Here's an idea.
The greatest argument against transhumanism
might be "Futurama."
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After a certain point, nobody likes getting older.
You get tired, you start to lose your hair,
you get forgetful, and the chances you
will have no idea how to use the printer increase dramatically.
Not the least of the folks fed up with the aging process
are the transhumanists, a group of scientists,
philosophers, and theorists who are working toward the point
where technology will free us from all biological
constraints.
That's right, all.
Say what?
Coined by French philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
in his 1949 book, "The Future of Mankind,"
and forwarded by some notoriously smart folks
like Ray Kurzweil, Nick Bostrom, and Max More,
the goals of transhumanists are not insignificant.
Use technology to stop aging, erase all mental and physical
disabilities, and reach true social and political equality.
On the human-by-human level, maybe that looks something
like the Bionic Commando, or Samus Aran, of the Six Million
Dollar Man, or Data, or like something we've
never imagined before, the ultimate goal
being to help us reach our next evolutionary stage,
like a cloud of gas or a face in a jar.
Technology, the transhumanists say,
will help us reach this point, a point where
we are so fundamentally different
that 100% of humanity's involuntary suffering
will be eliminated.
This belief is called abolitionism,
and it's the exact opposite of the Kurt Vonnegut short story
"Harrison Bergeron," basically.
Sounds pretty "pie in the sky," right?
I mean, in David Pearce's abolitionist manifesto, called
"The Hedonistic Imperative," he even says things like,
"Over the next 1,000 years or so,
the biological substrates of suffering
will be eradicated completely.
Malaise will be replaced by the biochemistry of bliss."
This is a prediction which, though it occurs
around the same time as, is essentially
the opposite of "Futurama."
Well, sort of the opposite.
I mean, "Futurama's" portrayal of the year 3000 does
have all kinds of crazy, life-altering technological
advancements-- space travel, sentient robots,
transportation tubes, dark matter engines, Farnsworth's
alternate universe box.
Not to mention a united world government-- united under Robot
Nixon, but still-- interstellar diplomacy,
plenty of biological advancements,
and near-immortality.
As long as you don't mind being a head in a jar, I guess.
But regardless of the fact that you can get all roboted up
or smell distant odors, "Futurama's" world
seems pretty far away from Pearce's
preprogrammed euphoria.
Seriously, though, New New York has
cloning, near-infinite sources of clean energy,
infinite and renewable sources of food,
and one globally united nation.
Yet social issues abound, as do political and economic
complexities, personal struggles, and, in general,
unless you've been brainslugged--
(MONOTONOUSLY) Everything's great.
Everyone should get a brain slug.
There's plenty of stuff to be upset about.
"Futurama's" brand of transhumanity looks
pretty different from the kind they advertise
on the side of the box.
Though able to defeat aging and remedy suffering,
it is far from an Eden. "Futurama"
isn't the post-scarcity, post-war Earth of "Star Trek."
it's not even Thomas More's complex but fair "Utopia,"
or Matt Fraction's Coldheart Island.
It's just sort of like today, but later.
You could say that "Futurama" embraces a human characteristic
that the transhumanists think they can erase or reverse.
It's something called the hedonic treadmill.
The hedonic treadmill explains the fact
that whatever positive or negative impacts occur,
people's happiness levels will always equalize.
Like think about all of the positive impacts technology
has had on everyday life.
Many diseases have been eradicated.
Tons of simple tasks are a thousand times easier.
You have a whole universe of information right
at your fingertips.
But are we, on the whole, any happier than we were in 1950?
I mean, for all of the awesome and positive stuff that
happened, why aren't we all just constantly enthralled?
Though life might be easier, we are not necessarily happier.
I made myself sad.
Like, let's say someone stole your bike,
and you want to punch the universe.
But after not long, your fundamental happiness level
is about the same it always is.
That is the hedonic treadmill hard at work.
It's sort of like a mood thermostat,
making sure that you're always at a cool, comfortable, "Yeah,
pretty OK, I guess."
It explains how Fry can be frozen for a thousand years
and basically be fine, within a day or two.
Yahoo!
And how, as Louis CK might put it, "Everything is amazing
and nobody is happy."
You're sitting in a chair in the sky.
CONAN O'BRIEN: Yes.
In order for everything to be amazing
and for everyone to be happy all of the time--
which, you could argue, is the Transhuma-goal Numero
Transhum-Uno-- the hedonic treadmill would
have to be disabled or stabilized or something.
Which maybe that would be amazing.
But which, through a kind of weird enforced emotional
socialism, might just turn into the neutral planet.
I have no strong feelings one way or the other.
Like in the imagined future societies of Krypton,
the Jetsons, and "Futurama," everything is amazing.
But amazing is also sometimes inconvenient, or bad,
or fraught, or polarizing-- or just normal.
Those complications, yes, are the sources
of pain, suffering, malaise, and boredom,
but are also from where we derive goals, satisfaction,
and ambition.
The ups and downs and peaks and plateaus
of the hedonic treadmill are part of human nature.
They are sources of inspiration and go-for-it-ness.
You're right, though.
This is all a little future apples and space oranges.
An academically supported, expertly
backed theory about human evolution
compared to a science fiction television
show with a frog than can hypnotize you.
[ANGRY MACHINE SOUND]
But in a way, both present a possible future.
Both have their points, and both, in some way,
resemble today.
We already sort of are transhuman.
I mean, we have pacemakers, cochlear implants,
and pneumatic limbs.
So we're not saying that's not going to happen.
But are happiness levels increasing
with inverse proportionality to the number of transistors
you can fit in a square inch?
Seems like no.
Surrounded by all of this life-changing
and -extending technology, we still fight with our friends,
get mad at our bosses, suffer from inferiority complexes,
and try, though not always succeed,
at being better versions of ourselves.
And my gut tells me maybe that's OK.
What do you guys think?
Which future is more likely, one that resembles "Futurama,"
or one that looks like transhumanism?
Let us know in the comments.
And good news, everyone!
Here's a Subscribe button.
Everybody's comments sound better when pressed onto vinyl.
Let's hear what you guys had to say about recordings
versus live performances.
AkiAmeko makes a really interesting point
about musicians using computers to make music, which
is especially timely given the My Bloody Valentine
release that just happened, where
they make a big deal of the fact that their record is pressed
from an all-analog process, unlike most records, which
are pressed from digital files, making it kind of pointless
that they're pressed onto records.
Which is interesting.
David Banks make the case for the authority
of the live performance because of the collective effervescence
of the audience and the total immersion experience.
Which is, uh-- yeah, I mean, that's not something
that you get in your living room.
Tyler Wolfgang points out the disappointment
we've all felt while listening to a live CD, which
is basically just the worst of every world.
t3tsuyaguy makes a really, really great distinction
between recording artists and musicians
who record their music.
Uh, so we will just pause here, so that you
can read his awesome comment.
To peglaphant, I was actually thinking about this yesterday.
I was reading music critic, Whitney Balliett,
who was saying that jazz is the sound of surprise.
Which I think is true, but let's say
you're going to go see a performer who's
a famous improviser.
Even if you're playing something new,
your experience is still mediated
by all of those recordings that you've
heard, which is-- it's just hard to get away from.
So I-- I don't know.
Geoff Davis makes a case for the authority
of the live performance, because you can actually go and see
that these people you've only heard recordings of
are real, actual people with, like, selves.
Which is mostly true.
Pitbull, though, I'm not sure about him.
But for the most part, maybe, yeah, true.
So I want to go see Savoir Adore and Ra Ra Riot.
Savoir Adore was clearly playing music
for an audience for a live setting,
while Ra Ra Riot was clearly trying
to reconstruct some sort of recorded artifact or something.
And the experience was so weird and bizarre that-- I
don't know.
I might actually rewrite some of the episode,
based upon my experience.
MrMonfresClass points out that there's
some technological determinism in the equipment
that you use to experience your music, which can give you
a better or worse experience.
But also, that going to a live show
is about connecting with fandoms,
which is a thing that we didn't even touch on.
Two quick notes, also, about live events coming up.
I'm going to be recording for the NPR radio show
"Ask Me Another" here in the Brooklyn on February 18
at The Bell House.
So if you're over 21, you can buy a ticket.
We'll put a link in the description.
And I will also be at Playlist Live in Orlando in March.
So if you're going to be there, come say hi.
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