ALWAYS BEFORE, life has meant passing through. Making way for those who will come after. Coming to terms with decline. Living intensely in the moments we get. Accepting that the day will come when, instead of telemarking off the icy cornice, we'll rock by the fire and remember telemarking off the icy cornice. Understanding that, like everything before us, we will rot our way back into the woof and warp of the planet. That's what humans are: animals that can anticipate their demise.
We're not going quietly into the good night. Not uswe're entitled. Never mind viagra. It gets way, way weirder than that. There might be a way out of morality.
And being human has always meant being, in some irreducible way, yourself. Not a genetically programmed machine designed for maximum performance, not an interface with silicon or with nanomachines giving you more power by orders of magnitude. That basic identificationI am meis the reason that, in the end, activities like sports have real meaning. Otherwise it doesn't mean much to accomplish anything, because who is it doing the accomplishing?
Think I'm exaggerating? The same theorists working to get rid of the human heart are also busy imagining sports the new breed of humansor semi-robotsmight want to play. "This could be an especially interesting prospect for highly dangerous activities you might not otherwise have the nerve to try," writes nanotech pioneer Robert Freitas in his essay "The Birth of the Cyborg." Boxing, parachuting, mountaineering. In such a world, people could "feel reckless," Freitas says, "without risking personal harm." Without, in other words, it meaning a thing. You could be Super Mario.