Monthly Archives: February 2017

This might be another way of saying that the idea of living forever is as influential as the actual possibility of living forever. Immortality is a long shot. But why is it such big business now?

The future, as a concept, has always been lucrative; the more abstract, the better. Though OConnell doesnt focus strictly on Silicon Valleytranshumanists dot the globetranshumanism is a distinctly Californian project. The state has a long legacy of self-improvement programs, exercise crazes, and faddish diets, amounting to a unique brand of bourgeois spirituality. California is a pusher for freedom. Lifestyle is supreme.

These days, this utopian futurism can take the shape of New Age management philosophy, corporate wellness, or the annual conference Wisdom 2.0, which brings together tech luminaries and the spiritual leaders of industry, from Eileen Fisher and Alanis Morissette to the CEOs of Slack and Zappos. Recent years have seen an uptick in venture capitalbacked products that carry the promise of not just a better, more productive you, but a better life overall. From Soylent (a meal-replacement drink) to nootropics (capsules that purportedly level-up ones cognitive ability), investors are pursuing extended youth, neurological enhancement, and physical prowess.

Of course, much of this is less new than it feels. In Silicon Valley, there are no new ideas, only iterations. Soylent looks a lot like SlimFast, a protein drink marketed to dieting women since the 1970s. Nootropics tend to contain ingredients like l-theaninefound in green teaand caffeine. These companies web design has a lot to do with this illusion of newnesssexy front-end design signals trustworthiness and hints that there is something technologically impressive happening on the back end. Their products get a boost from their association with work-addicted engineers, who turn to them as high-tech solutions to self-created high-tech problems. But this promise is bigger than Silicon Valley, and carries with it a distinctly Californian air of self-improvement, of better living through technology.

It is tempting to see transhumanism, too, as merely the latest rebranding of a very old desire. Many of OConnells subjects specialize in the hypothetical. Aubrey de Grey is a biomedical gerontologist who sees death as a disease to be cured. Anders Sandberg, a neuroscientist working on mind uploading, wishes literally to become an emotional machine. He is also an artist who creates digital scenes resembling early-web sci-fi fan art, and gives them dreamy names such as Dance of the Replicators and Air Castle. Zoltan Istvan, a former journalist who claims to have invented the sport of volcano-boarding, ran a presidential campaign that saw him travel across the country in a coffin-shaped bus to raise awareness for transhumanism. He campaigned on a pro-technology platform that called for a universal basic income, and promoted a Transhumanist Bill of Rights that would assure, among other things, that human beings, sentient artificial intelligences, cyborgs, and other advanced sapient life forms be entitled to universal rights of ending involuntary suffering.

Then theres Max More, a co-founder of Extropianism, who runs the Alcor Life Extension Foundation in Scottsdale, Arizona. Alcor is a cryopreservation facility that houses the bodiesor disembodied heads, to be attached at a later date to artificial bodiesof those hoping to be reanimated as soon as the technology exists. The bodies, OConnell writes, are considered to be suspended, rather than deceased: detained in some liminal stasis between this world and whatever follows it, or does not. Alcor is the largest of the worlds four cryopreservation facilities, and houses 149 patients, nearly 70 percent of whom are male. (Alcor also cryopreserves pets.) Its youngest patient is a two-year-old who died due to a rare form of pediatric brain cancer; her case summary, posted on Alcors web site, shares that her parents, both living, also intend to be cryopreserved. No doubt being surrounded by familiar faces of loving relatives will make the resumption of her life . . . easier and more joyful, the case summary ends hopefully, heartbreakingly. To date, science has not suggested that reanimation will ever be possible; the dream of re-uploading ones mind into a new, living body, at a yet-to-be-determined date, remains just that: a dream.

Those working on immortality are long-term thinkers and fall, broadly, into two camps: those who want to free the human from the body, and those who aim to keep the body in a healthy condition for as long as possible. Randal Koene, like Max More, is in the first group. Instead of cryonics, he is working toward mind uploading, the construction of a mind that can exist independent of the body. His nonprofit organization, Carboncopies, aims for the effective immortality of the digitally duplicated self. Koene compares mind uploading to kayaking. It might be like the experience of a person who is, say, really good at kayaking, who feels like the kayak is physically an extension of his lower body, and it just totally feels natural, he tells OConnell. So maybe it wouldnt be that much of a shock to the system to be uploaded, because we already exist in this prosthetic relationship to the physical world anyway, where so many things are experienced as extensions of our bodies.

Aubrey de Grey is in the second, body preservationist group, whose efforts tend to be slightly more modest: Rather than solving death, they focus on extending life. His nonprofit, Strategies for Engineered Negligible Senescence, focuses on research in heart disease and Alzheimers, and other common illnesses and diseases. (SENS, like many organizations the transhumanists are involved with, has received funding from Thiel.) De Greys most mainstream contribution is the popularization of the concept of longevity escape velocity, which OConnell explains as such: For every year that passes, the progress of longevity research is such that average human life expectancy increases by more than a yeara situation that would, in theory, lead to our effectively outrunning death. One might dismiss such transhumanist visions as too extreme: so many men, so much hubris. And yet, at a time of great cynicism about humanityand the future were all barreling towardthere is something irresistible about transhumanism. Call it magical thinking; call it radical optimism.

A quest for immortality may be the ultimate example of overpromising and under-delivering, but it will still deliver something. Indeed, plenty of the Extropian dreams of anti-aging have already been realized, though these accomplishments now look less futuristic than we previously imagined. Thanks to improved health care, sanitation, and education, we are living longer than our ancestors could have imagined. We sleep with our cell phones. Prosthetics have become increasingly personalized and affordable. Roboticized microsurgery blurs the lines between human and machine skill. In more staid quarters (where most of the money is), the quest for transhumanism is simply biotech.

OConnells focus is on the more extreme transhumanists, those committed to eternal life. But he also meets a few of the transhumanists taking this more incremental approach, edging us closer to longer and healthier lives. Miguel Nicolelis, a neuroscientist working on brain-machine interface technology, created a robotic exoskeleton that can be controlled by brain activity. He exhibited it at the 2014 World Cup, to give a sense of how human and robot might work together in the future. A clear practical application of his work would be to help paraplegics increase their mobility and activity. Its technology that doesnt demand that we radically overhaul our idea of reality. It allows us to make minor adjustments.

Nicolelis does not seem to share the technologists passion for scalability; though he has proven that brain activity can be translated into dataand that data can be translated into movementhe is not drawn to large-scale projects like whole-brain emulation. I dont think we will ever be able to broadcast from one brain to another the essence of the human condition, he told Popular Mechanics last year. We love analogies, metaphors, expecting things, and predicting things. These things are not in algorithms.

As transhumanism gradually alters the length and quality of human life, it will also alter political and cultural life. If the average human life were to span 100 healthy years, then society, the economy, and the environment would be drastically transformed. How long would childhood last? What would the political landscape look like if baby boomers were able to vote for another 50 years? OConnells foray into transhumanism comes at a moment when our democratic institutions look weaker than ever. Wealth is increasingly concentrated among a small group of people. The future, while always uncertain, looks, for many, particularly bleak. Envisioning a future in which transhumanisms wildest desires are realized is a heady thought experiment, one that quickly devolves into a vision of dystopia: too little space, too many bodies, andif brains are uploaded from centuries pastobsolete software.

As exciting, ambitious, fantastical, or practical as the transhumanists aims may be, they neglect to offer a fully fledged vision for society should they be successful. It would hardly be the first time that actors in Silicon Valley, with an emphasis on speed and scale, innovated firstthen scrambled to address the repercussions after they had already arrived.

This is both a core promise and the fundamental problem of transhumanism: It exempts those involved from their debt to the present. As Bill Gates put it in an Ask Me Anything session on Reddit, It seems pretty egocentric while we still have malaria and TB for rich people to fund things so they can live longer. OConnell finds it odd, too, that billionaire entrepreneurs are more interested in developing AI than in eradicating grotesque income inequality in their own country. Of course, experimentation is essential to progress, and researchers claim their work will benefit all of humanity in the future. But it raises the question: What future and for whom?

There is something deeply sad about transhumanism, tooa yearning, one that perhaps harks back to the self-improvement doctrines that have so colored California since the halcyon days of the midcentury. The promise of a better worlda better youis hard to turn away from these days. We are not more than human; we have not found a way to transcend. In the weeks between the election and the inauguration, our collective visions of the future adjusted to accommodate the possibilities of rampant corruption and the rapid perversion of constitutional freedoms, among many other things. It feels indulgent to fantasize about a future in which humanity is optimized for immortality; it feels indulgent to fantasize about a future at all.

Yet I cannot fault the transhumanists for wanting more: more from life, more of life itself. In How We Became Posthumanpublished in 1999, and now a touchstone of writing on transhumanismthe literary critic N. Katherine Hayles detailed her ideal version of a posthuman world:

If my nightmare is a culture inhabited by posthumans who regard their bodies as fashion accessories rather than the ground of being, my dream is a version of the posthuman that embraces the possibilities of information technologies without being seduced by fantasies of unlimited power and disembodied immortality that understands human life is embedded in a material world of great complexity, one on which we depend for our continued survival.

To focus on the extremes of posthuman ambition is, it seems to me, to miss the point. As a species, we are slowly nudging along a spectrum. Hayless vision is solidly in the middle with its mortality and fallibility, rendered not obsolete but more manageablemore human.

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Only Human - New Republic

Im visiting Liron Talker in her hospital room. Shes feeling a little more cheerful because shes going home. Her father holds up a plastic bag; inside is what remains of her army uniform, returned from the trauma center.

What do you want to do with it? he says, voice thick, almost a whisper.

On a sunny morning on January 8, Sec.-Lt. Liron Talker accompanied her cadets on an educational day trip in Jerusalem. Part of volunteering for leadership in the IDF means deepening your familiarity with and understanding of your homeland. Her cadets and others gathered at the Armon Hanatziv panoramic promenade in East Talpiot, the site where, according to tradition, Abraham and Isaac paused on the way to Mount Moriah. About 300 young men and women were in the parking lot.

The guided tour was about to start.

Thats when Fadi al-Qanbar, a father of four from the nearby Jebl Mukaber neighborhood, plowed his expensive flatbed truck into the crowd, ramming into and running over soldiers. He murdered four, including Lirons cadet Lt. Shir Hajaj, 22, of Maaleh Adumim.

Liron was one of the 21 young men and women who were hit. You didnt see her in the news. She wouldnt allow photos until someone gently told her grandmother about the incident.

Her leg injury is healing. Home rest and physiotherapy are prescribed.

What do you want to do with the scraps? her father repeats.

Throw them away! I never want to see it again, she says, making an angry tossing gesture with her arm.

Wait a minute, I hear myself say, although none of this is exactly my business.

Sometimes we throw things away too fast.

She might want an object from the attack, I think. Telling the story is part of the therapy.

I hear myself volunteer to transform that torn IDF uniform into a memory pillow, marking her bravery and survival.

A memory pillow, having nothing to do with memory foam, is a miniature version of a memory quilt an ambitious craft project where, for example, outgrown baby clothes are turned into a decorative, nostalgic coverlet or wall hanging.

I tell her about another pillow made from a certain leopard-striped comforter that once resided in our house. On what now seems almost like a fantasy day trip, my family and two friends visited one of our sons in his bunker on the Lebanese border. He had already been serving as an infantry officer in Lebanon for a long time, in many locations inside. We noticed that the leopard comforter had made its way to the army.

Another officer was sleeping deeply in a bunk bed, wrapped in this shabby blanket.

The lucky comforter returned with our son to civilian life. Years later, when he was already a father and professor, his wife insisted that the now threadbare and discolored mantle be retired.

He posted a good-bye photo of the trademark comforter on a family email. Maybe I was inspired by that old Yiddish folksong Hob Ikh Mir a Mantl (I Had a Little Overcoat), about a garment that is downsized over the years, finally to a button. I thought of a pillow.

My own craft skills are limited, but I knew exactly whom to enlist. Rivka Elder, whose son had also served as a officer in Lebanon, would understand. A retired Jerusalem teacher and long-time friend, she holds a bazaar every year to raise money for Keshatot, a wonderful school for children on the autism spectrum aged three to 13 in the Menashe region near Hadera. She knits and sews everything herself. Nearly every pillow I own is her handiwork. The shekels she raises are doubled by Apple Companys Development Office in Haifa, where her son is an engineer. And so, the pillow, full of bittersweet memories, replaced the blanket and helped develop the incredible programs at Keshatot.

Limor likes the idea of the pillow, especially the part about Keshatot; 79 children go to school there, and the latest fund-raising campaign is directed toward renovating the sand playground.

I have volunteered Rivka without asking her, but of course she agrees. She launders out the grit and the tire marks.

She irons the material. How to make this work? The IDF green can only be the base, she decides. She sews tall whimsical trees out of the army green, embroidering Lirons name in delicate stitches.

The first time I try to make arrangements to bring Liron the pillow, she isnt home. Despite her injury, shes returned for the officers graduation ceremony in Mitzpe Ramon.

We decide to meet in Jerusalem at Mount Herzl; 30 days have already passed since the terrorist attack.

A memorial ceremony is being held at the military cemetery for Shir Hajaj and the others: Lt. Yael Yekutiel, 20, of Givatayim, Sec.-Lt. Shira Tzur, 20, of Haifa, and Sec.-Lt. Erez Orbach, 20 of Alon Shvut.

A crowd is already gathering. Liron, tall and beautiful, is walking up the hill, still using a crutch. Im feeling better, she assures me.

She and a fellow officer admire the pillow, exclaiming over the embroidery.

Liron runs her fingers over the pants and military undershirt.

I have a new one, she says, smiling, pointing to the shirt. She poses with the pillow. My hands are shaking so hard that it takes three tries to snap the photo with my phone.

Slowly, she climbs the hill. She will meet the new officers, who will remember and honor their fallen colleagues. The author is a Jerusalem writer and is the Israel director of public relations for Hadassah, the Womens Zionist Organization of America. The views in her columns are her own.

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The human spirit: Liron's pillow - Jerusalem Post Israel News