Home >> History, Ideology & Science >> Political Theory

     Email   Print 

Surpassing Man - Part IX

Sam Vaknin, Ph.D. - 5/27/2006

Dear Sam,

Your last letter is so condensed, so finely drawn, that I have almost nothing to say. That's the way I see the short-term future. All your prognoses, either pertaining to genetics, or to robots and culture seem to be quite correct. They are - if we can put it this way - the most probable ones. Just several brief notes addressed to the individual.

First: one can choose to ink or not to ink, but if one chooses to ink this faustian deal he must sign it with blood, this is not a bourgeoisie contract.

Second: your precision on the natural, not the divine, origin is accurate. Certainly, information is the highest _expression of the spirit but it is not the spirit itself. Yet, the doors are still open, mutation is possible at any time.

Third: as his proper name indicates, the ubermensch must also be surpassed. He shall understand and succeed in completing the will to power with creation, to reverse it, to discover that the will to power is a primary inner drive, or better said, a drive to inner perfection. Expansion shall spring only after the inner rain:-)

For personal use, our readers can use your prognostics - applying the necessary adjustments to each concrete case. As you have well stated the change is so radical that we should be very careful. I will end summarily my digression on hubris: we are moving so fast that our knowledge is precarious, our tradition is in ruins. We have no fixed centre, so we have no clear limits. There is no way back, we must walk this path to the end, our limits exist only in our inner heart.

Our first attitude should always be the same as Talleyrand's. He summarized his hypercomplex policy in just one sentence: "Over all, none of fanaticism". As I cannot say much more about the future "combat fields", I would like to propose, semi-seriously, quasi-jokingly, an adequate ethos to walk us through these tempests, just a suggestion, a starting point. What could be a good ethos in a magical space? Obviously, that of Alice in Wonderland. Always nourish the child inside, take the world as a game, take the game as it were life at stake, take life as if it were a game. The twenty-first century should be a FAREWELL FESTIVAL, plenty of art, sex, vitality, good manners. We should be the Greeks of the new, becoming Man. No morals, only models. Everyone has his own ethos inside. When there is no moral we have to turn our eyes to beauty. The future is just a part of our work - and not the most important one. Don´t sell your actual life for a future one. To act with extreme tenderness facing the gravest situations and vice versa is the hallmark of "the culture of the immediate". External discipline, internal anarchy. Don´t take anything totally in earnest, not even the ubermensch, only the style. There exist some oases in the dessert, places where we can stock on fresh water and play seriously: Sexual Love, Amiticia, the Muses and some others.

Your last letter is so complete that I don't see any reason to enlarge this long surpassing dialogue. But, It has been almost an established tradition to end my part of the dialogue with a little tale - and, must confess, I love traditions. So here it is:


Helena, a Temptation
A True Story

"Ricky was a young boy, he had a heart of stone." His parents wanted him to be the best. They gave DNA to NuovaVita, a new maternity-hospital. They said they will do the mixing. The Vita boys got to work. They refined his DNA to provide him with a privileged mind. So they did. The poor boy was a little monster but he broke all records, so who cared. He passed his infancy among computers. He had two close friends: Mac and Compaq. At the age of six he began to program with Visual Basic. At twelve years old, he programmed in Witgen, Shannon and other languages. At fourteen his routines acquired such mathematical beauty to exceed the Bach Variations'.

Four years at Stanford (paid exclusively with scholarships), programming, cum laude in all disciplines. He never got out of the labs. Two years to a doctorate at MIT, genetic computation, cum laude. He never got out of the lab. He was waiting for his time to come. Finally, he entered work in Orchid, the mega-corporation of hyper-genetics. They were the best and so was he.

So, his time had come. He earned a lot of money. Soon afterwards he went to a expensive clinic in Houston, the plastic surgeon was very "plastic" indeed, he made miracles. After he passed his hands the boy was pretty smug - "good work, doc" - and gave him the million check. Now he was the king of the town, threw great parties and have all the girls we wanted. His motto was: one night stands. But that was not enough, his thirst was unquenchable.

So he started to invest extra hours at work, to climb the corporate ladders and he entered its board of directors. Finally, he sold his stock and with the money he got, bought an old big house it the country and built a little lab at home. During the weekends, he kept on with his nightlife in the city: Studio 54, Limelight, The Tunnel. All doors were open to him, he had the money and the looks. Actresses, whores, rock singers, groupies, secretaries, pin-up girls, all went to bed with him.

But now the thing was a bit different. At night, when the girls dreamt with innocent _expression, he gently drew some drops of blood from them, using a needle.

Later, at home, in the country, he continued to mix the new bloody DNA, bent on creating the Perfect Girl, his genetic bride. He designed her like a Renaissance sculptor, with passion and violence and perfection. One night, after hundreds of girls, he finally obtained his essence. He put it in the incubator and witnessed the creature springing like a rose. He kept her in a crystal bubble in order to avoid any contact that could rot his beloved apple, but he placed a Dream Station inside, so that the girl would learn to talk with its screen. Ricky saw her behind the mirrors. "My God, she is so extremely beautiful". But he did his best as a loving father would to introduce all beauty in the girl's life: Mozart, Byron, Becquer, Holderlin, Horatio... Later the child began to choose her own: Portishead, Prince, Bjork, No Doubt, Breat Easton Ellis, The Smashing Pumpkins, Kevin Smith films, DJ Shadow, Matt Damon, Keanu Reeves...

Finally, the great day drew near. The girl was going to be 18. The week before, Ricky was so full of emotions, he couldn't sleep. "Just a couple of hours". He poured himself a glass of Chivas, sat comfortably in his sofa and looked at the crystal walls. His eyes began to shut very slowly as though he were about to have a beautiful dream.

The computer's clock marked her age: 18 years. The door opened with a "click". The girl got out with the fear of a virgin at a wedding night. Ricky was on the sofa with the bottle in his hand. The TV was on with the last film of Leonardo di Caprio. Coup de foudre, the girl fell in love at first sight. Got her Burton bag, took his MP3, put on her Ultralux glasses and said "good bye, love".

A week later, when the police got into the house, the windows were wide open. The mountain wind softly swung Ricky's corpse like a pendulum. Hundreds of books were spread on the floor. On the icebox, attached with a little "red heart magnet", was a post-it (TM) note:

Dear Ricky,

Sorry for not saying goodbye, but your face was so
serene that I did not dare to wake you up. I
want to be a film star, must go to Hollywood.
I know you will understand. It's my career, my life.
Thanks for everything.

Kisses
Helena

PS: Don't forget to call me if you go to Cali some time

Best wishes

Roberto

END