glory.
And shopping is a delight, even when bargaining in the local shops in Italian. You can clearly see the translations appearing beneath the person you are talking to. And no more guidebooks and clumsy maps. Everything is in your contact lens.
At night, gazing at the night sky over Rome, you can clearly see the stars arranged into constellations in your contact lens. Glancing across the sky, you can see magnified images of the rings of Saturn, soaring comets, beautiful gas clouds, and exploding stars.
One day, Karen finally reveals a secret, her true age. It’s sixty-one. Somehow, that doesn’t seem very important anymore.
“So, Karen, do you feel happier now that we live so long?”
“Yes, yes!” she replies immediately. “You know, my grandmother lived in a time when women got married, had a family, and maybe squeezed in a career. But I like to feel that I’ve been reincarnated three times, with three careers, and never looked back. First, I was a tour guide in several countries, traveling the world. It was a wonderful life. Tourism is such a huge industry, with plenty of jobs. But later, I wanted to do something more relevant. So I became a lawyer, defending cases and people I cared about. And then, I decided to indulge my artistic side and started my Web design company. And you know something? I’m proud to say I never used a robot. No robot can be a personal tour guide, win a case in court, or produce beautiful artwork.”
Time will tell, you think to yourself.
“And are you planning a fourth career?” you ask.
“Well, maybe if something better comes along.” She smiles at you.
“Karen,” you finally say, “if we stop aging, then how do you know when the best time is for, you know, well, getting married, having kids, and raising a family? The biological clock went out the window decades ago. So I was thinking, maybe it’s time to settle down and have a family.”
“You mean have children?” Karen says, a bit surprised. “That’s something that I haven’t considered seriously. Well, until now, that is. It all depends on if the right man comes along,” she says, as she smiles mischievously at you.
Later, you and Karen discuss marriage, and what name you might choose for a kid, and also what genes you want the kid to have.
You go to the wall screen and say, “Molly, can you give me the list of the latest genes that have been approved by the government?” As you scan the list, you see the various genes for hair color, eye color, height, build, and even some personality traits that are now being offered. The list seems to grow every year. You also see the long list of hereditary diseases that can be cured. Since cystic fibrosis has run in your family for centuries, it is a relief not to have to worry about that anymore.
Scanning the list of approved genes, you feel that you are not just a future parent, but some sort of god, creating a child to order in your image.
Then Molly says, “There is a program that can analyze a baby’s DNA and then give a reasonable approximation of its future face, body shape, and personality. Do you want to download this program and see what your child might look like in the future?”
“No,” you say. “Some things should be left as a mystery.”
A YEAR LATER
Karen is now pregnant, but her doctors reassure her that there is no danger in taking a ride on the space elevator, which is now open to tourists.
“You know,” you admit to Karen, “as a kid, I always wanted to go into outer space. You know, do the astronaut thing. But one day I thought about sitting on top of millions of gallons of volatile rocket fuel that could explode with a single spark. Then my enthusiasm for space travel began to cool a bit. But the space elevator is different. Clean, safe, with no mess. That’s the way to go.”
As you and Karen get into the elevator, you see the operator push what looks like the Up button. You half expect to see the lingerie department. Instead, you feel yourself soaring into outer space. You feel the slow acceleration as you rapidly rise into the air. The gauge on the elevator reads, “10 miles, 20 miles, 30 miles …”
Outside, you see the scenery changing, second by second. One moment, you are staring at fluffy clouds passing by as you soar into the atmosphere. Then the sk
y changes from blue to purple to a deep black, and finally you see the stars surrounding you in all their splendor. You begin to make out the constellations as you have never seen them before, blazing away in the distance. The stars are not twinkling, as they appear from the earth, but staring brightly, as they have for billions of years.
The elevator slowly comes to a stop about 100 miles from the surface of the earth. From space, you see a dazzling sight that you previously saw only in pictures.
Looking down, you suddenly see the earth in an entirely new light. You see the oceans, the continents, and the lights of megacities that shine into outer space.
From space, the earth appears so serene that it’s hard to believe people once spilled blood fighting wars over silly borders. These nations still exist, but they seem so quaint, less relevant today, in an age when communication is instantaneous and ubiquitous.
As Karen puts her head on your shoulder, you begin to realize that you are witnessing the birth of a new planetary civilization. And your kid will be among the first citizens of this new civilization.
And then you take out an old, worn book from your back pocket, and read to her the words of someone who died more than 100 years ago. It reminds you of the challenges facing humanity before it attains a planetary civilization.
Mahatma Gandhi once wrote:
The Roots of Violence:
Wealth without work,
Pleasure without conscience,
Knowledge without character,
Commerce without morality,
Science without humanity,
Worship without sacrifice,
Politics without principles.
(The authors’ names refer to the books listed in Recommended Reading.)