The Transhumanist Wager

by Zoltan Istvan

  A massive movement around the United States and Europe under the slogan “Back to God, Back to the Land” exploded—led by Belinas. The more his religious ideas caught on, the more his congregation grew. The more his congregation grew, the more amenities and social assistance came to those who needed it. Soon other churches and religious organizations, not wanting to be left out or lose followers, started down the same path. Belinas' fame grew as the preacher who started it all, the undisputed leader and uniter of the movement.

  At first, members in the U.S. Government cautioned that his anti-tech teachings would help send the country farther into recession. But there was fear when politicians openly criticized Belinas' Redeem Church. It had simply become too populous to agitate. Belinas held real power by being able to tell his followers how to think and in which direction to vote. Besides, many conservative public officials saw his movement as the beginning of a country trying to find its soul in hard times—and not the decline of the nation. One conservative 82-year-old senator—with a habit of accidentally holding his cell phone upside down—compared it to the 1960s and the Summer of Love. He pointed out that some of those “hippies” ran the largest, most profitable companies in the nation, or were respected teachers, tradespeople, and civil servants. The senator insisted that the nation would find the right way forward, even if it appeared they were heading backward.

  The senator was wrong. A decade later, the net result of poverty-stricken areas of the country embracing deeper religious ideologies, anti-tech biases, and communal agrarian lifestyles was to magnify the already massive divide between the haves and have-nots. The difference between poor and rich grew to a historical high, ultimately aggravating the most needy and destitute to find a scapegoat for their problems. The transhumanists, the most vocal of the technology advocates, were a perfect fit. Belinas' plan was unfolding right on target.

  His congregation now had millions of voices and enormous resources in tow. Belinas’ lobbying in Washington grew until he was one the most aggressive and powerful anti-tech and anti-transhumanist public figures on the planet. His agenda was both compelling and persuasive.

  The USA Daily Tribune quoted Belinas as saying, “It’s technology and science that are keeping us away from God and our spiritual souls. That's why the world is spiraling downward in every way. And the leaders of this downward spiral are the atheist-minded scientists and technologists. Their priests, the transhumanists, aim to eliminate God altogether and bring about their so-called Singularity. This will be Armageddon—when the Book of Revelations is fulfilled, and the Four Horseman wreak terror upon the Earth.”

  He repeated the same message in his sermons, a special quality of panic always present in his eyes. When Belinas' power and reputation grew strong enough, he declared battle against the transhumanists, whom he deemed God-killers. He openly ordered tens of thousands of his followers to protest on city streets across America. Secretly, he also instructed the most militant of his flock to terrorize research laboratories, clinics, and universities where advanced experimentation was taking place on stem cells, artificial intelligence, cryonics, robotics, cloning, bionics, neurotech, and organ farming.

  In a few short months, underground civil unrest across America became commonplace. Bombings, kidnappings, and riots in odd, often low-populated areas spread across the country and into Europe. A Wisconsin university's artificial intelligence computer lab was bombed. The owner of a stem cell clinic in Montana was executed in his car while on the way to work. A private robotics research facility in New Mexico was broken into and lit on fire. The violence was spontaneous. There appeared no rhyme or reason to it all until the police and press connected transhumanism with each incident.

  When asked if he was going to use his “Man of the Year” image to restore peace and safety, Belinas was again quoted as saying, “Where there's gasoline, even a single match can cause great damage. Yet, I will do what I can to stem the violence. But let it be known that these events are way beyond the prayers and declarations of one man, or the philosophies of my congregation. They are the will of the downtrodden masses who have been tricked and choked for too many years. Behind them and their hearts is an angry, righteous God who demands submission and will not be defeated.”

  The following week, under tight security, the largest demonstration yet was held at the entrance of the 25th Anniversary Transhumanism Conference in New York City. Police and 10,000 demonstrators clashed. During opening night, a truck carrying three million dollars worth of science equipment was overturned and set afire. The drivers were beat upon and had to be rushed to the hospital in ambulances.

  Even though many police officers sympathized with the protestors, as did large swaths of the country, cops still insisted on doing their job. The peace was kept just enough for the conference to start and to get the attendees safely inside.

  Chapter 12

  After three years of working as the leading public defender in Queensbury, Gregory Michaelson was asked by Senator Shuman to join his political team as a personal aide. Gregory’s father helped secure the position for his son.

  “It'll be the perfect stepping stone to learn politics in Washington and to start becoming visible,” insisted the older Michaelson. Already, the father was positioning Gregory to take over his job as Senator of their native New York.

  “After that,” he continued, “it's all yours, son—anything. The top stone of the pyramid if you play the game right. And you’d better play it right.”

  Gregory doubted if he was as ambitious as his father hoped. Politics carried a titanic commitment and workload—he hardly remembered his dad being home during his youth. More similar to his mother, Gregory gravitated towards being an expert socialite. Night after night, he and his wife Amanda attended social events or entertained guests, sending their two children to their suites early—each tucked into bed by their personal live-in nannies.

  In Washington, D.C., Gregory and Amanda bought a historical mansion in a posh neighborhood, and decorated it in Elizabethan Tudor. There were bronze gargoyles on the roof; stone lions guarded the entrance. Gregory also liked his new job in Washington. It was exciting, often socially complex and full of the kind of diplomacy at which he was best: winning over new friends. Mostly there were no decisions to make; just speeches to write, which were so general and vague that one could even decipher what was being communicated, except the notion that people were always being helped and economic prosperity was imminent. It reminded him of law school. Gregory liked to tell people that he was just an over-educated secretary for Shuman.

  After two years as a successful aide, including helping Senator Shuman march through a successful re-election campaign, the President of the United States offered Gregory a job as a mid-level advisor. Again, the elder Michaelson arranged the offer. With Shuman's permission and blessing, Gregory jumped at it. His good looks and charisma went well alongside the President and the ever-watchful public eye. Increasingly, the world's leading politician kept Gregory around, and in front of the cameras at the White House. He made Senior Advisor in less than eighteen months and came to know the Speaker of the House, the Federal Reserve Chairman, and other important government members on a first-name basis.

  Three years later, at the ideal moment, Gregory's popular father announced that he would not run for senator again because he planned to fully endorse an even better candidate: his son. It was a touching story, relished by the media. Photographers couldn’t get enough of the two Michaelsons together. Senator Shuman and the President endorsed Gregory’s campaign, even though he was untested in politics and, at age thirty-three, would be the third youngest senator in a century—if elected.

  It wouldn't be an easy victory to win the senatorial race. His opponent, experienced Congressman Andy Johnson, aged fifty-four, was savvy and respected. Over a thirty-year career, Johnson had clawed his way up the political ladder from state councilman to lieutenant governor to congressman. He had a reputation for stalwart performances;
some left the New York masses unhappy and angry in the short term, but usually were the best solutions for the long term.

  Early in his campaign, Gregory, his father, and their combined teams of aides brainstormed about ways to defeat Johnson. Amanda Michaelson attacked the problem directly by hiring detectives to uncover embarrassing personal dirt on the Congressman. She discovered that Johnson, a former structural engineer, was a passionate but publicly undisclosed transhumanist with a fifteen-year history of donating to controversial life extension and human enhancement projects. She ordered her husband to use the inflammatory information against Johnson to help bring them victory at the polls. Gregory agreed, and soon his election team began a smear crusade against the Congressman. With financial backing from his father-in-law, Gregory aired countless commercials discrediting his opponent by painting him as a selfish atheist with radical transhumanist ties. In public speeches, Gregory criticized Johnson and other supporters of transhumanism as extremists and out of touch with the real world. He cited their enthusiasm for extreme science as a slap in the face of poor New Yorkers who simply wanted jobs, affordable housing, inexpensive healthcare, and decent educations—not immortality, computerized consciousnesses, and robotic body parts.

  With only five weeks left before the election, Gregory’s strategy was solidly working. He maintained a comfortable twelve-point lead against Johnson in the polls. Then came the prime-time IMN-televised debate between the candidates. The main issue discussed was the frail New York economy and how new jobs might be created. Johnson's forceful ideas, experience, and business sense stunned and pummeled Gregory. The young candidate found himself at a loss for words, trying to backtrack his statements on national television. He managed only to look sheepish and inexperienced. Throughout the debate, sweat drops shined oddly on Gregory’s face, and his red tie hung comically crooked.

  After the debate, Amanda wouldn’t speak to her husband for days. The media began incessantly questioning whether Gregory possessed the skills, fortitude, and experience required for the job. A week later, the polls officially put him behind Johnson by a staggering ten points. Something miraculous needed to happen in the next four weeks before voting day, for Gregory to clinch the election.

  The following evening, a phone call from Reverend Belinas reached Gregory’s senior campaign secretary. The preacher asked if he could speak with Mr. Gregory Michaelson. She told him that he was at a fundraiser for the evening, but that he would be available early the following morning at his office.

  “May I ask what the call is about, sir?” she inquired.

  Belinas replied prophetically, “Tell him it will be the most important call of his career—that is, if he really wants to win the New York Senate election. I'll phone him early in the morning. Please make sure he's in.”

  ************

  The following day at dawn, Jethro Knights tied his boat up to the same dock he had departed from five years before on the Hudson River. He went ashore, walked over to a nearby coffee shop, and powered up his laptop. He listed his sailboat for sale on an Internet auction site. At noon he went to a restaurant near the transhumanism conference and met Dr. Preston Langmore, Dr. Nathan Cohen, and Dr. John Whalefish, the renowned neurosurgeon. Whalefish’s procedure of installing visual-stimuli chips into blind people's brains enabled them to partially see, and had made him world-famous.

  At the lunch table in a corner of the restaurant, Jethro spoke little and listened much. The three scientists plotted strategies for the movement's future and discussed problems created by Reverend Belinas' anti-transhumanists. Afterward, on the walk towards the conference, Langmore inquired whether Jethro had decided to take the job offer with the World Transhumanist Institute, now that he was home.

  “I believe I've made my decision,” said Jethro. “I'll know for sure by my speech tomorrow.”

  Langmore looked dubiously at him, but didn’t inquire further.

  After tomorrow night, Jethro thought, Langmore and his colleagues will not look at me the same. Listening to these men at lunch, Jethro affirmed what he had known all along: even the brightest, most respected transhumanists didn't possess workable plans to push the movement forward with the speed and force he believed was necessary. In his lifetime and theirs, they would fail to fulfill the possibilities of the transhuman destiny of overcoming death. They would die. He would die.

  Jethro could not go with the flow and would not join their lackluster aspirations. He knew these men unequivocally believed in transhumanism, but not with the same ferocity as he did. For them, it was a dream—somewhat academic, somewhat romantic, a grand adventure overall—and if they didn't make it and reach immortality, then their children or grandchildren would.

  Jethro Knights’ perspective was different and much more radical. Years of contemplation during his sailing trip had cemented his thoughts on the matter. More than ever, he believed he was an individual, self-sustaining entity, bent on acquiring as much power as possible in life. He needed it to achieve immortality, which was an essential step of transhumanism and self-preservation. It was only the first step, however, in the complex evolutionary purpose he believed was his destiny. His ultimate goal was that of the omnipotender: one who contends for omnipotence. He wanted a universal dictatorship—or at least a draw—over everything and everyone. It was not an easy thing to name. Nobody wanted to befriend someone who appeared so selfish, or to trust someone so egocentric. But everybody was heading in the same direction, to the same epiphany. Deep down inside, it was the fabric of humankind, built into us from the start, millions of years in the making: that we are each born unequal; that we are each born unfinished; that we are each born to conquer the other. Some may call it a will to power—though Jethro believed it was a will to evolution—an entity's most imbued trait, the DNA of the universe. It was both the goal and the prize. Give every sane and rational person a big red button to push to achieve instantaneous omnipotence, and all of them would quickly jam their fingers down on it.

  The logic and reality of this was impossible to deny. Billions of sheeplike people may pretend the human animal is different; that humans are loving, humble, gentle, and altruistic creatures. Jethro, however, knew better. He knew that culture, religion, democracy, social ethics, and legal systems were just blinding forms of glorified masochistic conduct. He knew they were just ways to ensure subordination of individual ambitions to society’s collective control—to promote the greater good of humanity at the expense of the most singularly talented.

  Nearly all the great social institutions and ideals of the world are forms of masochism in one way or another, Jethro thought. They are peppered with gross bigotry towards the individually strong, towards those seeking the best in themselves. The transhuman omnipotender and its ways are so different; it doesn't consider the inconsequential or unequal worth considering. And it never strives to hurt or to sacrifice itself for anything.

  The powerful and evolved individuals of the transhuman movement understand this. They name their natural-born desire for power as it is: a simple unchallengeable fact, requiring zero fear, remorse, or division in themselves. Then, when they deal with peers and others to reach their ambitions, they make candid, rational barters. They offer up mutual respect to whoever will help their overall plight—to whoever agrees to help, for whatever reasons they might possess. It's a dependable, efficient system, anchored by upfront integrity and honesty—not denial, weakness, and obfuscation.

  It doesn't mean that one can't love, help, empathize, or even give their life for another, should such a possibility transpire. But the core is determined: It is selfish. Wholly selfish. Originally selfish. Damn selfish. And one needs to have the courage to start from that egocentric core—to completely drop the mammalian, egalitarian, and humanitarian bent, confusingly leading elsewhere, leading to blind sacrifice. Evolution and the universe do not allow for any free kindness, any forgiveness, any lapse of strength. They do not allow for anything without consequence.

 
; Neither should he, Jethro believed. He hoped the others would understand, would reach the same conclusions, would stand together to defeat that which needed to be defeated in the best interests of the individuals pushing the transhuman movement. Later, those interests could determine themselves and where to go next. This was how evolved beings acted. And in fifty or a hundred years, when the strongest, most advanced humans became conscious super-machines, new systems of ethics could be navigated if necessary. Ones even more radical. Best to start adjusting now, Jethro thought.

  ************

  The transhumanism conference was held at the Phillips Expo Center, which occupied the largest indoor space in New York City. The main hall was sixty feet high and two football fields long. With over 300 booths dedicated to transhumanism and its science, it took a full day of walking and reading about projects just to see everything. The conference ran three days, with sit-in lectures by leading scientists scheduled from 10 A.M. to 3 P.M. in nearby auditoriums. On the final day, dinner and cocktails were scheduled to begin at 6 P.M. in the center’s banquet hall. Dr. Nathan Cohen, Dr. John Whalefish, and Jethro Knights were among those chosen to speak, each allotted ten minutes. Jethro was advertised as an International Geographic journalist whose driving passion was conquering human death, as well as the philosopher who popularized the omnipotender concept in the now classic and controversial essay, Rise of the Transhuman Citizen. He was scheduled to be the last speaker before Dr. Preston Langmore, who would give the closing words of the conference.