Minutes before the town hall forum was scheduled to begin, cheers and whistles erupted in the crowd. Reverend Belinas had arrived. The preacher wore a dramatic white gown, embroidered with gold and purple bands on its sleeves—the colors of his church and movement. His presence quickly divided the crowd in half; like a saint parting a waterway, he walked through the protestors towards the rotunda. Some followers cried and got down on their knees, casting prayers and wishes his way. Others pushed in and desperately tried to touch him.
Belinas was the self-appointed leader of Redeem Church, the fastest growing religious trend in America. Besides its quasi-evangelical Christian practices and loud anti-transhumanist agenda, his church was increasingly known for its strong governmental ties and massive financial resources. People trusted Belinas with their money and power because of his unequivocal faith in God, his unblemished piety, and his intense devotion to the world’s poor. He was, as the media often reported, “an authentic Christian leader who takes orders directly from the Lord—and no one else.”
Walking through the crowd he saw a disfigured paraplegic man in a wheelchair, holding a sign: FAITH IN GOD—NOT TRANSHUMAN SCIENCE.
Belinas stopped, knelt on one knee, and prayed with him, tightly clasping the man’s hands. The crowd around them went silent for thirty seconds, until they finished. Then the preacher was on his way again, hurrying up the steps to the rotunda, a determined look in his eyes. Behind him the crowd waved and cheered.
The motorcade for the President of the United States arrived last, ten minutes late. Spectators clapped and whistled. Others cursed and yelled. Some simply watched, unsure of what to think or feel. The President, surrounded by tall Secret Service men, waved casually to the people as he climbed out of his vehicle and walked towards the rotunda. The Leader of the Free World bore a bemused smile.
Inside the rotunda were forty narrow tables with three chairs apiece, loosely arranged in a circular format by quarter sections. Each table had a microphones on it. The President, senators, and various governors, as well as the university chancellor, sat near the north wall in one section. A huge, imposing American flag hung behind them. Another fourth of the tables were occupied by clergymen, anti-transhumanist group leaders, and preachers like Reverend Belinas. In the third section sat thirty-five students, professors, and business people who were included to give the event a town hall feel.
In the last section was a small team of transhumanists: two robotic designers, a geneticist, a cryonics specialist, a cyborg technologist, a longevity scientist, a virologist, a cloning expert, a biotech ethicist, and an artificial intelligence programmer. Representing them were Dr. Preston Langmore and Dr. Nathan Cohen. Towering behind this group was a squad of eight-foot-tall bronze statues: Roman soldiers bearing spears; they were part of the building’s historical decor. It made the transhumanists appear as if they were under guard and on trial.
Scattered everywhere else in the rotunda, both kneeling and standing, were news teams with their equipment.
The university chancellor grabbed his microphone and stood up, loudly clearing his throat. The inside of the noisy rotunda quickly came to order.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. It is with great honor that I welcome the President of the United States, our esteemed senators and governors, and other guests, to our town hall forum at Victoria University.”
There was clapping in the audience and flashes from reporters’ cameras.
“We have all come here together today to discuss the future of technology and science for our country's safety and civil order as it relates to transhuman ideas, and to give pause as we carefully consider concepts that have the power to forever alter the human race for better—or possibly for far worse.”
The chancellor continued his opening speech, meandering through carefully crafted sentences, lauding the current administration’s running of the country, while subtly cautioning it against social upheaval created by transhumanism. When he turned the floor over to the Senator from Kansas, the short, obese politician reiterated the same generalities, the same embellishments over the handling of the country's welfare, and the same insistence on a conservative methodology when dealing with anything unorthodox—such as transhuman science.
“America must remain a responsible, cautious, and slowly adapting country,” said the senator, bumbling on. “These are truly challenging social times that call for patience from all walks of life in our great and diversified land.”
Afterward, still another official, Senator Shuman from Texas, reached for his microphone and repeated the same bland cautionary statements as the former speakers, smiling broadly for the constant photographs being snapped.
Jethro Knights and Gregory Michaelson sat with other invited philosophy students, watching. Jethro was anxious to hear what changes and conclusions the forum would bring about. Obviously, leaders of the government wanted to stop terrorism across the country and let transhuman scientists improve the human condition, Jethro assumed. He knew this forum was being heralded as a breakthrough moment for the transhuman movement. After the landmine incident in the Congo—something he replayed daily in his head—he felt more strongly than ever that he was going to dedicate all his life’s energy to this movement's success. He was excited to be there that evening.
Jethro waited in his seat, his eyes fixed on the famous speakers to say something, to do something, for the government to step up and announce important policy changes and brave new directions—so the country could embrace the future, and science could lead the way forward. Human advancement via applied science and technology was obvious, wasn't it? Everyone wanted to better themselves and become the best they could be, now that modern technology was so powerful and capable. It was the only rational path conscious entities immersed in evolution could take.
But those speeches did not come. Instead, he heard empty words, empty meanings, like an absurdly long drawn-out handshake, designed to give the effect of playing nice and hoping for the best, but without ever grabbing hold of anything substantial to shake. He heard the words, God, peace, unity, decency, equality, caution, responsibility, and faith mentioned many times, sometimes twice in the same sentence. He heard talk of everyone moving together as one society, as one culture, and deciding slowly—for our children, for our grandchildren—where we wanted to go as a people, as a nation. The substance of the speeches was less than tangible, less than conclusive. It was borderline pathological gibberish. Was no one going to stand up and say something real? Even if it was to deeply criticize transhumanism?
Jethro looked around at the blank faces and wondered if only he noticed this. Everyone frolicked, smiling for their constituencies, the public, and the press—comfortable only to say nothing controversial. Jethro looked at the town hall forum brochure he had received at the door and saw that fourteen of the sixteen statespersons present were lawyers, including the President. Where were the philosopher rulers? All he saw was the pettifoggers—many of whom had never created a damn thing in their lives, he thought. Many of whom had never taken a brave step alone anywhere. Many of whom had never had an independent thought on anything. The same damn ones fronting special interest groups and not the nation’s people and their highest interests. Deep inside Jethro, a dreadful feeling dawned, a feeling that further spoiled his belief in the American system and its government, which were strangling transhumanism.
Gregory Michaelson felt poles apart from Jethro. He was at home with the speeches. The Texas Senator's meandering voice was pleasant and soothing. Gregory yawned, noticing the gray suit the politician wore—possibly a recommendation of his father’s. He was a good friend of the family’s, after all. It didn’t fit him that well, though, Gregory thought. He's old and his shoulders can’t hold up good suits anymore, at least not without custom tailoring. What a pity to lose style. Now the U.S. President—whom he personally met twice before—sat there coolly, as if on a beach in the Cayman Islands. He wore a solid Italian suit with gold cuffs. Ve
ry classy, yet just conservative enough. On the other hand, his expression could use some work, thought Gregory, smiling with mock approval. He's betraying too much boredom. He's probably thinking about the basketball lineup for the college playoff games this coming weekend. South Carolina versus Indiana. Arizona versus Oregon. And why not? Gregory was doing the same, even though his logic final was tomorrow, the last of his tests before next week's graduation.
For a moment, Gregory considered why everyone was at this much-hyped forum. Truth was, it was all just too much. Too dramatic. Too much hero in it, this transhumanism life extension stuff. Who wants to live forever anyway? And be bionic and perfect? To go through this, day in and day out? Eighty or so years was plenty. It seemed so much less taxing to dress well, be polite, put all your rules in one small book, and control everyone from there—including yourself. It was just easier to follow the status quo. He had always believed the status quo was beautiful and correct. It had worked for centuries, hadn't it? What was wrong with believing in God anyway, whether he existed or not? Sunday church was only an hour. Leave Him at the door if that's all you feel. Everyone is happy then. The seas remain smooth.
Gregory was the worst type of believer, but not atypical. He believed, but he was one who didn’t care to even find out if it was worth believing. One who accepted responsibility for as little as possible regarding his faith. Just enough to get noticed for doing the job properly. Life was good, he thought, as long as nothing was too deep. Nothing too serious. Nothing to sweat over. Being human was too amusing to complicate it with worries about the drama of dying someday. He yawned again, looking at his watch.
Eight seats over, Jethro sat frustrated, his anger mounting. His hands tightly gripped the edge of the table in front of him, pushing it towards the center of the Earth. Only thirty minutes into the town hall forum, he realized how serious a failure the event was already. He felt naïve and ashamed for hoping it might help, and even transform, the transhuman movement. He slapped his right hand on his face, fighting off the dreary ineptitude and falseness all around him. Normally unfeeling and disconnected from others, the reality of imbecilic officials and their anti-transhumanist notions directly affected him. It would directly affect his life—and possible death—if he didn’t do something about it.
Jethro thought of the landmine again and could hear the clicking noise in his head. These people were that landmine. A much more vicious type. They aimed to paralyze him, to jeopardize his future, to degrade his brilliant life into passive mediocrity and subservience—with the end goal of death as their final slap in the face. They needed to get out of the way with their stupid ritual of empty talk and waffling. Enough of this nonsense, he felt. Let’s just get to work. We don’t have to die. Death is a disease, not a rule. The human body is just a start, not a coffin.
************
Nearly an hour into the Transhumanism Town Hall Forum, another senator, ballooning with niceties, motioned his hand towards Dr. Preston Langmore and introduced him as one of the most prominent spokespersons of the transhuman movement. The senator invited Langmore to offer suggestions for how a peaceful and practical integration of life extension and human enhancement science into American culture might be achieved.
Langmore smiled and stood up. “Good afternoon, Mr. President, senators, students, professors of Victoria, and others in the audience. It’s nice to be back on campus. And, of course, to see how things haven’t changed.”
Muffled laughter rippled out. Langmore, the President, and many of the politicians and business leaders had formerly studied or taught at Victoria. The university remained both a breeding ground and a battlefield for progressive politics, demonstrations, and even new social movements.
“But what brings me here today is even more urgent than the clashes we saw years ago. We are on the verge of so much scientific change that governments and citizens can no longer deny it’s here, they can no longer deny it's actually happening. Soon, artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, cryonics reanimation, and a practical sentience for our species through science will arrive. Soon, the field of transhumanism will transport all peoples to healthier, more fulfilling lives. And if we in America don’t lead these changes on our planet, then China, Russia, Germany, or some other nation will. And wouldn't it be a shame to see the United States lose its longstanding global dominance of scientific advancement and achievement?”
Langmore paused, looking about the rotunda. “My fellow citizens, we are on the edge of a vast transformation of existence—one that may hold the key to massive leaps in intellectual history, technology, quality of life, and yes, even spirituality.”
Fifteen meters away, Reverend Belinas frowned.
Langmore continued his speech, and it remained compelling for the first two minutes. But then he downshifted, leading everyone laboriously through the history of transhumanism and the arcane parts of its science and technology. Although scientists were rarely exciting public speakers, this crowd spent their lives around professional speakers and demanded far more. Soon the President tired. The senators and governors eyed their cell phones. Students yawned and texted one another. Others glanced at their watches.
Six minutes later, the impatient Senator from New Hampshire interrupted the scientist. “Dr. Langmore, we know all this. And we all know the current state of affairs with the transhuman movement. There’s no question about the possibilities of some of the science, if taken cautiously. But what we want to know is why there’s been such a recent uptick in violence and animosity regarding the movement. Two years ago it was a side issue. This year, it’s tearing the country apart. I haven’t seen this much polarization since the abortion struggles thirty years ago. With 20 percent unemployment, we don’t have money or time for polarization. We all want to know what can be done about it. What is the right direction forward?”
“That’s exactly right, Senator,” said the President, speaking for the first time. “Dr. Langmore, domestic terrorist attacks are occurring everywhere in the country, fifty million people are unemployed, and many religious Americans believe we are quickly nearing the biblical end of time. We want concrete answers about how to steer this ship of modern technology and science you're carrying that's causing such heated controversy. You're one of the leaders of the movement. Give us ideas to consider and we'll consider them.”
Langmore looked dubious, “With all due respect, Mr. President, using your analogy, we can’t steer a ship that’s never left dock. And with the way the dictatorial National Association of Health is right now, our oppressed movement isn’t a ship, but a raft at best, crudely put together with yarn, twigs, and a few rusty nails. We need real policies and real funding to construct a sturdy vessel and get it sailing out of the harbor so that people can benefit from its scientific advancements. We need government to either support us or move out of the way. Transhuman science is the greatest potentiality of our lifetimes. Let me repeat that: Transhuman science is the greatest potentiality of our lifetimes.”
“Now, take it easy, Dr. Langmore,” the President said carefully. He leaned in on the table, towards his microphone. “You know we can’t just order the National Association of Health to repeal the rules it has made, or to freely dole out money for transhuman scientists and their research. Government is an important player in this, regardless of how you feel about it.”
Over the last decade, the National Association of Health—or NAH, the U.S. Government’s health arm—single-handedly squashed most public funding for transhumanism and experimental life extension ideas. But far worse, it also imposed esoteric laws passed by Congress that forbade testing of many of those ideas in the private sector. The industries of cryonics, cloning, stem cells, genetic alteration, and human enhancement were drowning, half dead in the water. A rogue group of right-wing politicians, those who considered Sunday church a central part of their existence, pieced together the new anti-transhumanism research laws—largely under the radar of the public. They became caveats of large
r political agendas, as the country withdrew into a deep, enduring economic slowdown. One year it was to limit the stem cell strains to five variations. The next year it was to retract millions of dollars of government funding for cryonics until more ethics reports were completed on the subject. The following year a massive government institute, the Fountain Center, which focused on downloading consciousness into computers—the pinnacle of neurotech—was shut down indefinitely.
Politicians said the institute and its programs were of no immediate help to the public, despite its being the world leader in the neurotechnology field. Eighteen months later, the institute was remodeled into a development center to care for American children with severe autism. The lead senator who pushed the bill through told the press how proud he was to create 318 jobs at the new autism institute. He failed to mention that an independent study group believed the Fountain Center’s research and technology, if allowed to develop over the next quarter century, would eventually spawn over 500,000 new high-paying jobs by utterly transforming the field of neuroscience—let alone what benefits it might have brought to many millions of people and their brains.
Scientists cried wolf and lobbied against the NAH’s anti-transhumanist ways. But amongst the deteriorating economic conditions around the nation, the public shrugged. It was easier to worry about discount superstore yellow-tag specials, what new free voucher the government was issuing, and which married Hollywood star might be having an affair. The brazen television behemoth IMN wouldn’t even comment on the cutbacks or new anti-transhumanism laws. It was their method of contributing to the decline of ideas that were in opposition to conservative politics and what their leading news anchor famously trumpeted “the very smart word of the Bible.”
The Transhumanist Wager Page 4