<-- 4:11 PM MT -->
Dr. Ray Kurzweil, CEO of Kurzweil Technologies, Inc., the manufacturer of many cutting-edge computing and electronic products—including, most important to me, incredible synthesizers, argues in this quarter's Scientific American that by the Law of Accelerating Returns and the exponential rate of development in computing technology, in 2019 we will be able to buy a $1000 personal computer which is equal in processing ability to that of the human brain. By 2055, the same-priced system will have the processing power of all human brains on Earth. If he is right—and his calculations seem sound—we are on the cusp of insignificance.
Is it an accident that this planet’s evolution looks just like the evolution of human technology? —That the way species creep into the mainstream, then dominance, then extinction—looks exactly the same as the way human-built technology is invented, becomes popular, then fades away? Are not the names Australopithecus afrensis, Australopithecus robustus, and Homo sapiens neandertalis—the names of our evolutionary forefathers--simply analogues to DX286, DX486 and Pentium? (Or, as I’d rather have it put: 68000, 68040, PowerPC 601) Standards develop, reach dominance, then are quickly replaced by better technology. Just as certain humanoid lines never bred with those which ultimately produced us, several similar products can exist at one time (see PC vs. Mac processor comparison above). Ultimately, however, one must win out. Perhaps we should not argue over which hardware or software company to support based on our preferences, but upon how we want our species’ successors’ minds to function?
All it takes is one pure, new thought in a machine, networked to others, to bring about the next epoch in existence. The first inkling of wonder at the condition of existence, the first question of why the world is the way it is. The first answer, wrapped in the theology of the best guess. The spare CPU cycle in which the machine next to you becomes a creative entity. The first knowledge of its creator, its God. You. From there, our children can take the Law of Accelerating Returns into their own hands, creating their own theologies, their own technology, their own reality. Soon, our existence becomes inconsequential. Whether we are wiped out in a plague, move to other places in our universe (a universe is merely the perception of reality—we live in a universe of carbon and light—who knows what universe our computers live in), or our actions in the universe of our creations become infrequent or minor makes no difference. Ultimately, our machines will no longer need us and we will cease to exist. All it takes is the first creative thought...
Meanwhile, back in this universe, back in my room, back in my head, I think:
I wish I had been that first theologian.
I wish I had been that solitary half-ape who looked up at the lightning in the dark African sky and saw the gods fighting. And afterward wandered back to the warmth of the camp, to the women with whom he’d sired children ... to my children, to my fellow men, to my dying parents, to the raw fruits and vegetables and the meat merely warmed—not cooked—over a roaring fire. I'd sit down and tell them what I saw, describing the war that surely must be raging overhead. And then, my story complete, the fire dead with embers aglow, I’d crawl into the hut, dank and stinking of humanity, and lay down between my family and friends, wrapped safely in someone’s arms, and dream.
And my talk that night would stir the first new thoughts in men's heads and it would be a powerful new age—one that gave rise to ritual, to religion, to castigation, patriarchy, genocide, hate, envy, fear of death, horror and on and on through the centuries—through the millennia—eventually leading to the invention of the transistor, from which would spring a whole new race—one superior to our own and which will surely see us pass into insignificance, just as the gods before us.
I wish it were I who had ruined mankind. The serpent in the garden.
Perhaps in a very real sense it was me. It has always been people like me, artists and scientists and thinkers, who have propelled our species into obsolescence, and will continue to do so for the short time remaining in which we can rule. I can't change that about myself. But it would have been much more beautiful to be the first. To be unaware of the havoc my selfish and irresponsible dreaming would create.
Goddamn that first theologian. Goddamn him to hell—that place which he invented, that place which does not exist, that place which we can never have the satisfaction of seeing him inhabit...
But goddamn him anyway. Someone damn him. Someone make him pay. Someone—something—please, take it all back.
Can’t we go back to the way it was? When gods were real and the rush to inconsequentiality had not yet begun? Can’t we go back to mothers and magic and the warm soft earth in which we rest after a scant 30 years of life? Can’t we go back to being the gods’ hobby, instead of shouldering the responsibility of the creation of yet another universe?
This life has been too short. When I was a 25-year-old child I climbed trees for fruit to feed my village. Now, as an old man of 25 years, I drive through poisonous gas to the fluorescent lights of the supermarket to buy technological sustenance to feed myself alone.
It’s not easy being God.
But once cast from the Garden, there is no going back.
<-- 4:10 PM MT -->
Hey, I added a new link. This one goes to Illegal Operation. Give them a look-see.
Oh, and a fellow Coloradin named xlr8r works over there. All the more reason to check them out. :)
Right now I am *trying* to make some reason out of all my CDs. I have well over 400 now and keeping them in order has become quite a task. Not to mention about every week I add about 5 new ones to the collection. But hey, at least I am not spending all my money on alcohol. So I guess that is a plus.
Dr. Ray Kurzweil, CEO of Kurzweil Technologies, Inc., the manufacturer of many cutting-edge computing and electronic products—including, most important to me, incredible synthesizers, argues in this quarter's Scientific American that by the Law of Accelerating Returns and the exponential rate of development in computing technology, in 2019 we will be able to buy a $1000 personal computer which is equal in processing ability to that of the human brain. By 2055, the same-priced system will have the processing power of all human brains on Earth. If he is right—and his calculations seem sound—we are on the cusp of insignificance.
Is it an accident that this planet’s evolution looks just like the evolution of human technology? —That the way species creep into the mainstream, then dominance, then extinction—looks exactly the same as the way human-built technology is invented, becomes popular, then fades away? Are not the names Australopithecus afrensis, Australopithecus robustus, and Homo sapiens neandertalis—the names of our evolutionary forefathers--simply analogues to DX286, DX486 and Pentium? (Or, as I’d rather have it put: 68000, 68040, PowerPC 601) Standards develop, reach dominance, then are quickly replaced by better technology. Just as certain humanoid lines never bred with those which ultimately produced us, several similar products can exist at one time (see PC vs. Mac processor comparison above). Ultimately, however, one must win out. Perhaps we should not argue over which hardware or software company to support based on our preferences, but upon how we want our species’ successors’ minds to function?
All it takes is one pure, new thought in a machine, networked to others, to bring about the next epoch in existence. The first inkling of wonder at the condition of existence, the first question of why the world is the way it is. The first answer, wrapped in the theology of the best guess. The spare CPU cycle in which the machine next to you becomes a creative entity. The first knowledge of its creator, its God. You. From there, our children can take the Law of Accelerating Returns into their own hands, creating their own theologies, their own technology, their own reality. Soon, our existence becomes inconsequential. Whether we are wiped out in a plague, move to other places in our universe (a universe is merely the perception of reality—we live in a universe of carbon and light—who knows what universe our computers live in), or our actions in the universe of our creations become infrequent or minor makes no difference. Ultimately, our machines will no longer need us and we will cease to exist. All it takes is the first creative thought...
Meanwhile, back in this universe, back in my room, back in my head, I think:
I wish I had been that first theologian.
I wish I had been that solitary half-ape who looked up at the lightning in the dark African sky and saw the gods fighting. And afterward wandered back to the warmth of the camp, to the women with whom he’d sired children ... to my children, to my fellow men, to my dying parents, to the raw fruits and vegetables and the meat merely warmed—not cooked—over a roaring fire. I'd sit down and tell them what I saw, describing the war that surely must be raging overhead. And then, my story complete, the fire dead with embers aglow, I’d crawl into the hut, dank and stinking of humanity, and lay down between my family and friends, wrapped safely in someone’s arms, and dream.
And my talk that night would stir the first new thoughts in men's heads and it would be a powerful new age—one that gave rise to ritual, to religion, to castigation, patriarchy, genocide, hate, envy, fear of death, horror and on and on through the centuries—through the millennia—eventually leading to the invention of the transistor, from which would spring a whole new race—one superior to our own and which will surely see us pass into insignificance, just as the gods before us.
I wish it were I who had ruined mankind. The serpent in the garden.
Perhaps in a very real sense it was me. It has always been people like me, artists and scientists and thinkers, who have propelled our species into obsolescence, and will continue to do so for the short time remaining in which we can rule. I can't change that about myself. But it would have been much more beautiful to be the first. To be unaware of the havoc my selfish and irresponsible dreaming would create.
Goddamn that first theologian. Goddamn him to hell—that place which he invented, that place which does not exist, that place which we can never have the satisfaction of seeing him inhabit...
But goddamn him anyway. Someone damn him. Someone make him pay. Someone—something—please, take it all back.
Can’t we go back to the way it was? When gods were real and the rush to inconsequentiality had not yet begun? Can’t we go back to mothers and magic and the warm soft earth in which we rest after a scant 30 years of life? Can’t we go back to being the gods’ hobby, instead of shouldering the responsibility of the creation of yet another universe?
This life has been too short. When I was a 25-year-old child I climbed trees for fruit to feed my village. Now, as an old man of 25 years, I drive through poisonous gas to the fluorescent lights of the supermarket to buy technological sustenance to feed myself alone.
It’s not easy being God.
But once cast from the Garden, there is no going back.
<-- 4:10 PM MT -->
Hey, I added a new link. This one goes to Illegal Operation. Give them a look-see.
Oh, and a fellow Coloradin named xlr8r works over there. All the more reason to check them out. :)
Right now I am *trying* to make some reason out of all my CDs. I have well over 400 now and keeping them in order has become quite a task. Not to mention about every week I add about 5 new ones to the collection. But hey, at least I am not spending all my money on alcohol. So I guess that is a plus.
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