That second definition applies to most depictions of transhumanism in fiction. It’s the rare author who is bold enough to say, “The implants that we put in our brains? Yeah, they actually make us better.”
I’ve read some in which the transhuman technologies were ambiguous (had upsides and downsides), but I can’t think of any where it was just better, the way that actual technologies often are—would any of us willingly go back to the days before electricity and running water?
I’ve read some in which the transhuman technologies were ambiguous (had upsides and downsides), but I can’t think of any where it was just better, the way that actual technologies often are—would any of us willingly go back to the days before electricity and running water?
Having upsides and downsides isn’t the same thing as being ambiguous. Running water and electricity do have downsides–namely, depletion of water tables due to overuse, and pollution, resource depletion, and possibly global warming due in part to the efforts required to make electricity...But I wouldn’t say that either technology is ambiguous. The advantages pretty clearly outweigh the disadvantages, which are avoidable with some thought and creativity.
Most of Peter Hamilton’s stuff comes to mind, for example. Implants are just another technology, treated no differently than guns or cars. The Greg Mandel books have a few characters who do end up with implants that they would prefer not to have, but they’re the exceptions.
but I can’t think of any where it was just better, the way that actual technologies often are
I find that a little irritating—for people supposedly open to new ideas, science fiction authors sure seem fearful and/or disapproving of future technology.
Part of me thinks that that’s encoded into the metaphorical DNA of the SF genre (or one branch of it) at a very basic level. It’s been conventional for a while to think of SF as Enlightenment and the rest of spec-fic as Romantic, but the history of the genre’s actually more complicated than that; Mary Shelley, for example, definitely fell on the Romantic side of the fence, and later writers haven’t exactly been shy about following her lead. The treading-in-God’s-domain motif is a powerful one, and it’s the bedrock that an awful lot of SF is built on.
This sounds similar to the idea of a “motherhood statement” as defined here.
That second definition applies to most depictions of transhumanism in fiction. It’s the rare author who is bold enough to say, “The implants that we put in our brains? Yeah, they actually make us better.”
Pretty much all the fiction I read in which brain implants are mentioned at all treat them as improvements.
Really? Got any examples?
I’ve read some in which the transhuman technologies were ambiguous (had upsides and downsides), but I can’t think of any where it was just better, the way that actual technologies often are—would any of us willingly go back to the days before electricity and running water?
Having upsides and downsides isn’t the same thing as being ambiguous. Running water and electricity do have downsides–namely, depletion of water tables due to overuse, and pollution, resource depletion, and possibly global warming due in part to the efforts required to make electricity...But I wouldn’t say that either technology is ambiguous. The advantages pretty clearly outweigh the disadvantages, which are avoidable with some thought and creativity.
Well, they’re hardly common, but anarcho-primitivists do exist.
Most of Peter Hamilton’s stuff comes to mind, for example. Implants are just another technology, treated no differently than guns or cars. The Greg Mandel books have a few characters who do end up with implants that they would prefer not to have, but they’re the exceptions.
I find that a little irritating—for people supposedly open to new ideas, science fiction authors sure seem fearful and/or disapproving of future technology.
Part of me thinks that that’s encoded into the metaphorical DNA of the SF genre (or one branch of it) at a very basic level. It’s been conventional for a while to think of SF as Enlightenment and the rest of spec-fic as Romantic, but the history of the genre’s actually more complicated than that; Mary Shelley, for example, definitely fell on the Romantic side of the fence, and later writers haven’t exactly been shy about following her lead. The treading-in-God’s-domain motif is a powerful one, and it’s the bedrock that an awful lot of SF is built on.
Obligatory Link