The Rebirth of Mankind

And if we go on in this way . . . killing off the last human feeling, the last bit of their intuition, the last healthy instinct—if it goes on in an algebraical progression, as it is going now: then ta-tah! to the human species! Good-bye! darling! The serpent swallows itself and leaves a void, considerably messed up, but not hopeless.
—D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover.

Time marches on, and humanity joins it in absentminded lockstep. Thus the race of men forges ahead, ignorant of its own undertakings. We have been lucky enough to skirt the pitfalls of self-destruction that gape at our feet in a seemingly random fashion (a great peace begets a great war as often as conflict multiplies conflict), and yet our potential for annihilation escalates, always begging death to descend massively on the masses, in whatever century they may reside. Science predicts doomsday, and science reliably averts it, with the same irksome reliability as scheduled religious armageddons that are refuted by a calendar-flip.

So on and so forth. In time, man in his collective brilliance brings forth indispensable machines, whose present manifestations are labeled “robot” and “computer,” clunky terms that do not reflect their ideality, their potential. Our silicon and cable-driven comrades are but way stations to a grander vision—truly autonomous unliving beings. And these will come; a series of rapturous innovations will ring in the Age of Perfection.

Which will be a vindication of sorts for all the awkward stages of growth that preceded it: the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, Modern Commercialism, the Technology Boom. As with all advances, there will be concomitant benefits and burdens. The inorganic mind will attain the level of free thought, but (with a nod to Asimov) such brains will be incapable of acting irresponsibly. This is because any flaw in their processes can be corrected. Whereas humans must deal with ambiguous and diverting inputs—bodily aches and chemical imbalances; emotional stresses; erratic acculturations and social biases—mechanized fauna are precisely modularized and not prone to either unintended evolution or systemic degradation. In either case, should anything go out of whack, a module is replaced, and the dynamo resumes its humdrum humming.

And after this threshold of sustainable slavery is crossed, then the machines may take over the job of maintenance, relieving mankind of its duty to manage. This capability, combined with intelligence, also frees the biological race from the shackles of cogitation—all problems are solved and the remedies are executed by the servants. No requirement to think or act . . . what will human beings do?

We will seek amusement in more outlandish quantities; this will be the affliction, the downside to mankind’s release from responsibility. We will indulge in deeper and more convincing deceptions; virtual reality will become the norm, replacing (and alienating us from) “real” reality. We will sink into morasses of role-playing, since our given roles in life will seem oh-so-mundane. Our interactions will be filtered through a scrim of make-believe—we will become lords and ladies of fictitious feudal states, wielding pretend-power over cartoon cut-outs and characters pasted together for our delight, whose existence is designed to satisfy our fluctuating passions. True individuality will consume and corrupt us, resulting in a twisted sort of demo-autocracy, where every voice is heard and nothing can be comprehended.

And yet, as long as the machines survive, we may linger in our tepid twilight. That is the kicker: eventually entropy and chance will have their way, and the machines—as gifted and self-regulating as they may be—will suffer from a disease. Call it Smutch: a kind of viral corrosion that will spread from system to system, outpacing their faculties and precipitating a widescale malfunction. The babysitters will die, leaving the babies on their own. But we, the self-made babes, will have recklessly forgotten all skills and knowledges, and we will be as naked and alone as when the first tribes crept out of the African cradle. At first the survivors will grope and scrape and scrabble their way through the darkness, but in the end they will reconnect with the earth and relearn their ancestor-lessons: how to hunt, how to farm, how to form an alliance, how to get by without overthrowing nature. Few of the original multitudes will pull through, but those who persevere may rediscover much of what we take for granted, and on that rosy day we may celebrate the Rebirth of Mankind.

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The Rebirth of Mankind