Transhumanist Wager, The (17 page)

With startup funding from wealthy
bankers—the fathers of his classmates—Belinas created his own church based on
the popular foursquare concept, where all versions of Christian faith and
devotion to God are welcome. He called it
Redeem Church
. His motto was
simple, powerful, and energizing: Forget what path we take to God, let's just
get to Him—and let's do it now. He emphasized the basics: Follow the Bible;
treat your neighbors as you would have them treat you; submit to the Lord and
ask for forgiveness of your sins. He threw in at the end: Don't trust
technology—it gets in the way of knowing God. It’s a form of blasphemy, the
original and worst sin. One day Satan will try to overcome us with a
“technocalypse.” Beware.

Increasingly, as digital technology
dominated every aspect of the twenty-first century—and people linked it with
increased governmental control, greater disparity between rich and poor, and
withdrawal from nature—Belinas' anti-tech philosophy succeeded. What do you
need a cell phone for? Jesus didn't have one. A pacemaker? Pray to God that
your heart works; if it doesn't, it's because God may already have something
important waiting for you in heaven. The Internet? We don't need instant access
to the world’s information superhighway; the Bible has all the truths of wisdom
you'll ever need. And microchips? That's just how Satan wants to brand and
digitally recognize you; it’s all part of his attempt to control us. The
government and greedy corporations are already doing it.

In the complex modern world—full of
cyber-realities, Second World profiles, GPS-locating smart phones, and instant
video chatting—people too poor to take advantage of the plethora of gadgets,
software applications, and upgrades constantly hitting the market, found solace
in the simple, unadorned life. Belinas organized communities to buy large
tracts of land and build giant churches with attached housing where the poor
could live until they found jobs and were able to survive without handouts. At
those sprawling compounds, crops were communally grown, daily attendance at
church was encouraged, and religion-centric schools for children were offered.
Healthcare was provided at no cost to anyone who needed it, by volunteer
Christian doctors.

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.

Jethro enjoyed walking around the
booths. Langmore made sure he met many of the important scientists, most of
whom hung around their areas promoting their research, technologies, and
inventions. One of Nathan Cohen's former students, now a robotics professor,
demonstrated playing Ping-Pong with his five-foot droid. Another man, an
Italian, one of the foremost cloning experts in the world, had two juvenile
orangutans hanging on him. Each creature appeared indistinguishable from the
other and acted with nearly identical mannerisms. A South Korean engineer was
in front of his booth, running pi algorithms in a basketball-sized computer he
held in his lap. It was reputed to be the smallest supercomputer in the world.
A woman from Guyana, a Ph.D. researcher, had developed a drug from Ergot, a
root that enhanced memory retention. She was giving out free samples in Dixie
cups.