I’m delighted to see the publication of my theory-fiction “Letters from the Ocean Terminus” in an issue of Dis Magazine on the ‘postcontemporary‘ edited by Suhail Malik and Armen Avenessian. Its overarching theme is time and art in a globalised order whose stability is undermined by systems for pre-empting its futures. “Letters” blends science fiction and philosophical commentary to imagine a febrile agent at home in this speculative present; one that refashions itself by mining uncanny posthuman futures. Or as I’ve tagged it there “a series of overlapping fragments from disruptive futures; a theory-fiction that explores routes out of the present as aberrant transformations and terraforming desires.”
I must say that I’m blown away by the images of Christopher Kulendran Thomas and Annika Kuhlman. Combining media is a delicate matter, but their work genuinely complements and comments on the text rather than attempting to replicate its effects. Well, suck it and see.
However perverse it may seem now, this – and not straight academic philosophy – is the kind of writing that drew me back into academia, so it’s something that I’m hoping to produce more of. This piece was caked in my blood, but I’m satisfied enough with the result to want to offer a few more pints to the dark gods of the future.
Christ didn’t die alone. We all die with him. Most in a long fever dreams of medicalised torment, as our minds dis-arrange screaming and bodies rot. If we’re lucky we die quickly and alone – without becoming pornographic spectacles for our “loved ones”. Else we may have to endure the torrid intimacy of their concern, smile, be brave and help them through it, just so they can delectate on the meaning of it all. Well fuck that! Cohle asserted that he lacked “the constitution for suicide” but that shit-eating attitude just brings you more suffering, or worse, inevitable capitulation: to His terms (Yeah, looking at you TD finale). The bent rules of this squalid antechamber to Hell.
What goes around, comes around, inhabitants of Cancer Planet. Bestir yourselves, slough off your zombie insouciance an fucking kill god!
Last time God was impaled (slowly) and (agonisingly, slowly) soul-sucked on Elric’s cold black rune-sword.
This time round we have an engineering solution to the problem of theology from the late Barrington Bayley, a writer celebrated for his bleak metaphysical passions and picturesque space operas. There is capitulation, of a kind, in this story, but also a satanic ambition that we at EI cannot but endorse. The story is called The God Gun. And you may read it here. I hope it will prove at least consolatory; at best inspirational.
Until next time….
If you think about it, the only upside to the existence of a God is that He could, in principle, be killed. He’s devised a universe in which most creatures die pointless, tortuous deaths after disappointing their Dads. The scales of suffering need to be balanced.
Payback’s a bitch. She’s been a long time coming. And forget that little trifle in Bethlehem two thousand years ago. As Borges’ commentator in “Three Versions of Judas” remarks, an afternoon on a cross hardly cuts it. That is, unless Christ, like Judas, was damned and still suffering in some benighted pocket of His own creation.
That’s an admittedly satisfying prospect, but even this doesn’t really get God off the hook; just shows His sadism (and masochism) to be infinitely more messed up than mine or yours. Dear reader, the only solution to immanent theology is Annihilation.
Admittedly, this is not sophisticated theology we’re talking here. We’re assuming that God belongs to the category of beings rather than some bullshit “ground” of same or hyperbolically transcendent posit of Negative Theology. Fuck that. He’s gotta hurt. He’s gotta be properly messed up before the coup de grâce.
So where to begin? Well, I for one don’t know how to flush away a Gaseous Invertebrate. Don’t know enough physics, let alone metaphysics. But in order to sustain us on our path towards his tortuous and inevitable demise we can at least draw inspiration from some fictive Deicidal weapons. So here’s a modest running list that I intend to add to from time to time as the fancy takes me. Any realistic suggestions will be welcome. We’ll need ’em in the struggle to come.
Stormbringer, the black sword wielded by Michael Moorcock’s doomed albino prince, Elric of Melniboné, mulches souls and turns them into an energy drink. If God is a spiritual being, He’ll be vulnerable to soul-sucking black swords. Stormbringer is the shit when it comes to god-killing and Elric cuts a swathe through the divinity of Moorcock’s multiverse. The only drawback I can see to using the black sword on the God of Abraham is that the backwash of energy might turn His killer into a further iteration of the same. You become the thing you hate, eh? Finding the fucker shouldn’t be a problem. He’s co-terminous with all time and space. A simple poke should do.
Here‘s the audio for a fizzy discussion on posthumanism in the arts I participated in at the Centre for Cultural Studies Research at the University of East London. We talked monsters, posthuman urbanism, science fiction, the speculative/critical divide in posthumanism, whether immersive media and technological arts might help us overcome entrenched dualisms in western thought and political implications (if any) of deconstructing such binaries.
With Debra Benita Shaw (University of East London, Centre for Cultural Studies Research), Stefan Sorgner (University of Erfurt), David Roden (Open University), Dale Hergistad (X-Media Lab) and Luciano Zubillaga (UWL Ealing School of Art, Design and Media).
This is an abstract for a presentation that I will be giving in a roundtable discussion on posthumanism and aesthetics with Debra Benita Shaw and Stefan Sorgner at the University of East London on May 18 2015. Further details will be made available.
Posthumanism can be critical or speculative. These positions converge in opposing human-centred (anthropocentric) thinking. However, their rejection of anthropocentricism applies to different areas. Critical Posthumanism (CP) rejects the anthropocentrism of modern philosophy and intellectual life; Speculative Posthumanism (SP) opposes human-centric thinking about the long-run implications of modern technology.
CP is interested in the posthuman as a cultural and political condition. Speculative Posthumanists propose the metaphysical possibility of technologically created nonhuman agents. SP states: there could be posthumans – where posthumans would be “wide human descendants” of current humans that have become nonhuman in virtue of some process of technical alteration.
In Posthuman Life I elaborate a detailed version of SP. Specially, I describe what it is to become posthuman in terms of “the disconnection thesis” [DT] (Roden 2012; 2014, Chapter 5). DT understands “becoming posthuman” in abstract terms. Roughly, it states that an agent becomes posthuman iff. it becomes independent of the human socio-technical system as a consequence of technical change. It does not specify how this might occur or the nature of the relevant agents (e.g. whether they are immortal uploads, cyborgs, feral robots or Jupiter sized Brains).
Posthuman Life argues that the abstractness of DT is epistemologically apt because there are no posthumans and thus we are in no position to deduce constraints on their possible natures or values (I refer to this position as “anthropologically unbounded posthumanism” [AUP)). AUP has implications for the ethics of becoming posthuman that are generally neglected in the literature on transhumanism and human enhancement.
The most important of these is that there can be no a priori ethics of posthumanity. Becoming posthuman can only be substantively (as opposed to abstractly) understood by making posthumans or becoming posthuman. I argue that, given the principled impossibility of a prescriptive ethics here, we must formulate strategies for speculating on and exploring nearby “posthuman possibility space”.
In this paper, I propose that aesthetic theory and practice may be a useful political model for such technological self-fashioning because it involves styles of thought or creation that discover their constraints and values by producing them. This “production model” is, I will argue, the only one liable to serve us if, with CP/SP, we reject an anthropocentric privileging of the human. I finish by considering some examples of aesthetic practice that might provide models for the politics of making posthumans or becoming posthuman.
Roden, David. 2012. “The Disconnection Thesis”. In The Singularity Hypothesis: A Scientific and Philosophical Assessment, A. Eden, J. Søraker, J. Moor & E. Steinhart (eds), 281–98. London: Springer.
Roden, David. 2014. Posthuman Life: Philosophy at the Edge of the Human. London: Routledge.
“The Sobornost Station is large enough to have its own weather. The ghost-rain inside does not so much fall but shimmers in the air. It makes shapes and moves, and gives Tawaddud the constant feeling that something is lurking just at the edge of her vision.
She looks up, and immediately regrets it. Through the wet veil, it is like looking down from the top of the Gomelez shard. The vertical lines far above pull her gaze towards an amber-hued, faintly glowing dome almost a kilometer high, made of transparent, undulating surfaces that bunch together towards the centre, like the ceiling of a circus tent, segmented by the sharply curving ribs of the Station’s supporting frame.
Forms like misshapen balloons float beneath the vault. At first they look random, but as Tawaddud watches, they coalesce into shapes: the line of a cheekbone and a chin and an eyebrow. Then they are faces, sculpted from air and light, looking down on her with hollow eyes.”
(Rajaniemi 2012, 82)
Rajaniemi, Hannu (2012). The Fractal Prince. St Ives: Gollanz.
According to the Disconnection Thesis (Roden 2012; 2014: Chapter 5) a posthuman is an agent descended from some part of the human socio-technical system that has “gone feral”. In its ancestral form, it may have served human ends, or have been narrowly human itself, but (post-disconnection) has accrued values and roles elsewhere.
To date there are no posthumans so we can only guess at their likely powers. But it seems safe to assume that anything capable of cutting out of the human system would need to be at least as flexible and adaptable as humans are themselves.
These powerful entities might be indifferent to humans, but they may not like us at all; or like us in ways we would not like to be liked. They may view us as a threat, or they may be immensely powerful sadists who devote some part of their technological prowess to killing and torturing us. If posthumans are conceivable, so are very bad posthumans.
So can we do some contingency planning to ensure against the emergence of posthuman dark lords? To do this we would need some handle on the kind of current technologies that might induce a dark lord disconnection (DLD). But what kinds of technologies could these be?
It might seem that some technological possibilities can be discerned a priori – by consulting reliable conceptual “intuitions” about the extendible powers of current technologies. For example, a being like Skynet – the genocidal military computer in James Cameron’s Terminator films – seems a plausible occupant of a posthuman timeline; whereas Sauron, the supernatural dark lord of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, does not. However, since the work of Saul Kripke in the 1970’s many philosophers have come to accept that there are a posteriori natural possibilities and necessities that are only discoverable empirically. That light has a maximum velocity from any reference frame upsets common sense intuitions about relative motion and could not have been discovered by reflecting on pre-relativistic concepts of light.
Claims about hypothetical technological possibility may be as vulnerable to refutation as naive physics. States like the US and China employ computers to co-ordinate military activities so a Skynet seems the more plausible posthuman antagonist. But the fact that there are computers but no supernatural dark lords does not entail that their capacities could be extended in any way we imagine. Light bulbs exist as well as computers, but maybe a Skynet is no more technologically possible than Byron the Intelligent light bulb in Thomas Pynchon’s fabulist novel Gravity’s Rainbow.
So here’s a thing. Posthuman Possibility Space (the set of technically possible routes to disconnection) may contain a Dark Lord Possibility Sub-Space – the trajectories all of which lead to a DLD! We may not have any reliable indication of what (if anything) belongs to it. But, quite possibly, it is out there, waiting.
Roden, David. 2012. “The Disconnection Thesis”. In The Singularity Hypothesis: A Scientifc and Philosophical Assessment, A. Eden, J. Søraker, J. Moor & E. Steinhart (eds), 281–98. London: Springer.
Anita Mason has a contribution to the long running genre debate here at the Guardian entitled “Genre fiction radiates from a literary centre”. I think her attempt to constitute this supposed center self-deconstructs spectacularly, but in a manner that is instructive and worth teasing apart.
This metaphorical representation of the literary as the universal and indeterminate hub from which determinate “rule-governed” genres “radiate” does not cohere with her criteria of demarcation between the literary and the non-literary. On the one hand, the literary can be anything; is governed by no determinate rules. On the other, dense psychological characterization is necessary for the literary since, she argues, Brave New World, and Consider Phlebas fail the test of literariness due to their lack of this attribute.
Well, you can’t have it both ways. Despite Mason’s peremptory reading of The Drowned World, Ballard’s oeuvre is famously unconcerned with character and “plot”, such as it is, incidental to one of the most profoundly literary treatments of the condition of modernity in prose. Few modern novels present a more literary and unitary treatment of their subject than Crash, for example, where a brilliantly intricate chain of metaphors and symbols explore the contingency of desire in the face of technical change.
On these grounds we would also have to exclude postmodern fabulists and experimental writers such as Pynchon, Barthelme, Robb-Grillet and Christine Brooke-Rose. So Mason’s Ptolemaic rhetoric of centrality is just a blind for her anthropocentrism. The universe of literature, I hope, is post-Copernican and limitless.