Dying in a Transhumanist and

Posthuman Society

Exploring both the intrapersonal (moral) and interpersonal (ethical) nature

of death and dying in the context of their development (philosophical), Dying
in a Transhumanist and Posthuman Society shows how death and dying have
been and will continue to be governed in any given society.
Drawing on transhumanism and discourses about posthumanity, life
prolongation and digital life, the book analyses death, dying and grief via
the governance of dying. It states that the bio-​medical dimensions of our
understanding of death and dying have predominated not only the discourses
about death in society and the care of the dying, but their policy and practice
as well. It seeks to provoke thinking beyond the benefits of technology and
within the confinements of the world transhumanists describe.
This book is written for all who have an interest in thanatology (i.e. death
studies) but will be useful specifically to those investigating the experiences
of dying and grieving in contemporary societies, wherein technology, biology
and medicine continuously advance. Thus, the manuscript will be of interest
to researchers in a broad range of areas including health and social care,
social policy, anthropology, sociology, philosophy, cultural studies, and, of
course, thanatology.

Panagiotis Pentaris is an Associate Professor of Social Work and Thanatology

in the School of Human Sciences at the University of Greenwich, London,
England, UK. He is also a member of the Institute for Lifecourse Development,
an internationally recognised institute focusing on interdisciplinary research
across the lifespan. He is a council member for the Association for the Study
of Death and Society, and over the last ten years he has researched and
published on death, dying, bereavement, culture and religion, social work,
social policy and LGBTQIA+ issues.
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Dying in a Transhumanist
and Posthuman Society

Panagiotis Pentaris
First published 2022
by Routledge
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British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Names: Pentaris, Panagiotis, author.
Title: Dying in a transhumanist and posthuman society / Panagiotis Pentaris.
Description: Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY: Routledge, 2022. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021033188 (print) | LCCN 2021033189 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780367542177 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367542238 (paperback) |
ISBN 9781003088257 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Death–Social aspects. | Death. | Transhumanism. |
Posthumanism. Classification: LCC HQ1073 .P458 2021 (print) |
LCC HQ1073 (ebook) | DDC 306.9–dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021033188
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021033189
ISBN: 978-​0-​367-​54217-​7 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-​0-​367-​54223-​8 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-​1-​003-​08825-​7 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/​9781003088257
Typeset in Times New Roman
by Newgen Publishing UK
For my son
Thank you for teaching me how to appreciate life.
Contents

List of figures  ix
Acknowledgements  x

Introduction  1
Previous explorations of the policing of grief and dying  3
Policing/​medicalisation of grief  4
Policing/​medicalisation of death  8
21st-​century challenges  11
The aim of this book  13
Overview of the book  14
1 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  18
Introduction  18
What do we mean with the terms ‘transhumanism’ and ‘posthuman’?  22
Religion and transhumanist debates  28
Who is the human?  32
Technological advancements  33
Robotics, robots and social life  33
Cyberrevolution and smart devices  35
Digital immortality and mind cloning  37
Technology by geography  39
Tech-​death and tech-​grief  39
Altered conceptions of death and grief  40
The technological dimensions of regulating death  42
2 Biomedicine and death  48
Introduction  48
Biomedical advancements  52
Cryonics  56
Robotic surgery  58
Artificial organs  58
Biohacking  60
viii Contents

Cloning  61
Nanomedicine  63
Disposal of the body and revival  64
Prolongation of life and immortality in utopian realities?  65
3 Transhumanism in the social context  72
Introduction  72
Human relationships and virtual selves  75
The social environment and alienation  79
Human experience in a transhumanist social environment  82
The natural environment  85
Transhumanism and human rights  88
4 An unsettled future  95
Introduction  95
Why is the future unsettled?  97
The uneven progressions of technology, medicine and society  102
Advancements in a changing environment  105
Death, dying and grief in the hamster wheel of the future  107
Futuristic dialogue  109
Death as a choice  110
Coda  111
Conclusions  117

Index  123
Figures

2 .1 Life expectancy between 1800 and 2015, globally  54

3.1 The space of possible modes of being  75
newgenprepdf

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible without the support and guidance
that I received from many people, starting from those who supported me
during the Covid-​19 pandemic. First, I want to thank my son, Jack G. Pentaris
Baker, without whom I would not have been able to see this manuscript
through. He has challenged me in ways that made me think of life differently,
experience technology differently, and appreciate new opportunities in our
‘contemporary’ world.
I am also thankful to all my friends and family, who have stayed close and
supported me where and when needed. The strong and genuine relationships
I have with them has helped me maintain the right mindset to complete this
book, among other things. I am grateful to so many, including my sister Rena
Gatzounis who has been my rock for many years. In addition, I want to thank
a dear friend, who will always stay close to my heart, whose absence from
this world has pushed me to turn to technology to nurture my memories and
thoughts about them. Maria you are missed dearly.
Lastly, this book would not have come to fruition if it were not for the kind
support of the editors at Routledge while working on this manuscript. Thank
you for your understanding as I have been working on this script in the course
of COVID-​19.
Introduction

This book is by no means a manifesto against the policing of grief, yet it does
three things: first, it identifies the ongoing attempts to police death, dying
and grief in society; next, it accepts the epistemologically developed impossi-
bility that either of these concepts could not be policed (or freely negotiated)
in society; and last, it identifies the new challenges that transhumanist and
posthuman societies present and how those interplay with new ways of death
policing. This book provides a rounded perspective of how death and dying
are facilitated in a posthuman world, and how that impacts on the furthering
of the governance of dying altogether. It does so by thoroughly exploring
transhumanism and technological and biomedical advancements in the socio-​
political context in which we find them. This book is, in other words, looking
at death, dying and bereavement in the context of posthumanity, drawing on
the many and influential transhumanist perspectives.
Transhumanism considers biomedical and technological advancements
to be the means to realising new possibilities of and for human nature
(Hauskeller, 2012). Transhumanists like Nick Bostrom, John Harris and
James Hughes have argued that such advancements will improve humans’
social, mental and physical capacities to the extent that they will (on different
levels) address human suffering and the eventuality of death. As we are
progressing into the 21st century, ‘we can say that the substantive reality is
being gradually supplanted and replaced by the artificial, virtual one that
operates under its own laws of development’ (Levcheniuk, 2018, p.63). We
view this more and more in pop culture and have seen it in films and litera-
ture for a long while. Vizmuller-​Zocco (2016) gives us one such example of
the science fiction Nexhuman by Francesco Verso, wherein the intersections
between the human and machine are portrayed –​a telling story of the future
of human life and death.
Progressing into posthumanity may be inevitable (or is inevitable as many
authors like Stock (2003) would argue), yet this comes with a lot of uncer-
tainty. If our very understanding of what it means to be human is challenged,
then our understanding of what it means to be dispensable and eventually die
is also challenged.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003088257-1
2 Introduction

History in the 20th century has vividly shown that evolution leading to more
transhumanist ideas, guided by politically influential individuals, has led to
disastrous events for humanity rather than eternal peace and lack of suffering,
which appear to be in the agenda of a posthuman world (also see Hauskeller,
2012). Our modern history may have shown us that transhumanism truly
represents a part or some parts of the population, and others are destined to
lurk in poverty, destruction and suffering for much longer –​something that
we do explore in Chapter 4.
Death and dying may be biologically and medically well-​understood, yet
remain (by default) morally, ethically and philosophically messy. In other
words, the intrapersonal (moral), interpersonal (ethical) and the nature
of both, as well as the context in which they develop (philosophical) are
vaguely identified and perhaps impossible to clarify. It is the former (bio-​
medical) dimensions of our understanding of death and dying which have
predominated not only the discourses about death in society and the care
of the dying, but policy and practice as well. Regardless to how far we wish
to acknowledge the inescapable connections with morality, ethics and phil-
osophy, it is both of these sides that play a part in how death and dying have
been and will continue to be governed in any given society.
The morality of death belongs to the individual actor alone; it refers to the
person’s stance about what might be wrong or right, what values inform own
decisions and shape up preferences. This is not isolated from the ethicality
of death, though. The latter focuses on the environment and the interactions
between the environment and the individual –​the social norms, values and
traditions which inform decision-​making and conceptions about death and
dying. This said, the moral and ethical dimensions of death and dying seem
elementary; yet we would be naïve to accept this or even consider the pro-
cess of moral and ethical maturity anything but involuted or even impene-
trable. One’s morality, on the one hand, is not simply their personal stance
about social life, but the product of their interaction with social life itself.
Their morality is the end, but the means to it is ethics. What is ethical, on
the other hand, is not merely the social norms and traditions which influ-
ence the surroundings of one’s morality. The social stance interacts with the
personal stance about death and dying; this process produces both new ethics
and morality which inform both society and the individual. To what extent
are morality and ethicality, then, pure from influence from an ever-changing
environment? This would lead to more clarity in the way we understand mor-
ality and ethicality, as well as the way they help us understand others’ views
about death and dying.
The complexity mentioned above is not fully unpacked. If anything, this is
a snippet of what this discourse could or would surface and it would be aca-
demically ignorant and immature of me, to say the least, to claim otherwise.
Yet, for the purposes of introducing this monograph, its content and intent,
highlighting the many grey areas surrounding societies’ attempts to not only
 Introduction 3

record but monitor death and dying, is paramount. To add to this unravelled
complication, the relationship between morality and ethics is not experienced
in a vacuum but witnesses the myriad of such relationships characterising the
whole of a given society; that is to say that each member of a given society will
be experiencing a similar process of ongoing development of morality and
ethics which continuously emerge and inform social life (theirs and others’
around them). The philosophy of morality and ethics, in the context of this
discussion, plays a key part as well. The human nature of developing and
employing personal and social stance about social life is key, and we can only
think that we may be getting closer to figuring out these processes, if we first
delve into examining their philosophy, and to centre this to this conversation,
the philosophy of death and dying.
These are but a few reflections that indicate why death and dying remain
morally, ethically and philosophically messy. There does not seem to be a
single answer that is satisfactory, especially as there are too many people
involved to be satisfied. How can morality and ethics represent a unifying
code of moral and ethical underpinnings of death and dying, when those
producing and carrying them out (individually and collectively) are far from
unifying themselves? The focus with moral and ethical discourses is really
on autonomy, choice, respect, dignity, paternalism, personhood and agency.
These are the principles which bio-​medical models use as connecting links
and promote via a more standardised and calculable approach.
Medicine has colonised dying, as well as grief, which inevitably we will need
to talk about as it is closely associated with the experience of dying. Psychiatric
terms structure the experience of grief, while medical approaches and techno-
logical advancements (as I will be discussing later in the introduction) have
hegemonised the experience of dying, both from the dying person’s and the
professional’s (if we talk about end of life care) perspectives. As discussed
earlier, though, the policing of dying and grief is not just an act deriving
from medicine and technology, but face-​to-​face policing (familial pressures),
deriving from the tensions between morality, ethics and philosophy of death
and dying, is also the case.

Previous explorations of the policing of grief and dying

Since the 1990s, both grief and dying have been examined in relation to how
they are regulated as social functions and measured realities. In other words,
social sciences have increasingly explored the ways theory, practice and policy
have framed the experiences of grief and dying, while the arts and human-
ities have dedicated time to investigate historical, cultural and other contexts
and traditions and how those link with the familial and non-​policing of grief
and dying.
Kastenbaum and Moreman (2018, p.112) provoke the conversation with
their assertion that ‘the passage from life has become increasingly under
4 Introduction

the surveillance of the medical-​bureaucratic complex. The vagueness of the

concept of death is not compatible with the operationalised and measured
approaches in demand from health care management’. This quote truly
captures an ongoing debate, since the mid-​20th century, and which evolved
towards a more technologically advanced context in the 21st century.
Kastenbaum and Moreman refer to the medical–​bureaucratic complex to
highlight not merely the higher degree of technocracy in the care of the dying
and the grieving. The authors wanted to stretch the importance of the inter-
relationship between medical and bureaucratic advancements: how do the
latter inform the former and vice versa, and how does bureaucracy facilitate
or hinder medical approaches, regardless of the intent.
The following two subsections explore some of the key ideas that literature
has seen since the 1990s, concerning the policing and/​or medicalisation of
grief and of dying. These two sections highlight what we already know and
provide a steppingstone to this introduction that aims to identify the original
contribution of this book, which moves beyond what we know and explores
the areas we are unfamiliar and uncomfortable with but destined to face more
and more in the mainstream.

Policing/​m edicalisation of grief

Grief, bereavement and mourning have all been subjected to extensive scrutiny
in the 20th century, by medicine (psychiatry in particular), social sciences and
politics, among other fields. Lindemann (1944) is one of the few prominent
scientists of his time and wrote extensively about the symptomatology and
management of grief. In the first part of the 20th century, grief was primarily
considered an abnormality, albeit not universally –​a state of being which was
pathologised and pathologising. Perhaps this is telling for why grief and death
have been privatised (Gorer, 1955) and hidden (Ariés, 1981) at the time in
many regions around the world. The pathology of grief begins, though, from
Freud’s (1917) ‘Mourning and melancholia’. In his explorations, Freud draws
key comparisons between melancholia and what he identifies as the ‘normal’
effect of mourning, namely the reaction to a loss, whether of a person or an
ideal, and hence one that is known to the person. While examining similarities
and differences between the two, Freud claims that melancholia is not a patho-
logical condition, but we overcome it over the lapse of time; this is because
most of the times the person experiencing melancholia may be unaware of
the causes of it. However, he suggests this to be the biggest difference with
mourning. Regarding the latter, the person is aware, and hence the prolonga-
tion of mourning would be a pathological condition. Medical advancements
in the 20th century were seeking (perhaps they still do) healthy outcomes from
bereavement. The aim was to recover from bereavement not in the sense of
evolving to a functional state in which grief is well received and embraced as a
human experience that influences subsequent events, but in terms of restoring
 Introduction 5

what was before. The latter would necessitate, of course, that the loss that
causes grief will be ‘forgotten’; otherwise, how would someone ‘restore’ their
functionality and regain their previous state of being?
Engel (1961), as well, argued that grief shares various characteristics
and symptoms of depression and other disorders that relate to depressive
syndromes, such as feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, anger or irrit-
ability, and reckless behaviour. This stance about grief is reflected on the
versions of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) and International
Classification of Diseases (ICD) tools for diagnosis of mental health disorders
and illnesses. The classification of grief as a psychological disorder gave legit-
imacy to the tendencies to diagnose grief and thus associate it with a cure.
This is not to say that such challenges are not pertinent to more contem-
porary understandings of grief and bereavement altogether. However, the
focus on symptomatology and pathology led to various misconceptions about
grief, which the public assumed and attempted to fit their experience in those
guidelines (Worden, 2018) –​a fairly disadvantageous position to be in when
already experiencing heightened emotions and a sense of loss.
Grief, according to psychiatry and symptomatology, is classified as conven-
tional (in other words normal) and complicated (or abnormal). Complicated
grief is not necessarily a psychological disorder, though. Walter (2006,
abstract) has argued that grief can also be seven other things:

a normalising construct of psychiatric medicine, an operational require-

ment of bereavement agencies, a concept by which society as a whole and
families can discipline mourning members, a label applied to those who
actively resist cultural norms about grief, a product of a society obsessed
with risk, and the result of negotiation between various parties in the
bereavement field.

In his constructionist account about what grief is or might be, Walter is par-
ticularly emphasising on grief as a product of societies or an agency that
provides to societies. This is a rather intriguing position, which does link with
the notions of complicated grief, yet suggesting that the complication itself is
indeed a construct of psychiatry.
Complicated grief, if indeed real, is multi-​faceted. I am saying ‘if real’
because grief is classified complicated merely based on the varied med-
ical interventions and modern understandings of it. In order to accept this
position, though, one needs to explore the interpersonal and intrapersonal
dimensions of grief, and those are predominantly located outside of the
medical.
Despite the persistent focus on the medical approaches to address grief,
towards the end of the 20th century, changes are noted regarding the visi-
bility of grief in the public domain. Walter (2000) provided an account of
this and looked at the mourners’ attempt to regain control over their grief
6 Introduction

and move away from the medicalisation of it. Walter’s argument is situated in
the tensions between public and familial policing of grief; it occurs not neces-
sarily in a medical domain, but outside of it, too. Patriarchal and controlling
cultures, family dynamics and counselling also play a part in the extent to
which one’s grief is regulated. It is in these premises that Walter suggests that
the public regains control over their grief with the liberation of grief talk. The
public started expressing concerns about a dedicated space in which expres-
sion of their grief would not be medicalised, pathologised or for that matter
criticised. An example avenue by which this was accomplished is the rise of
grief memoirs (Małecka and Bottomley, 2020). Grief memoirs offered a new
platform to people to discuss their feelings and experiences; these products
became the means to befriend their loss and find ways to reengage with the
social world.
Rituals and conventions are other ways by which the expression of grief
is regulated (Davies, 2017); such practices ‘dictate how, and how much,
mourners should speak about the dead and express their feelings’ (Walter,
2000, p.101). Is this not true regarding how long we grieve or wear black-​
coloured clothes, or wait until we remarry? These are the aspects of our
realities which these days we refer to as ‘wishes’ and ‘preferences’ in end of
life care. My wishes are not necessarily mine but inherited from the habitus
of the society in which I came to be, or perhaps from the induced habitus
from interacting with various other realities/​societies. This (i.e. ownership of
preferences and wishes) is a point we will be returning to later in this book,
through the prism of transhumanist perspectives.
During the 20th century, some key theories emerged which aimed at
both explaining and classifying grief (not necessarily at the same time).
A threading characteristic of all the theories is that they all derive from the
work of psychiatrists (or at least people who have also been trained in psych-
iatry among other areas). Some prominent ones are Sigmund Freud, John
Bowlby, Elisabeth Kübler-​Ross, Colin Murray Parkes and Beverly Raphael.
Grief theorists may have intended to provide frameworks which will help
explain and understand the complex circumstances of grief (Walter, 2000),
yet they did not safeguard the public well in that these frames were offered in
the lack of managing the risk of harm they imposed. People started seeing
these theories as the rule-​of-​thumb which created a structure in which people
tried to fit –​a constructed notion of what the grieving process should look
like that befits one’s grief.
Despite the retrospective appreciation of the ethical failings of the
abovementioned tendencies, such theories pertain to date and professionals’
skills are highly shaped by these frames, specifically in therapeutic interventions
about grief (or I should say complicated, dysfunctional or unresolved grief).
Abundant accounts exploring this area have a common theme: ‘the self-​
evident premise of therapeutic intervention in bereavement is that there are
normal and abnormal responses to death and loss’ (Foote and Frank, 1999,
 Introduction 7

p.163). The grief binary of ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal’ is concerning on many

levels, yet the counterargument remains strong. Acceptance of the binary also
suggests the negotiation of ideas about power, normalisation, surveillance
and the disciplining of grief and death altogether (Foote and Frank, 1999).
I may be missing some key points here, but truly and undeniably this reality is
highly concerning for various reasons, including the subjectification of one’s
expression of grief to the premises of abnormality and hence unfitting for
society. We may need to be investigating a little further whether this type of
surveillance is indeed the solution to something that is of concern, or the
cause of complicated and unresolved grief altogether. To draw on Breen and
O’Connor (2007), it seems that the intention to accept the uniqueness of grief
while striving to define normal grief (and identify abnormal grief, I would
add) is tense and unresolved.
Walter’s (1999) work on the culture of grief seems to capture many of
these ideas. Walter does highlight the irony identified above: society promotes
freedom to express grief and mourn in whatever way, but also regulates what
rituals are ‘available’ or ‘allowed’ publicly. This is testament to one of this
book’s central points: the freedom to grieve and die is influenced by what
choices are available and not the freedom to generate choices which best fit
the individual. Of course, in contemporary practice and policy we see more
and more attempts to diversify those choices and transform the care system
into a much more inclusive area, albeit individuals still need to choose out of
the options available to them. Such options are not only regulated by rules,
though (Walter, 1999). The expression of emotions and thus grief are also
regulated by context. It may be that key choices are simply available to people
who have access to them, on a practical level (or other). For example, the
option to die in a hospice near a Sikh cemetery so the person can be buried
there is dependent on the person’s (and their family’s) financial and other cap-
acities to secure a place in that hospice.
In the same work, Walter (1999, pp.154–​155) discusses the clinical lore, a
notion that refers to practice wisdom and expertise for the care of the dying
and bereaved:

Clinical lore is the received wisdom that informs the work of more or less
trained practitioners who work in either a paid or voluntary capacity with
bereaved people; it includes the ways in which bereavement workers are
trained, along with books and articles on bereavement intended for the
general public. Clinical lore is much more important than research know-
ledge in the policing of bereaved individuals for clinical lore is effect-
ively the filter through which research knowledge reaches and controls
the public.

Even Walter, in his attempts to examine the policing of grief, seems to, unwill-
ingly, support the notion of normality in grief. He suggests that the grief
8 Introduction

process and the stages of grief ‘are intended to enable practitioners to iden-
tify the normality of particular reactions’ (Walter, 1999, p.163). Perhaps, in
his thinking, he is attempting to say that all reactions are acceptable, and
the grief process facilitates the process of simply identifying the reactions.
Nevertheless, when those are identified in the premises of normality, logic
requires that their counterreactions would be identified in the premises of
abnormality. His suggestion appears to be that we do not need to know what
grief is normal and what is abnormal.
A large portion of the information in this section is parallel to that about
the policing of death. In fact, sociologists like Tony Walter have not only
explored how the expression of grief is regulated but death’s causality with
grief, too.

Grief, like death itself, is undisciplined, risky, wild. That society seeks
to discipline grief, as part of its policing of the border between life and
death, is predictable, and it is equally predictable that modern society
would medicalize grief as the means of policing.
(Foote and Frank, 1999, p.170)

The following subsection will look at some of the key knowledge we have
about the policing of death, which will give us a more rounded perspective
about what recent debates have been engaged with.

Policing/​m edicalisation of death

Death has been medicalised (Kellehear, 2016) and sequestered from everyday
life (Bayatrizi and Tehrani, 2017). To examine the relationship of death with
medicine is a rather intriguing yet challenging task. Medicine’s aim is far
from death; in fact, medicine’s purpose is the saving or at least prolongation
of lives by means of technological, surgical or pharmaceutical interventions
(as we moved into the 21st century, technology continues to impact on med-
ical practices considerably). Medicine, in other words, is concerned with
our bodies, not our souls, and this is key when considering what is indeed
medicalised in the context of death.
Seale (1998, p.11) develops the argument that life is an embodied experi-
ence: ‘our bodies are the means by which we have life’ and, therefore, the
means by which we have death. In both cases it is materiality that enables us
to have experiences. Even grief would not be possible to express without the
use of our bodies. It is the argument about material versus non-​material exist-
ence that offers insights to the debate about the policing of death. The med-
icalisation of the body is truly the subject under scrutiny here, and as the body
is an important element for someone’s death, the functional role of the body
(in this case death) is medicalised –​something that we see underpinning the
tendencies observed with transhumanist approaches to life and living.
 Introduction 9

Similarly, to discuss the medicalisation of the body and its functional

role, we need to have a look at the policing measures in the settings where
the former often takes place –​for example, hospices. Even though hospices
aimed at liberating the experience of dying from the mainstream healthcare
system, they finally had to fit into the latter in order to survive (Clark and
Seymour, 1999). It would be naïve to think that any care provision that seeks
to be commissioned by another body and is regulated by a mix of parties
(primarily those representing the different professions providing the ser-
vices under question) would be free from scrutiny and guidance. This view
is described with Abel’s routinisation thesis and Weber’s concept of cha-
risma (see James and Field, 1992): the failed attempt of a system to be free
from systematic control and regulation. Some years later, James and Field
(1992) also argued that organisational advancements in institutional end
of life care led to necessary re-​professionalisation of the care of the dying.
Organisational arrangements, in other words, have been the starting point of
the administrative arrangements of care provision in end of life for a while.
The re-​professionalisation of the care in this area does not refer to the shifting
demographics or needs of the population at the time and thereafter, but the
shifting dynamics in commissioning and provision, which impacted on the
need for income generation, as well as relatability of the services in given
communities.
Such organisational advancements came with many more challenges
apart from questioning professionalisation only. The care of the dying or the
quality of it, for that matter, is the product of the interplay between profes-
sionalism, professionals and the context in which the two interact. Changes
in the context did not only lead to re-​professionalisation but restructuring of
services, whether institutional or in the community. Similarly, such changes
had an impact on one of the most important principles underpinning end of
life care and decision-​making processes –​autonomy. Re-​professionalisation
is not simply the product of a new set of guidelines, but requires training,
advancement of knowledge, refocusing professional standards, as well as re-​
centring the dynamics between professionals and people with lived experience
in the premises of the latter’s autonomy and control in their own care. Smith
(2012, p.97) negotiates this principle and explores the regulating of it:

Autonomy is conceived of as a second-​order capacity of persons to reflect

critically upon the first-​order preferences, desires, wishes and so forth and
the capacity to accept or attempt to change these in light of higher-​order
preferences and values. By exercising such a capacity, persons define their
nature, give meaning and coherence to their lives, and take responsibility
for the kind of person they are.

Smith (2012) is asking, ‘Why are there only two possible levels of preference?’
He argues that having an opinion about the different levels of desires and
10 Introduction

desires themselves may lead one to having third-​and fourth-​order desires,

too. He suggests that we should think of these as lower-​and higher-​order
preferences. In these terms, the policing and regulating of the material body,
without which we cannot die, is directly linked with our preferences and
wishes about what will happen to it, as well as our choice to multiple levels
of preferences.
The overall regulatory guidance in decision-​making at the end of life goes
part and parcel with making autonomous decisions. Drawing on Beauchamp
and Childress (2009), an autonomous decision is made when intentional deci-
sion, decision with understanding and decision without controlling influences
apply. If any of these is lacking, then the actions or decisions of those making
them are determined by the above. If the choice to be buried is the product of
a decision that lacks understanding of the impact this choice has on the self
and others, short-​and long-​term, then the decision has been determined by
the information or lack thereof provided. Of course, in these terms, one could
also argue that gaining understanding, in our example, prior to the decision
being made, is the result of information receiving, to a large extent, and,
hence, determined by the information. However, increased understanding
of the implications of a decision at the end of life is intentional only when
the person has a full understanding of it, hence from determined becomes
decided.
Further, we cannot look at the policing of death and choice, autonomy and
control without a reference to assisted suicide and assisted dying. The debate
in this area is highly relevant and the positions offered rather ambiguous.
On the one hand, the quality of mercy (Quill and Battin, 2004) is of critical
importance; there are deaths that are the outcome of agony and anguish, such
as cancer or neurological diseases. In such instances, physician-​assisted dying
is deemed important as it alleviates pain and provides comfort for the dying.
However, assisted dying and assisted suicide remain in the core of moral,
religious and ethical debates, in an attempt to resolve the tensions between
choice, control and autonomy versus religion, ethics and morale. Yet, the
highly subjective nature of all the concepts mentioned above makes it impos-
sible to ever reach a common agreement of where these tensions lie and how
far they are stretched. Before such a dilemma there are two options: either
continue to engage in an ongoing debate, which primarily favours the institu-
tional and constructed notions of religion, morale and ethics, or favour the
individual and their preferences and choices. It is the former that indicates fur-
ther policing of death; the policing of death is multi-​dimensional and is not
only medicine-​driven, but familial, religious, traditional and societal as well.
This is not to suggest that offering such levels of autonomy comes without its
ethical concerns; for example, physician-​assisted dying for minors remains a
controversial topic for many, and paediatricians are further challenged with
children’s physician-​assisted suicide (Vrakking et al., 2007). In these premises,
 Introduction 11

are we perhaps looking at the policing of parenthood –​a construct that is

legal bound to make decisions on behalf of minors?

21st-​c entury challenges

The 21st century has seen a number of challenges due to increasing
advancements in technology, medicine, biology, legislation and society.
These changes act as filters through which humans are seen and under-
stood (Ferrando, 2013). The notions of posthumanism, transhumanism,
antihumanism and metahumanism introduce new materialisms which inform,
both directly and indirectly, the way people as individuals and as collectivities
experience (social) life. Such notions impact on lived experience altogether,
and the experiences of grief, bereavement and death particularly.
Transhumanism is a key concept that underpins this book and its aim to
examine the governance of dying via a new, bio-​technologically advanced way.
Pilsch (2017, p.99) argues that transhumanism can be seen as ‘alien forms of
technosocial order’. The extent to which we can appreciate how social life is
influenced by these advancements, however, is the product of how ‘our tech-
nologies of global communication exceed our philosophies for understanding
them’ (Pilsch, 2017, p.19). In other words, in order to better appreciate how
biotechnology impacts on our experiences of grief, bereavement and death,
we first need to grasp a fuller understanding of these technologies. When,
for example, one delves into an examination of the use of social media as
a tool to express grief (Oberoi and Kakar, 2016; Sofka and Cupit, 2012),
how deep is the understanding of the social media in question, their qualities,
challenges and opportunities offered? Perhaps gaining a full understanding
of these new technologies is indeed an impossibility. Pilsch (2017, p.5) argues
that ‘for many transhumanists, the availability of these technologies suggests
an imperative to use them to remake ourselves into something more than
merely human’. The remaking of oneself, especially that which will have a
different nature than just human, is in itself something that we are unable to
perceive as in order to perceive what a ‘more than human’ entity looks like,
one needs to have reached that state already.
Technology advancements particularly come to shift the way we grieve,
treat the human body, care for the dying and appreciate death (Sorgner,
2009; McNamee and Edwards, 2006). Riva et al. (2002) asserted that the
development of e-​health and the use of the internet to provide services are
a perfect example of how healthcare and the care of someone of ill health
is transforming. However, we may not be paying enough attention to
how the use of these new and often misunderstood media transforms our
understanding of an illness, of life and death, and, therefore, our experience
of them. This is further highlighted in literature exploring advancements in
medicine (Mahato, Srivastava and Chadra, 2017); yet another example of
12 Introduction

the raising concerns about how biotechnology of the 21st century changes
healthcare, but we find it difficult to understand.
‘One theme of transhumanism [is that] humanity [is] moving faster into a
slick, machines embodiment’ (Pilsch, 2017, p.103). The inventor of cryonics,
Robert Ettinger, is asking the question, ‘why die when you can live’? It is grad-
ually more evident, in everyday practices, that societies, despite the challenges,
welcome the changes and introduce ways to implement them, to prolong life
and possibly annihilate death, as Ettinger’s argument shows. Yet, at what
and whose expense do we extend life or eliminate the possibilities of death?
Drawing on the work of philosophers like David Pearce, there is an element
of hedone (Greek: ηδονή) in the knowledge that nanotechnology and genetic
engineering present the potential to immortality. In his book titled Hedonistic
Imperative, Pearce (1995, n.p.) explains:

The Hedonistic Imperative outlines how nanotechnology and genetic

engineering will eliminate aversive experience from the living world. Over
the next thousand years or so, the biological substrates of suffering will
be eradicated completely. ‘Physical’ and ‘mental’ pain alike are destined
to disappear into evolutionary history. The biochemistry of everyday
discontents will be genetically phased out too. Malaise will be replaced
by the biochemistry of bliss. Matter and energy will be sculpted into life-​
loving super-​beings animated by gradients of well-​being.

It is the idea of living a long life that informs the initiatives of

transhumanism, by and large. In the premises of post-​Kantian philosophies,
the Earth and everything on it will eventually disappear; this will be the death
of everything. However, this demise reflects the end of our material bodies,
which need water, air and nutrition to survive. The French philosopher’s,
Jean-​Francois Lyotard (1992), essays come to ease the anxieties that this all-​
inclusive death brings with it, and they intensify the transhumanist views of
life. In The Inhuman: Reflections on Time, Lyotard argues that if we upload
our bodies into computers, our annihilation is no longer of question, even if
the Earth disappears or the Sun dies. He suspects that humanity can engineer
a postembodiment paradise, which will no longer contain humans as physical
entities, but as digital constructs –​almost a pure form of a regulated state
of being.
Besides genetic engineering and technology, other advancements add to
the ways death and death conceptions are challenged in the 21st century.
The handling and disposing of the dead body are areas that have seen many
changes –​specifically, in the options provided to the public. With increased
awareness on climate change and environmental needs, green burials (Davies
and Rumble, 2012) and green cremations (e.g. alkaline hydrolysis), among
other options, became more popular. Similarly, new technologies have
 Introduction 13

enabled further methods to handle the dead body. Kohn et al. (2019) edited
a volume that specifically addressed physical and digital residues of death
alike. In their introduction, the editors argue that with biotechnological
developments, ‘while some residues of death are removed and eradicated,
others are generated and preserved in newly emerging and differing ways’
(Kohn et al., 2019, p.4). Our material bodies may be withering away, but
our digital presence pertains, and it is indicated that such residues will sus-
tain for a length of period, if not forever. This potentiality carries abundant
ethical and moral dilemmas with it, which further transform death and our
conceptions of death, grief and bereavement in contemporary societies and in
a well-​debated posthuman world.
Aside from the advancements in technology, biology and medicine, social
and legal changes have also come to redefine and re-​regulate death and
bereavement. New movements, especially those aiming at reconciliation,
restorative justice and the reclaim (or claim for the first time) of human and/​
or civil rights, have restructured human relations and this directly influenced
(and still influences) death as an event and a process alike. The increasing
solidification of LGBTIQ+ legal rights and recognition of social rights, for
example, provide a new platform in which the death of a same-​sex partner
is no longer hidden, but celebrated equally (sometimes and in some places).
Emerging technologies and social media, though, also change the experiences
of disenfranchised grief (Pentaris, 2014); online platforms and communities
come to replace physical ones, which are presented with many and intense
barriers and limitations. Online communities breached geographical bound-
aries and enabled individuals to reconceptualise death and restructure their
ways of expression of grief.
These changes, however, do not all originate from one place. Indeed, many
innovations and new ideas emerge from big companies located in the Silicon
Valley in San Francisco, or from single individuals, sitting in their living room
in Riga, Latvia. Globalisation is the medium that has, for more than 70 years
(even though not acknowledged as such for that long), provided the avenues
for innovation exchange, advancement and information flow. Technology is a
medium of globalisation as well, so the two cannot be thought of separately.
The more new ideas travel the world, the faster the world attempts to adapt to
them or adopt them, and the faster social life and experience changes (or the
meaning of what we know changes) (Perraton, 2019).

The aim of this book

The preceding discussions about the policing and/​or medicalisation of grief
and death, as mentioned already, are ongoing, but with a wider audience, over
the decades, and perhaps more knowledge sharing, given the rise in thanato-
logical research (or death studies as the European side of the Western world
14 Introduction

would call it). Yet, what is new every time is the context in which this debate is
had. The conversations and arguments about the policing of grief by Walter
in the 1990s, for example, are of course illuminating, but situated in a con-
text of the past. Those conversations were had in over 20 and 30 years ago,
with significantly less end of life care legislation (death policies), a less diverse
environment, higher rates of inequalities, both in end of life but in healthcare,
and equally without the progress that technology and medicine have made
in the last 20 years. That said, this book is unique in that it explores these
notions in the premises of the ongoing advancements in three key areas: tech-
nology, medicine and society. All these three areas have introduced new,
topical, unforeseen and often scary challenges in the 21st century, which
directly inform and transform the way we express our grief and the way we
exercise choice, control and autonomy in our dying. This book is not simply
commenting on what might be challenging now, but explores the possible
challenges to follow, given the high technological input in life and death, such
as cryonics and the possibilities of people of the early 21st century being
‘unfrozen’ a century later.

Overview of the book

This book is segmented in four main chapters, exclusive of an introduc-
tion and a concluding section. Drawing on Foucault (1973; 1967; 1979), the
book examines the circumstances that inform the discourses about death and
grief –​in other words, the body as the subject of death and mind as the sub-
ject of grief. It does so by focusing on advancements in technology, medicine
and society. These three platforms inform the structure of the book.
The first chapter provides a thorough account of how technological
advancements have come to transform and restructure the experiences of
dying, death and grief. The chapter puts emphasis on the ways in which death
is understood in a transhumanist and posthuman society, and these trans-
formations negotiate the tensions between autonomy, choice and regulation
of death and grief. It is imperative to view transhumanism as a lens via which
the conceptions of death and grief are altered and appreciate the impact of
these alterations.
Next, Chapter 2 focuses on the bio-​medical developments of the 21st
century and examines choice and control in the context of increased possi-
bility for life prolongation, ageing patterns and the intentions for cure rather
than care.
The third chapter debates the most recent societal changes, which
equally present challenges and controversies in the premises of death and
grief. This chapter explores the transhumanist understandings of death,
dying and bereavement in the societal context in which we find them. The
chapter also examines the ethical challenges and inequalities surfacing in a
posthuman world.
 Introduction 15

The fourth and final chapter of the main body of this book identifies emer-
ging gaps from the unbalanced pace in which technology, medicine and society
are progressing. This section explores forthcoming and unforeseen challenges
in the experiences of death and grief, in the premises on this imbalance.
The book, finally, concludes with some reflections and learning points led
by the notions of transhumanism, posthuman societies and regulated aspects
of death and grief in the 21st century. These conclusions aim to provide a
useful framework for future training and education, research and practice for
those involved within the area of thanatology (i.e. death studies).

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 Introduction 17

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Chapter 1

Transhumanism and the

posthuman being

Introduction
Our understanding of human life is increasingly challenged and new ways of
approaching it are invented, while we are faced with the philosophical con-
undrum of how we understand human nature altogether. If we were to auda-
ciously explore this, we would find that answering this question is a much
more difficult and onerous task than we once thought. On the one hand, we
understand human life as the product of our day-​to-​day activities, the way
we engage with the world, the way we interact with the environment and
others. However, how do we understand the way we describe human life? Our
experiences are there to observe, and we each interpret them drawing on all
influences in our lives; this is our description of human life in many ways. Yet,
we are challenged with the task of explaining why we describe and under-
stand human life the way we do, in addition to how we know what we know
about human life –​a phenomenological quest.
Similarly, posthuman life is difficult to understand. For one, our only tools
to explore, explain and understand posthuman life are those deriving from
human life. In other words, the struggle of understanding the new ways (i.e.
transhumanist perspectives in this case) of approaching human life is both
expanding in the premises of our inability to understand posthumanism in
full, and confined in our willingness to produce an objective understanding
of posthumanism through the prism of a subjective take on what is human.
Aristotle presented four causes, one of which was what he called ‘efficient
cause’. It is this cause that we can answer; such answers help us perceive the
processes that make us human. But to even start thinking of opening up a
phenomenological dialogue surrounding those processes, one has to consider
what Aristotle classified as ‘material causes’. Asking a question about the
nature of something is equal to asking about its ‘material causes’. In this
occasion, though, wherein the nature of human and human life is sought,
we become limited to the human body and all materiality that surrounds and
often lends to our experiences, in order to understand the nature of humans
and human life. That said, our understanding is never of the nature of the two

DOI: 10.4324/9781003088257-2
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  19

per se, but the nature of how the two are depicted through the material world
and dependent on its limitations.
The other two forms of Aristotle’s causes are known as ‘formal cause’ and
‘final cause’, none of which is discussed here but we might return to these, in
the premises of existentialism, in the end of this book. It is worth highlighting
here, nonetheless, that neither Heidegger nor Sartre, for example, has agreed
a unifying explanation of the human nature and human experience. This area
remains philosophically under exploration, or what seems to be the truth, an
infinite and perhaps insoluble query.
Despite the difficulties in developing and acquiring an understanding of
human life, different scientific fields have offered abundant information and
evidence, which help us formulate a descent and most necessary appreciation
of human life. Human biology has immensely contributed to this, particu-
larly when discussing life history, or otherwise human life cycle. One way to
understand human life is to appreciate its cycle –​where it starts and ends.
Bogin and Smith (1996) reiterate what anthropologists and biologists in the
past have explored; social mammals, like humans, go through three main life
stages (developmentally). Those are infancy, juvenile and adulthood. Yet,
since Homo erectus, the pattern of human growth and development has
changed (Bogin and Smith, 1996); it is characterised by five stages: infancy,
childhood, juvenile, adolescence and adulthood (Bogin, 1988). Regardless of
how smoothly humans can transition from one stage to the next, which psych-
ology and neurology tell us is genetically informed (Sigelman and Rider, 2021)
and social sciences suggest it to be circumstantial beyond genetics (Lerner,
2018), the transitional period is significant in defining the next stage’s nature.
With that in mind, despite the generic knowledge from medicine and biology
(Webster, Morris and Kevelighan, 2018), to claim that we can acquire a single
understanding of human life, which coincidentally will apply to all humans, is
to suggest that all human beings experience the five stages the same or at least
similarly, or that their transitions from one to the next are identical or similar,
too. This assumption would be absurd and certainly not corroborating with
much of the work of some of the contemporary critical thinkers, including
phenomenological existentialists.
Further on understanding human life, the period following Homo erectus
continues to be of importance. Human brain’s circumference increased since
and continues to increase (Martin, 1983), which gives explanation to much
of the gradual innovations and evolvement we see in technology, science,
medicine and societally. As human brain expands, the possibility for further
and new life stages emerges as well (Bogin and Smith, 1996). In other words,
human life starts expanding across a wider life span, wherein further phases
of development are noted, which may be the product of biology or society,
but remain nonetheless important.
Of course, there are other ways to approach the question of human life
and in fact the most important of all being the philosophical. Starting in
20  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

the 5th-​century-​b c Greece, philosophical thinking started giving birth to one

of the most challenging and debated areas across the centuries –​the nature
of Being, known as ‘ontology’. Presocratic thinkers like Parmenides and
Heraclitus put emphasis on explaining or at least attempting to understand
what Being really means (Watts, 2011). Parmenides said ‘εστί γαρ είναι’ (esti
gar einai) –​in other words, ‘for there is Being’. This phrase recognises that
Being as a truth is what remains of importance, while the question of Being
or how one Is is not of the same significance.
According to Heidegger, to move up a number of centuries, ontological
investigations of entities remained of importance, but human life was to be
understood with what he called Dasein (i.e. there + being); alternatively, we
are because we are present in the context with which we interact. This is in line
with Heidegger’s explanation of what understanding means. It is not merely
the understanding of words and concepts, but also the world and social phe-
nomena in it, as well as the way we interact with those, which results in our
Being –​a very close idea to Bourdieu’s habitus (Bourdieu, 2013): we are the
product of our experiences and interactions with our social world.
Our understanding of human life evolved even further with Heidegger’s
most prime and instrumental work that he calls ‘fundamental ontology’. This,
of course, is introduced with his Being and Time (Heidegger, 1927/​1967). The
questions we ask about Being shift with this work and refocus on what it
means to Be –​a revolutionary take on human life and its understanding.
A very important part of Heidegger’s work refers to the previous attempts
to gain an objective understanding of the world and human life in it. As he
explains, such an attempt is ludicrous after all. One cannot gain an objective
understanding of the social world, as they can never be outside of that world.
They are an equal part of the making of the social world which they are trying
to comprehend, and, hence, their subjective understanding of it mingles with
what they wish to call an objective reality of the world.
Similarly, the attempt to gain an objective understanding of human life and
the meaning of Being become all the more difficult when the only way forward
is to make use of our subjectivities to develop non-​objectivities about human
life which, with high risk, we generalise as unifying truth across humans.
To briefly return to Bourdieu’s idea about habitus, our understanding of
human life, attempts to continue to understand or hone our current apprehen-
sion of human life, as well as all new ways of approaching these processes (i.e.
transhumanist perspectives) differ from place to place. The questions of ‘what
human life is’ or ‘what it means to Be’ are much more complex in a convoluted
environment. Factors such as geography, environment, history, culture, reli-
gion, societal influences, economic and familial are directly influencing not only
the tools used to understand human life, but the way those tools are used, too.
Psychology gradually became concerned with factors outside of the indi-
vidual and came to the realisation that human life can only be understood
on an individual basis (Adler, 2013). Adler argued that to understand human
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  21

nature, we ought to understand human behaviour, and as long as there is

human behaviour which we do not fully comprehend (globally that is), we
then simply fail to understand human nature altogether. There is a pinch of
Husserlian perspectives in that idea; Husserl offered that human beings exist
in the intersection of body and soul, and the notion of individuation. In other
words, against Heidegger’s critique (also see Heinämaa, 2017), individuation
is perhaps the foundation of understanding human nature, without which an
understanding of posthuman nature may be impossible.
To return to the initial idea of this chapter, our understanding of human life
is revisited, and new dimensions are added via the lens of transhumanism and
posthumanism (Hellsten, 2012). However, the attempt to understand human
life through such lenses is ambiguous and contentious for four main reasons.
First, it is clear from the earlier part of this text that our understanding of
human life is neither exhaustive nor holds conviction. To the contrary, what
is clear to me is that we cannot ever reach a point of in-​depth understanding
of humans, their behaviours and evolvement, unless we merely focus on bio-
logical advancements, which again, we can only keep up with after they have
happened. This said, the proposed new approaches to understand human
life are equally disturbing (as we will discuss later in this chapter). Neither
transhumanism nor posthumanism are well understood at this stage to lend
us the foreground of human life. The challenge here is that we are seeking
to understand one concept through the lens of another, without having first
understood the latter. Even if we wanted to understand the latter first, we
would have to do so via the lens of the former (i.e. human); but we already
suggested that we also lack understanding in that area. We are then left with
one of those ‘what came first, the chicken or the egg’ questions, which indeed
may not require solving.
A second major challenge with trying to comprehend human life via
transhumanist and posthuman perspectives, and the vice versa, is that if
we were successful in this task, we would still have failed. Grasping human
life from a transhumanist perspective, for example, is not an apprehension
of human life, but one that reflects how human life would be understood
were Beings from a posthuman society to develop anthropological research
(which may be called something different then) that explores human beings
of our current time. This does sound like one of Philip Dick’s books from
the 1950s, albeit possible! It would be as if I were to explain the professional
role of a flight engineer through the lens of an astrophysicist, when in fact
I have background in neither of these two fields. I may have been on a plane
(being human) but have certainly not managed the flight systems of an air-
craft (excel in, manipulate and control bodily functions). This challenge
reminds us of the anthropological paradox (De Carolis, 2018) regarding cul-
tural understandings –​one which scholars in thanatology have often alluded
to or applied to their work (Penfold-​Mounce, 2019; Pentaris, 2011, 2019; Hsu,
O’Connor and Lee, 2009).
22  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

The last two major challenges are closely connected. The processes involved
in the developments in transhumanism and posthumanity are undeniably, due
to the links with high technology, rather pricy. In other words, those involved
in these processes are not the consumers, but the producers and creators,
inclusive of the funders. This may be a select part of the population –​the
tech-​elite. That said, a transhumanist or posthuman understanding of human
life is simply the privilege of those engaged with transhumanist perspectives
or have the means to be engaged. With that in mind, the fourth challenge,
which we explore in subsequent chapters, is about human rights. Does this
quest of examining human life via a transhumanist and posthuman lens also
add to the social phenomenon of the violation of human rights (not neces-
sarily intentionally)? Does this quest enable individuals to choose disengage-
ment from such developments, which might eventually lead to social death
(Patterson, 2018)? Does this quest lead individuals to enhance the social
stratification that society and legislation have tried to battle for many years?
We will return to these questions later in this book.
So far, this introduction simply highlighted parts of the foundation under-
pinning the thesis of this book. Death, dying and bereavement are experiences
that add to the way we appreciate human life, while transhumanist perspectives
come to challenge such appreciation and our grasp of death altogether. This
chapter’s aim is not to provide a holistic account about human life, but to
explore the new ways in which we approach human life, and specifically
death. This chapter details four areas of concern that help us appreciate
transhumanism and posthumanism before embarking on a journey to explore
their impact on death. It starts with an investigation of the definitions and
descriptors that transhumanism and posthumanism have received over the
years; it would be naïve to think that such complicated concepts are single-​
handed and, thus, will also be digested easily. Further, the chapter explores
the existential-​transhumanist debates, which have dominated the field for a
while, specifically as transhumanist perspectives appear to contradict reli-
gious values and vice versa. Next, the chapter touches on the place of the
person in the physical environment and the challenges that transhumanist
views pose when considering the individual virtually. Last, the chapter focuses
on some of the most controversial technological advancements (in relation to
the previous areas) of the 21st century and their influence on how we manage
death and dying, inclusive of ageing that is considered to be a disease of the
21st century.

What do we mean with the terms ‘transhumanism’

and ‘posthuman’?
The earliest mention of the term ‘transhumanism’ can be found in poetry of
the 14th century and in Dante Alighieri’s Paradiso of the Divina Commedia
(1312). The use of the term in this work referred to a religious evolvement; the
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  23

process by which humans changed through beatific visions. In other words,

the first traces of the term are describing the externalisation of anything
human from the human body. Since the term has been found cross discip-
lines, yet the latter do not share a definition, while often descriptions allude
to a phenomenon rather than represent it. Vita-​More (2018, p.5), a strategic
designer and innovator in the areas of technology and human enhancement,
accumulates these descriptors under three main categories. She suggests that
‘transhumanism is a philosophy, a worldview and a movement’.
As a philosophical foundation, transhumanism argues the absolute use
of technology when exploring human evolvement. Transhumanism can be
seen as a philosophy or lifestyle that underpins not only day-​to-​day activ-
ities but ethics and morality generally. As a practice-​and policy-​orientated
thanatologist, however, I have to draw your attention to the social, political
and economic constraints that an all-​encompassing philosophical view of
transhumanism may pose.
Vita-​More (2018, p.5) described this category (i.e. transhumanism as phil-
osophy) as follows: ‘Transhumanism is an intellectual and cultural movement
that supports the ethical use of technology and evidence-​ based science
to improve human condition’. This position is simultaneously introduced
alongside that of Huberman’s (2018, p.50), who very similarly argued that
‘transhumanism is an intellectual and cultural movement premised upon
the idea that human beings can use sciences and technology to significantly
enhance their capabilities and thereby overcome many of the limitations of
human body’. Such epistemology requires five things to be true. First, if
transhumanism is an intellectual movement, it can only be accessed by those
in intellectual circles, with intellectual capacity and the potential to engage
intellectually with such discourses. Such truth also claims that inequity is
inherently part of transhumanism; intellectuality is neither possessed (know-
ingly or unknowingly) nor exercised by all. At large, if transhumanism
is an intellectual movement, then only those educated and with the right
resources can be part of that movement. The second pre-​requisite truth is
that which talks about transhumanism as a cultural movement; if so, then
transhumanism merely describes societies and individuals who are largely
accepting transhumanism as a culture, while allowing own cultures to inter-
twine with technological advancements. For example, is transhumanism not
a cultural movement that represents Amish life? A third truth, based on Vita-​
More’s description of transhumanism as philosophy, is that technology has
been and is used ethically, a burning issue which this book addresses fur-
ther in Chapter 4. Next, the description suggests evidence-​based sciences, and
this requires a general acceptance from scientific communities about what is
evidence, what is good evidence, and what is evidence-​based science –​all of
which are found in ever-​growing arguments among scientific communities
within and beyond disciplinary areas. Last, accepting that transhumanism
aims to improve human condition, one wonders whether we also suggest that
24  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

(1) human condition was not at its best and needed improvement, and that
(2) the product of transhumanism will be something human, when in fact
ongoing debates in robotics (Allenby and Sarewitz, 2011; Pepperell, 1995),
philosophy (Ross, 2020) and medicine (Jotterand, 2010) argue the form of a
posthuman.
One of transhumanism’s intents, while improving human condition, is to
extend life and eradicate death (see Pilsch, 2017 for evolutionary futurism).
As Max More (1990) defined transhumanism:

[it] is a class of philosophies of life that seek the continuation and acceler-
ation of the evolution of intelligent life beyond its currently human form
and human limitations by means of science and technology, guided by
life-​promoting principles and values.

Alternatively, the transhumanist view of humans is that they are currently in a

form which limits them, predominantly due to ageing, frailty and death. This
said, transhumanism is not philosophical thinking that celebrates humanity
but one that identifies its flaws and attempts to ‘correct’ them via technology.
As a worldview, Vita-​More suggests that transhumanism is a system that
engages varied points of views in a dynamic relationship. Transhumanism
is described as a position that wants people to come together, innovate and
change the human condition and its future. Interrelationships and dynamic
exchange of ideas are central in this endeavour of improvement.
Last, Vita-​More sees transhumanism as a movement. Since the 1980s, public
events like transhuman conferences, university programmes (e.g. UCLA
course on Transhuman), organisations, the Transhuman Manifesto, public
discourses and so on have emerged and accumulated a whole movement. The
Italian Transhumanist Association, the Association Francaise Transhumaniste
Technoprog, the Association Transhumanista Latino Americana are but a
few examples of the most prominent established systems that promote
transhumanist views and enable their investigation. In addition to that,
the Journal of Transhumanist Thought comes to add to this movement and
enhance its intellectual presence in academic and scientific circles.
The timing of this movement (1980s) was recorded by Kass (1984, p.37)
who argued that

we are witnessing the erosion, perhaps the final erosion, of the idea of
man as something splendid or divine, and a replacement with a view that
sees man, no less than nature, simply as raw material for manipulation
and homogenization.

The death of the human, in such premises, is no longer a natural outcome of

life, or part of it, but another area that can and should be manipulated. The
perceptiveness of death shifts drastically and the progression of death talk in
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  25

public is not centred around acceptance but appreciation of the possibilities

to manipulate death as a human limitation.
Vita-​More’s (2018) reflections are not the only that draw on such ideas.
Kuzmich (2011) accepted that transhumanism offers opportunities that
help transcend the limitations of body and mind. It is not simply the bodily
declines that are of question, but mental capacities as well. It is the elab-
oration of alternative ways to view the human body and mind, which evi-
dently leads to different ways of understanding it. Of course, such views and
descriptors require further scrutiny pertaining to whether such illustrations
are entitled to a finish line or an ongoing process. More (2013, p.5) claimed
this clearly: ‘the implementation of transhumanism [is] a continual process
and not about seeking a state of perfection’. Gradually, the discourse about
what transhumanism is, what it does and what it represents evolved into a
place where this is not seen as a perfect state that will or can be reached, but
an ongoing attempt to adjust to new circumstances and appreciate human life
in those. This is possibly a more refreshing view of transhumanism, one which
is not often apparent in academic texts or scientific discussions, but certainly
inviting to examining transhumanism in varied ways.
Once again, the overarching principle of what transhumanism is, how it is
understood and applied, remains the enhancement of human condition (also
see Harris, 2007), which is particularly emphasised in the Transhumanist dec-
laration1 issued in 1998 and later modified in 2009: ‘Humanity stands to be
profoundly affected by science and technology in the future. We envision the
possibility of broadening human potential by overcoming aging, cognitive
shortcomings, involuntary suffering, and our confinement to planet Earth’.
It is apparent in this statement that Humanity+, a non-​profit think tank of
transhumanist thinkers, is not only recognising the impact of technology and
medicine on human life, but sets a firm agenda to argue the ways in which
ageing can be ‘solved’ or ‘eradicated’, as if it is a plague of the human kind,
perhaps. Similarly, the organisation claims the need that we ought to over-
come mental weaknesses; that is use technology to respond to any human
incapacitates, which alludes to the after-​statement that human mind has to
be manufactured in a certain way, and any other is considered a deficiency
that needs correcting. This is further highlighting our comments earlier about
inequity and embedded oppression in the processes of enhancing human con-
dition. To satisfy the desires set out by the declaration aforementioned is far
from enabling human autonomy. To the contrary, it is a process that seems to
be reinforcing oppression that impedes autonomous life (at least one that is
understood through humanism).
With this in mind, a transhumanist understanding of death seems to be
matching an ideal of transhumanist-​governed death –​one that reminisces
Marxist views about power and oppression. When one’s choices about death
are not self-​governed but, in fact, subconsciously perceived as own, when
in fact external parties and other forces pre-​design such choices and place
26  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

them at the individual’s expense, we are mostly faced with what is known as
mauvaise foi (i.e. bad faith) when discussing gender social roles and pressures
in society (also see Savulescu, Ter Meulen and Kahane, 2011 for Marxist-​
feminist debates about power and oppression). Perhaps in this case what
we are faced with is mauvaise foi transhumaniste non sexiste; in other words,
transhumanist bad faith with no gender restrictions, in which technological
and medical developments place certain pressures on individuals and societies
to abide by them in the process of human enhancement –​the evolvement of
humans into posthumans, and in our case, the evolvement of death and grief
to posthuman death and posthuman grief, or as the book argues later, tech-​
death and tech-​grief.
Aside from the term transhumanism, this book’s arguments are also
influenced by the way the concepts posthuman and posthumanism are
described. While transhumanism is referring to the varied ways in which phys-
ical and mental human conditions can be transformed to achieve longevity (or
immortality even), posthumanism simply argues the progression from human
nature. Typically, this is understood as the development of a culture in which
traits and capacities are no longer identified by what was once considered
human, an idea that was ‘born in the mainstream of transhumanistic the-
ories’ (Levcheniuk, 2018). Levcheniuk (2018, p.63) sees posthumanism as a
turn which ‘is that people in their activities go beyond objective reality’. Of
course, this statement may be interpreted in many different ways. For one, the
contestations of what is objective reality and for whom would radically shake
the very truth of the statement. Yet, the core issues with what posthumanism
refers to are very far from that. Objectivity is neither static nor unifying
(Deely, 2009). As the world progresses, social life evolves and the experiences
of death and grief are now reconsidered through advancements never thought
of before, our way of thinking changes and so the need to find new ways of
talking about it change, too, as we attempt to comprehend previously grasped
concepts without appreciating that perhaps it is not simply the way we think
about it that changed, but the very concept itself, hence posthumanism.
Moving beyond objective reality, to reminisce Levcheniuk once again,
requires the willingness to move towards a reality that is no longer socially
verified, but perhaps subjectified. Is this not somewhat of a challenge? If the
objectification of reality is the process by which we become aware and accept
it socially, would the transition to a new reality not require such a process to
ensure its viability? Hence, this would still be an objective reality. As Hardin
and Higgins (1996) argued, once human experience is socially recognised, it is
also shared with the members of the given society. That said, such experience
is no longer subjective, but has claimed validity, reliability and a status quo.
Posthumanism, thus, describes the transition from what is human (objective
reality) to what can be (post)human.
To further entertain the above thought, we might as well look at Borg’s
(2012) views about posthumanism. He claimed that posthuman perspectives
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  27

see technological advancements as ‘reality’s inaugural moments –​they are

conditions of possibility’ [emphasis in original] (Borg, 2012, p.176). Such
Kantian approach to technological advancements seems sensible (also see
Oiché, 2016). As a cube cannot be an extended shape (three-​dimensional)
without the pre-​condition of space, similarly, technology (and this book
accounts medicine, familial and social advancements, too) is the condition
that provides possibilities of viewing and experiencing death and grief differ-
ently. Further, and taking into account some of the analyses of Kant’s con-
ception of transcendental philosophy (Piché, 2016), as the understanding of
any life experience is merely deriving from our conception that the possibility
of the experience is tied to the conditions that facilitate it, so is transhumanist
understanding of death and grief, in a posthuman society, tied to the
conditions that led to such understandings. That said, and as the conditions
may be ever-​changing, the idea that death and grief can ever be fully under-
stood (not only under the current advancements) is already impracticable.
The complexities we are faced with when trying to make sense of
posthumanism through a humanistic lens can perhaps be described with Neil
Badmington’s account in his Alien Chic: Posthumanism and the Other Within.
Badmington suggests that posthumanism is the activation of the recognition
of the inhuman within the human. He states: ‘In the end, absolute difference
is abducted by differance. In the end, “Man” secretes the other within. In
the end, close encounters are constitutive, and invasion is inescapable. In the
end, humanism finds itself a little alien’ (Badmington, 2004, p.155). It is the
complex relationship between human and inhuman that needs understanding
before moving beyond what is human.
In conclusion, and taking into account transhumanism and posthumanism,
Hauskeller (2012, p.40) asked whether transhumanist claims get us closer to
a ‘conspicuous proximity to utopianism’. Transhumanist ideas are grounded
in the expectation of a posthuman future –​one which resembles utopian
realities like the Golden Age. The following quote sums up few of the main
arguments in this segment, and leaves us with a set of questions that we ought
to be concerned with as we delve to understand the governance of death and
grief in this new era:

An anticipated cohesiveness of identity among the human, cyborg,

transhuman and posthuman is to first establish similarities between them.
First, the postmodernist concept of a posthuman body is that it is not a
physical, object-​based system. Second, the assumption that posthuman
and transhuman bodies lack a sense of unity or ‘oneness’ –​or a type of
inclusivity among all agency is a false premise because no one knows the
inner psychology of another, especially while asserting segregated labels.
For example, a transhuman is a human in transition to becoming some-
thing other. It could be a posthuman, or not. No one knows.
(Vita-​Moore, 2018, p.35)
28  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

What remains unknown is the length of the transition. When is posthuman

status achieved and what will it mean to humans? Is posthumanism by default
leading to the separation of humans into categories based on how, when,
where and to what extent they can enjoy transhumanist developments in order
to classify as members of a posthuman society? That said, are we moving
towards an era of death and grief classifications based on transhumanist pro-
gression? These questions do not simply aim to provoke but awaken the field
of thanatology of the need to move beyond its human exploration of death
and into a posthuman examination of death, dying and bereavement.

Religion and transhumanist debates

It would be naïve to think that a discussion about human nature can stray
from some sort of religious exploration. So far, it is clear that transhumanist
perspectives and the posthuman move away from uncertainty and introduce a
meticulous algorithm that can monitor human experience scientifically. While
at the conference of the Romanian Sociological Society, in 2018, I had the
privilege of acquainting myself with a number of people who shared their
insights with me generously. One of the members of the audience asked me
whether I thought technology ‘defeats’ religion, as the former is evidence-​
based, while the latter is belief-​based. Perhaps this is the right place to answer
this question; I would not consider a battle between the two. There are def-
initely debates, and interesting ones, but no war. If we approach religion in
its literate and broader sense, not as a denomination, it refers to a sense of
belonging, to a place of gathering and the development of a community that
shares principles and values. It is almost a substitute word for community.
Now think about technology –​an area that brings people who share goals
and aspirations together, connect with one another, and gather in physical or
virtual places to create communities. I may not necessarily be right, but don’t
the two sound the same? Technology emerges as a new religious movement.
Amarasingam (2008) writes analytically about this and explores the way
futurology will follow traditional religious movements, yet this remains an
area in need of much more exploration.
A good start of this conversation may be to look at what a new religious
movement truly is. Dawson (2006) suggested that new religious movements
have five distinct characteristics: (1) they demonstrate higher concern than
traditional religions to meet their members’ needs, (2) they draw on know-
ledge that has been recently (re)discovered, (3) they facilitate an experience
of metamorphosis, more radical and unswerving that traditional religions
do, (4) they are not systematised, but their perceptiveness of the social world
can be loose, and (5) a charismatic leader is typically at the epicentre, whose
demise, for example, might also lead to the collapse of the movement.
Now, let us try and apply these characteristics on the transhumanist
perspectives that want technology primarily to revolutionise death and dying.
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  29

Technological advancements, for a start, such as nano-​technology or infor-

mation technologies, promise to treat death –​cure humanity of the squalor
that death is seen as. As Martin Rothblatt (2014) has asserted, immortality
may yet be far from reality, but technoimmortality is an absolute possibility
that can allow human minds to transcend indefinitely into the real world.
Next, technology is ever-​growing and evolving into myriad directions, pro-
viding new ways of managing, facilitating and, thus, experiencing social life.
All such ways help minimise the chance of death. These changes, of course,
transfigure human life and provide a more ecstatic experience, while the multi-
dimensional and multipurpose nature of technology allows for a more loose
organisation of it. Lastly, as developments in technology, as well as medi-
cine and biology in this case (e.g. genetics), are led with a number of charis-
matic leaders, such as Ray Kurzweil, or Martine Rothblatt, if one died, the
movement will still go on.
With some confidence, I can say that the above matches well with what is
expected of or found in a new religious movement, which logically leads to
the conclusion that technology is also a new religious movement. This is by
no means a personal view, but merely a logical progression of one’s thinking
when following the steps above.
If we accept the above, then surely we can consider that this section
discusses debates between traditional religions, and primarily Christianity,
and a new religious movement –​technology, which we otherwise refer to as
transhumanism, or the transhumanist perspective to human life that leads to
posthumanity.
Debates between religion and transhumanist quests are neither new nor
of the contemporary age alone. Kuzmich (2011) reminded us this with a
telling ­example –​the Elixir of Life. First found in ancient China, with
emperors swarming to alchemists for a potion that will grant them eternal
life and/​or youth, and India, the Elixir of Life is one of the first recorded
attempts of humans to control death and gain immortality. Chinese medi-
cine is closely related to those ideas, especially in the use of plants and
herbs, as those practices originate from the Mushroom of Immortality or
The Supernatural Mushroom –​a plant fed with substances like sulphur
and gold, in order to be eaten later as a formula of life longevity. The
drinking of liquid metals was another practice in history, in Mesopotamia
and Europe, that exemplifies the attempts to invent the Elixir of Life.
Another practice that we find even today in the church is that of the use
of a chalice to offer communion wine. The chalice is representing the Holy
Grail used by Jesus Christ during his Last Supper to offer wine to his
disciples, and which was considered to offer longevity of life. The Elixir
of Life is also found in religious scripts –​e.g. Amrita in Hindu scripts or
Water of Life in Christian scripts, while European references often talk
about the Philosopher’s Stone, popularised with the Harry Potter books
and films into the younger minds as well.
30  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

That said, religious traditions have introduced many practices that aimed
at immortality and forgiveness of sins, drawing on the religious tragedy that
Adam and Eve lost their immortality by being banned from the Garden of
Eden. The overlap here is perhaps better described by Kuzmich (2011, p. 293),
who explains transhuman technologies as ‘simply sophisticated man-​made
philosophies, implements, and tools that assist us in answering some of the
questions that we (as a civilization) have asked since the beginning of time’.
Humankind has always aimed at knowledge –​the desire to learn more about
more. Traditional religions offer explanations but no opportunity for testing
them; one simply has to comply and believe. Technology, on the other hand
offers explanations that can be tested and proven in advance. Yet, the story of
Adam and Eve being banished from the Garden of Eden verifies that religion
does not require one to test and explore; if one does, their immortality may
be at stake.
The religious debates about preservation of life and the use of technology
to eradicate ageing and dying are predominantly rooted in the view that these
processes alter human nature. Surely you have figured by now that despite my
non-​religious views, I do also think that the progress we have seen in technology
and biomedicine in the last few decades has been shifting human nature –​
sometimes distorting it. Is this not the reason I am writing this book, after
all? Religious views about human nature share the perspective that all humans
are spiritual, and that human nature relates life with a ‘supramaterial realm
of spirit or mind’ (Ward, 1998, p.1). Materiality, in major religious traditions,
is not of concern but in ritualistic terms, and as human bodies are materials,
we need to get rid of those before transcending to eternal life, resurrection
or whatever else the belief is. Following in these footsteps, transhumanists
who are working towards mind-​uploading, for example, equally ask that one
disengages from their material body and progresses to eternity in the realm of
the internet. Of course, this is by no means a suggestion that the two are the
same, but an observation that there are similarities.
The most prominent religious oppositions to transhumanism are those
found in Christianity. Sutton’s (2015) work is an exceptional read that surfaces
the tensions between Christian and transhumanist anthropologies. Sutton is
asking whether transhumanist ideology revives the eugenics movement –​an
attempt to improve human growth and development, led by the biologist
Charles Davenport in the early 1900s in the United States. In many ways, this
suggestion seems to have merit; the intentions appear similar, albeit altered by
the potentialities of each era’s technologies, tools and methods.
Sutton (2015, p.120) continued with the claim that ‘concerned with indi-
vidual control over life and death in this world, transhumanism aims at over-
coming human frailty and involuntary aging and death’. This is where we find
a critical difference between religious and transhumanist views about human
nature. Religious views accept human nature as one controlled by God or
a higher power, whereas transhumanism wants human control over life and
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  31

death. This seems to be a challenging suggestion for religious scripts, for two
reasons: first, because control over human life is a divine task, and second
because, if the main aim of transhumanists is to gain full control over their
life and death, then logic suggests that those are not currently under control.
This suggestion alludes to a job not very well done by ‘those’ controlling life
and death so far.
An additional main difference found in these debates is that ‘the
transhumanist dream is one of selfish egos focused on the self’ (Sutton, 2015,
p.125). Again, there is some logic to this. Let’s consider for a moment the
blood transfusions carried out in trials in San Francisco to test the theory
that transfusing blood of a teenager or younger adult, older patients can gain
longevity and aim for immortality. This trial was accessible to those with the
financial means and turned out to be a ‘rich-​blood needs get younger’ kind
of genre. A much selfish act from the end of the participants, however, this
was perceived to start with by Jesse Karmazin initiating the company and
the pilot.
To the contrary, religion reinforces collective conscience and promotes com-
munities, with shared values and beliefs, which underpin the sense of social
solidarity. It is not clear where transhumanist views become more social and
transparent, but this may be for reasons already discussed in this ­chapter –​
e.g. attempting to make sense of something through the lens of something
else. It is like trying to eat soup with chopsticks.
Mercer and Trothen (2014) edited a volume that brings together varied views
about the tensions between religion and transhumanism, and the collection
explored methodically the benefits and disadvantages of both perspectives
and in relation to human nature. An important point raised in this volume
was that religion is something we know and technology something we do not;
which one is more appealing and/​or trustworthy? In a way, the contributors
in this volume have a few times queried the capacities of transhumanist
thoughts, but also recognised the benefits for human enhancement.
What may be unfortunate here is that such discussions are not accessible
for the everyday human; there are discrepancies and inequalities in becoming
privy to such conversations, let alone developing a clear understanding
of those. Say that one day we, humans, have an understanding of what
transhumanist views may lead to; an ethical dilemma is standing right before
our eyes, and perhaps we each need to answer this alone when it comes to
death. Technology and biomedicine (this has been mentioned less in this
section as ongoing debates keep returning to the use of technology) promise
a never-​ending life, but God promises resurrection. Which one do we choose?
Despite the many and ongoing religious debates about how transhumanism
distorts human nature and fiddles with the purpose of mankind, there have
been some attempts to balance the tensions and find ways to work together.
The Christian Transhumanist Association,2 that was established in the 2000s,
argues that faith and science can work together for a better future. The
32  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

Association is encouraging the use of technology to explore possibilities that

were not there before, and as long as there is no deviation from what the Bible
teaches. There is a conditioned openness to the possibilities that technology
may offer, in other words.

Who is the human?

Following on from the section above that relayed many of the tensions
about transhumanism found in religious debates, I wanted to spend a
moment and ask the question whether the human is a being that is part of
the environment or a species in itself. This question seems rather important,
if we are considering that religious debates about the distortion of human
nature by transhumanism are in fact rooted in the idea that transhumanism
treats the human as independent from its environment, albeit the claim of
technoimmortality while surroundings might die. Of course, this is not to
suggest that all transhumanists believe that the human is a species in itself;
some support this view, and some do not.
This belief, however, transforms fully the way death is understood from a
transhumanist perspective. If the human is understood as part of their envir-
onment, then changing the environment from physical to virtual may pose
unprecedented challenges. For one, such change may exacerbate what was
already there –​social strata, poverty, deprivation and discrimination. A per-
fect example is in my hands. Even though this book was conceived in late
2019, and I started writing, shyly, in early 2020, the main labour was under-
taken during COVID-​19, the pandemic that impacted and still influences our
lives worldwide. I will not expand on this area here (there are in fact many
texts now written on this subject, one of which is an edited volume by myself,
Pentaris, 2021), but I will highlight a main concern that rose with the recent
pandemic and associated measures. We all were tasked to suddenly move from
a physical environment to a virtual one. For some this might had been easier,
but for the majority of the world population who lack the digital wealth
(Seah, 2020) this became a Herculean task. The circumstances led to inevit-
able inequalities in accessing services, receiving education, claiming benefits,
attending work, to name a few. This raises the question, are societies pre-
paring their citizens to enter a virtual environment in which transhumanist
perspectives place death and dying? If the human is not prepared to reside in
a virtual environment, are they prepared to die in it?
Lastly, when asking who the human is, we ought to know their characteristics.
Drawing on Wilson and Haslam (2009) and folk psychology, there are two
main positions of how human nature is seen: (1) human nature and (2) human
uniqueness. The former is characterised with qualities that humans may share
with other animals, such as mammalism. The latter, though, strictly refers
to those qualities that are unique to humans, like moral sensibility, ration-
ality, maturity and civility. Transhumanism challenges both; if we envision
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  33

a posthuman society wherein human mind is uploaded on computers and

human body is robotised, what will reproduction look like? Also, within that
same society, how are concepts like morality, ethics, values and maturity
maintained? Imagine the assisted dying and suicide debates in the context of
such a posthuman society. Now think of the ethical debates when considering
the death of a robotised human or a humanoid and how those might differ
from the ethical dilemmas discussed in the 2010s and 2020s.
As long as there are such ambiguities, it is difficult to be certain about who
the human is either. Is the human of the posthuman world a non-​religious
and wealthy product of today’s society? Perhaps not, and perhaps yes. This
book only aims to provoke your thinking, after all.

Technological advancements
Robotics, robots and social life
The field of robotics has evolved and provided highly sophisticated ways
of thinking and approaching life. Its contributions support innovation and
design methodologies, while challenge modern patterns of life. Characterised
by interdisciplinary efforts, robotics and, more generally, modern engineering
science stimulate, visualise and manufacture social life in a new era. Each
aspect of social life is transformed every time a new invention is proposed.
However, this section is not providing an extensive analysis of robotics and
the developments in the field. Yet, it aims to highlight the input of robotics
in the field of thanatology, as it exemplifies transhumanist perspectives in
this area.
Before we turn to robots and thanatology, it is worth mentioning where
robots are most important nowadays and where robotic input is crucial for
the wellbeing of societies and individuals. Dunbabin and Marques (2012) list
all significant advancements in marine, terrestrial and airborne robotics, for
example, with most significant the capacities to measure precisely environ-
mental processes. The need for more accurate and ongoing environmental
measurements is exacerbated with more recent natural disasters, like the
Samos and Izmyr earthquake in the Aegean, in October 2020, or the wildfires
across California, burning more than four million acres, in 2018. Monitoring,
quantifying and understanding the environment and its responses to changes
in the natural circumstances helps us to better prepare better for man-​
made responses and protective measures being put in place in response to
safeguarding needs in the face of natural disasters. Similarly, robots assist
with the measurement of other aspects of life and help not only understand
those but develop responses towards them, as well.
Other areas wherein we have recently seen advancement in robotics and
impact on social life are package delivery drones or robot workers in fac-
tories and businesses. Further, healthcare robotics, one of the most promising
34  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

areas of evolvement, has immensely changed the way we understand health

and respond to illness. With varied degrees of autonomy, robots come to
both offer accuracy and efficiency in practice but fill in gaps where there
is staff shortage (Riek, 2017). Robotics technology has been used widely
in surgery, telemedicine, patient management, cognitive rehabilitation, to
name a few areas, while robots have been used across settings such as care
homes, clinics and hospitals. Healthcare robotics has evolved even further,
though, from personalised care, when the person holds responsibility of their
own ‘checks’ via the use of self-​administered medical questionnaires and
automated assessments via applications on smart devices, to wearable devices
and implantable technologies, like smart watches that count your steps and
measure your heart rate, giving an indication of blood pressure, or insulin
pumps. Healthcare is becoming more and more independent from healthcare
professionals. Zajc, Holweg and Steger (2020, abstract) argued that ‘the next
evolution after wearable devices are Point-​Of-​Care (POC) devices, which pro-
vide more vital parameter analyses for everyone’ –​in other words, an evolved
version of POCs that give the opportunity for quick results in a test.
A rapidly developing area is that of robotics for the ageing population. The
United Nation’s report (2019) on the world’s ageing population highlights
some key messages which undoubtedly inform the use of robotic engineering
in the care of the elderly. According to the abovementioned report, there is
a projection that in 2050 there will be approximately 1.5 billion people aged
65 years or over in the world; an approximate 50% increase from 703 million
in 2019. This growing number of ageing people does not exist in a vacuum;
increasing numbers equally mean an increased number of health challenges
(e.g. dementia), which have not yet been addressed. Naturally, the human
body will continue to deteriorate as it grows older (at least the organic parts
of it); hence, more older people will demand more and effective older-​age
support systems. Financial and socio-​political pressures are placed in nations
to respond to such projections, and robotics science is gradually offering a
solution.
The Robot-​ ERA is a research project funded and supported by the
European Union, and which seeks to implement and integrate advanced
robotic systems in real scenarios for the ageing population.3 Since 2012, when
the first meeting occurred, two major pilots were conducted in Sweden and
Italy, with robots essentially looking after care home residents. Once the
project concluded its first phases, it was highlighted that the use of robotics
improved conditions, promoted independent living and increased quality of
life when residents were willing to engage (Fiorini et al., 2017; Bonaccorsi
et al., 2016). Of course, this is but one example among many.
Nwosu et al. (2019) conducted a SWOT (strengths, weaknesses, oppor-
tunities and threats) analysis on the use of robotic technology for palliative
and supportive care. Not surprisingly, from their analysis, they conclude that
robotics has a range of potential applications in palliative, hospice and end
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  35

of life care. Yet, the authors recognise the need for ongoing and further exam-
ination of the economic, social and ethical implications of such technology
in the care of the dying –​I would add the bereaved here, too. It is without
doubt that the use of robots, as in care homes, seeks to contribute in therapies
(especially vis-​à-​vis psychotherapy and psychosocial support), as well as edu-
cational uses. Training in end of life care, for example, has already, in the last
decade, migrated to online platforms (irrespective of COVID-​19), which offer
self-​administered and self-​paced training, with little to no human interaction.
The use of robots may enhance this area and expand in 4D/​5D environments
and stimulators of end of life scenarios for further training.
The intent to design expressive, humanlike, socially assistive robots has
been expressed more than twenty years ago. Allison, Nejat and Kao (2009)
are three of the many authors who reported on this prediction. It is with
the use of robots that the healthcare system can efficiently respond to the
growing ageing population and the associated needs. Another example is that
of the Nao robot (Sturgeon et al., 2017). The Nao robot has been designed to
interact with palliative patients and identify and respond to human emotions,
like anger and sadness.
Drawing both on the evaluation of the use of robots (Carrozza, 2019), as
well as older adults’ perceptiveness of socially assisted robots (Pino et al.,
2015), it is mostly clear that the adoption of socially assisted robots is wel-
come, but there is a need to optimise the work and centralise the services
available, ensuring equity and morality in the work undertaken (for more
information also see Vandemeulebroucke, Casterlé and Gastmans, 2018).
These important areas will be explored extensively in Chapter 4, however.
Last, and drawing on a recent and rather important literary contribu-
tion (Menne, 2020), we are in the face of social robots and exploring social
interactions with such entities is of great importance. The humanisation
of robots is challenging; military robots are receiving medals and funerals
(Carpenter, 2013, cited in Menne 2020), for example, while human and
robot value seems to be coming too close. Such advancements in technology
lead to more transformative and transhumanist worldviews that envision a
posthuman society wherein death, dying and bereavement are re-​constructed
to suggest something different than what the human approach has applied
to them. If the death of the body is no longer an option, given mind cloning
and/​or artificial body parts, which will be mentioned later in the book, then
death is no longer what we consider it to be today. Thus, grieving is equally
transformed as the loss associated with the new form of death is different or
differently perceived.

Cyberrevolution and smart devices

Darwin has long argued that evolutionary change is a driving force in the
universe. Yet, current technological and medical advancements have come
36  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

to place a limitation to this statement. In fact, the evolution in technology

and medicine has led to the possibilities of not only changing the world, how
we think of it and how we behave in it, but also our very minds (Paul and
Cox, 1996). In their book titled Beyond Humanity: Cyberevolution and Future
Minds, Paul and Cox are exploring archaeological and technological queries
about the evolvement of human mind in a transhumanist and posthuman
society. It is without doubt that the authors see the human mind being evolved
not within a physical environment but in cyberspaces. It is this concept that
we now turn to and which will help better appreciate the argument for tech-​
death and tech-​grief.
Cyberrevolution is not simply a discussion about virtual minds but argues
the evolvement of humans into virtual living beings. Humanity’s very essence
is questioned. As Hauskeller (2012) argued, cyberrevolution will usher in vir-
tual existence, which will, in turn, bring life free of suffering and with limitless
potential.
Drawing on such ideas, is cyberrevolution, then, the response to death?
Death scholars, practitioners, policymakers and other researchers (e.g.
Neuberger, 2018; Neumann, 2017; Riso, 2016; Parry and Munson, 2015;
Hagger and Woods, 2013) have spent decades identifying what is a ‘good
death’; and largely, many of these seem to agree that a ‘good death’ is one that
is free from pain (Leget, 2017; Miyashita et al., 2008; Hirai et al., 2006). This
said, two questions seem to be of relevance here: first, does cyberrevolution
lead to a good death, given that it frees someone from pain? Or, secondly, does
cyberrevolution cause the end of a possibility for death generally? In addition
to this, what happens to grief ? Does this experience remain the same or how
does it change?
The idea of cyberrevolution is much more complicated, of course. In
order to understand death and grief through cyberrevolution (and I am not
claiming neither that I have mastered any of that, nor that this book neces-
sarily does so), we ought to consider other ways in which the human mind is
occupied within cyberspaces. The most obvious is that of the use of electronic
devices like a tablet or a smartphone.
Rotilă (2018, abstract) asks in her account about smartphones, ‘Is the
smartphone (SP) an extension of consciousness or just an (other) external-
ization of the mind and an extension of the social?’ Externalisation of the
mind is neither new nor surprising; the use of language, symbols and rituals,
for example, have been observed for centuries and noted as central to the
processes of how the mind is externalised –​in other words, how we project
human thought to the social world, and produce culture and civilisation. Are
smartphones, then, as Rotilă wonders, another tool to externalise the mind, or
are they perhaps an extension of the conscious mind, and, thus, a necessity in
order to continue having thoughts, memories, feelings and emotions that are
merely conscious or consciously expressed via smartphone?
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  37

Huberman (2018) has recently offered an investigation of how transhumanist

models aim towards mind cloning and digital immortality. Underpinning
such efforts is the use of the internet and computers (in its broader sense)
altogether. Westera (2012, pp.25–​26) opines that:

Without computers, society would come to a standstill. This occasionally

happens during power outages; … these sometimes shut down computer
systems so trains cannot move; flights have to be cancelled; traffic lights
drop out; air-​conditioning systems fail; telephone networks go down;
medical services have to be suspended; factories stop operating; distri-
bution of feed, gas, and other products halt; and so on. Within a few
hours, public life turns into chaos. This demonstrates our dependence on
computers.

Computers and technology no longer simply assist humans in everyday

tasks but take over completely; self-​checkouts in supermarkets is a simple and
often ‘unseen’ occasion where this is happening. Humans become dispensable
and unnecessary, but for the many and complex qualities of human mind.
That said, though, mind cloning and mind uploading are both processes aimed
at not only extending the mind and achieving digital immortality, but also the
development of what I refer to as posthuman mind –​mind that does not ori-
ginate from human qualities, is not uploaded into the internet, but matches
human qualities and is created entirely on the internet and by computers.
Of course, the strategies for cyberrevolution come with highly ethical
concerns, and these will be discussed in Chapter 4. Yet, it is worth noting here
the fantastical nature (in the eyes of a human) of such attempts to extend
or transcend life (see Ferreira, 2019). Many of these changes are still seen as
science fiction, extending the point of human preparedness to cyberrevolution.

Digital immortality and mind cloning

Martine Rothblatt, a leading proponent of transhumanism in the United
States, in her book Virtual Human: The Promise—​and the Peril—​of Digital
Immortality, discussed the complexity and possibilities of digital immor-
tality, as well as mindclones. In her words, ‘Mindclones will be clean. They
are antideath. And they are adaptable’ (Rothblatt, 2014, p.177). It seems
that mindcloning is a pre-​requisite for digital immortality, or at least the
way Rothblatt explains it. What is striking is the view that mindclones are
antideath. Rothblatt means that they will be ‘clean’ from ‘signs, symptoms,
and vectors of death, disease, and destruction’ (Rothblatt, 2014, p.177).
The idea of mindcloning alludes to a universal mental being –​a state which
is the same for all, almost a postmodern reminiscent of monopsychism
(Scorzello, 1995). Yet, not quite the same. Perhaps, and as Rothblatt
38  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

opines, Kolak’s ‘open individualism’ (2004) is a better way of unpicking the

transhumanist view of mindcloning. The central thesis in open individualism
is that despite the many individuals in the world, personal identity does not
change from person to person; thus, we are all actually the same person. In
other words, ‘being’ is a conscious experience that takes the same identity
every time it occurs. Mindcloning, based on Rothblatt’s arguments, is a pro-
cess that can allow the expansion of a human being to infinity, albeit identical
to the infinity of other beings.
The efforts towards digital immortality are ongoing and very much
centralised with the idea of mindcloning (Huberman, 2018). A telling example
is the Russian entrepreneur Dmitry Itskov’s work with the 2045 Strategic
Social Innovation. The 2045 Innovation is a project that seeks to grant us
the wish to ‘be in two places at once’ –​in other words, to develop techno-
logical clones of the biological bodies and minds. The project has four major
milestones as those are described in the progression of the making of avatars.
The 2045 project’s website provides the following information for those four
avatars/​stages:

▪ Avatar A –​achieved by 2020: ‘A robotic copy of a human body remotely

controlled via BCI’.
▪ Avatar B –​achieved by 2025: ‘An Avatar in which a human brain is
transplanted at the end of one’s life’.
▪ Avatar C –​achieved by 2035: ‘An Avatar with an artificial brain in which
a human personality is transferred at the end of one’s life’.
▪ Avatar D –​achieved by 2045: ‘A hologram-​like avatar’.

Avatar A has already been achieved, as we saw earlier in the chapter. We are
now expecting Avatar B, while Avatar C is surely tested as we speak. It takes
a moment to take this all in –​at least for those of us who grew up with CRT
televisions and dial-​up internet access or none at all. Surely, this all seems much
more exciting and possible for my son, whose life only started after the world
started spinning around twitter and YouTube and Facebook. Mindcloning,
Avatar-​making (Levcheniuk, 2018), and other similar arguments, all aim at
digital immortality –​the attempt to ‘defeat’, eradicate, and even ‘cure’ death
and disease. Death, through the lens of digital immortality, is a disease itself,
a faulty fuse that needs fixing. The question is no longer ‘life or death’, but
‘human or posthuman’. Perhaps another way of approaching it is to consider
‘symbolic immortality’ (Lifton and Olson, 1974) –​the management of fear
of death and death anxiety by finding ways to remain connected, even after
we die. Lifton and Olson (1974) identified five modes of symbolic immor-
tality: biological (have children); creative (teaching, writing, building, etc.);
theological or religious (death is not the end but the beginning of eternal
life); natural (continuity with the natural world); experiential (depends on a
psychological state –​connecting through transcending experiences such as
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  39

listening to music). It is plausible that mindcloning and Avatar-​making are

a brand-​new mode of immortality –​one that is, on the one hand, symbolic
from a human perspective, but non-​symbolic from a transhumanist view-
point. Once again, one has to wonder whether mindcloning, Avatar-​making,
and the possibility of human consciousness to be hosted in the virtual world
are ethical or even feasible, and to what extent.

Technology by geography
Even though I do not intend to expand on the point about context-​specific
use of technology, it is still important that we quickly acknowledge this.
Technology evolves and so do the parts of the social world affected by
it –​sometimes directly and others indirectly. Despite globalisation and the
level of technological influence indirectly, the extent to which a part of
the population in a particular geography may have access and/​or accept
technology and its input differs vastly. For example, the PEW Research
Center in the USA reported recently (2021) that 7% of adult Americans
do not use the internet: primarily those over 65 years of age, with less than
high school education, in rural areas, and from lower economic status –​in
other words, a reflection of the less privileged in a society. Similarly, the
United Nations report (2019) that nearly 50% of the world’s population,
particularly seen in the divide between developed and developing nations,
is not privy to advanced technologies.4 Other than deprivation, there are a
variety of explanations why people refuse to use or adopt technology. For
example, the Amish population, even though does not reject technology,
chooses a more thoughtful and cautious life that links humans with nature
(Ems, 2019).
Furthermore, technology is used in various ways in different countries.
Lewis et al. (2012) explored the use of technology in low-​and middle-​income
countries and concluded that despite the willingness to involve information
and communication technologies in healthcare, many nations face difficulties
with funding and adequacy in resources to be able to do so. This places whole
systems of care, inclusive of end of life care, in precarity and challenges the
possibilities for ‘transhumanist end of life care’.

Tech-​d eath and tech-​g rief

Technology has undeniably transformed the experiences of dying and
grieving, and it will continue to do so. Simple and complex methods have been
used to either assist or fully transform this part of life; yet, regardless of the
degree of transformation, transhumanist perspectives are helping us appre-
ciate something truly important; technology not only changes the way we
experience death and grief, or the way we understand them. It alters the very
nature of the experiences by changing the human nature into an artificially
40  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

sophisticated state of affairs that now experiences what this section recognises
as tech-​death and tech-​grief.
First, I should make a note that we should not confuse tech-​death for ‘tech
death metal’, the death metal genre that primarily is occupied with the themes
of violence, occult, gore and anti-​religion. Tech-​death is a term that refers to
a holistic conception of death that is produced by technology, understood via
technology, and experienced with the use of technology. Similarly, tech-​grief
refers to grief that is informed by and expressed via technology.
Borg (2012, p.168) asserts that ‘to embrace the possibilities of informa-
tion technologies without being seduced by fantasies of unlimited power is
to promote a new understanding of death –​death as a source of power, or
at the very least, as an empowering agency’. What does death in this instance
empower, nevertheless? It is the desire to manipulate death and control dis-
ease and disruption. Posthumanism challenges both embodiment and mor-
tality yet does not negate either. In the posthuman era, one that embraces
digital immortality, the human is no longer an embodied entity but a digital.
In this sense, the mortality of the body is no longer of question, but the
mortality of the digital. John Troyer, in his recent book Technologies of the
Human Corpse (2020), explores the history of machines and how those came
to change the dead body and what happens to it. Troyer’s work is a testament
to the many technical advances that continuously influence what happens to
the dead body –​often with the attempt to not only preserve but resurrect.
A very important point raised in his work is that of necropolitics and the
‘power of claiming a body dead’, even when it is not dead. Human mortality
is recognised as such based on medical and political knowledge and power. In
other words, ‘you are only dead when biochemistry is so badly damaged that
no technology, not even molecular nanotechnology … could restore normal
biochemistry with your memories intact’ (Wowk, 2004, p.142). From such a
state, we move to the posthuman whereby tech-​death is the subject of techno-
logical and medicinal knowledge in the eyes of a new goal –​infinite life.

Altered conceptions of death and grief

Lecheniuk (2018, p.65) brilliantly states, ‘the human dissolves in technolo-
gies and therefore turns into something techno-​like’. For a long period, we
have been discussing humanoid robots, like ‘Ocean One’, the humanoid robot
created in the Stanford Robotics Lab, with the ability to explore coral reefs,
or ‘Nao’, a 23-​inch robot comprised of high sensors and motors to resemble
human activity. However, it is perhaps time to start exploring whether we
moved from the production of ‘humanoid robots’ to the development of
‘robotic humans’.
Returning to the notion of humans turning into something techno-​like, it
is sensible to think that in a techno-​like world, experience is equally techno-​
founded. Lecheniuk (2018) proposes the subdivision of humankind in two
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  41

groups: people-​personalities (seeing current advancements as post-​history of

humanity) and posthuman beings (subjectivity and self-​identity are inherit-
ance –​they are neither dead nor alive). This divide makes a similar point;
do posthuman societies represent a Technos in which people act based on
‘technological logics’ (Lecheniuk, 2018, p.65)? Paying closer attention to the
humankind divide above, can the two coexist or do they need to follow one
another? People-​personalities is a group that recognises what has been and
how, while posthuman beings are immortal and free from developing identity
and self. In this sense, we question whether the death of self, personhood and
agency is a prerequisite of techno-​death. Is techno-​death a possibility when
subjectivity is still part of the person? Such are more philosophical questions,
yet important and needed when examining how the conceptions of death and
grief have been altered in the face of transhumanist evolvement.
In Becker’s work (1973), we come across some interesting presentations of
what aspects of death have concerned the human mind for a long time. ‘The
idea of death, the fear of it, haunts the human animal like nothing else; it is a
mainspring of human activity –​activity designed largely to avoid the fatality
of death, to overcome it by denying in some way that it is the final destiny
for man’ (Becker, 1973, p.xvii). This very statement reflects the explorations
of many thanatologists and scholars in related fields that followed, including
Seale (1998), who thoroughly looked at death and bereavement as constructs,
both organised by outside sources and organising other parts of life, self-​
identity included. Since the 1970s, social science has argued the impact of the
medicalisation of dying and grieving. Illich (1976) asserted that the medical-
isation of death makes the experience distant and non-​human. Similarly, the
technologisation of death makes it posthuman.
Such milestones in the examination of the conceptions of death and grief,
when viewed through a transhumanist lens, seem to be non-​relevant. When
transhumanism transforms the means by which both death and grief are
conceived, the latter is similarly altered radically, and, thus, not a continu-
ation of what we have already known but an invention of something new.
There are two central points that are of importance if we are to accept the
subdivision of humankind (Lecheniuk, 2018). First, those born after 1993,
also called the ‘Google generation’, have no experience of pre-​net communi-
cation. This is telling of the divide of people between those for whom pre-​net
activities are considered history and those for whom they are part of who they
are and how they communicate. Second, if we accept the division of human-
kind into two categories, then the use of knowledge applicable to only one in
order to understand both is already flawed.
To conclude, technology alters the way death and grief are perceived,
understood and experienced. This leads to new conceptions of death and
grief. Death may not be seen as the end of something but the beginning of
digital immortality –​almost like the pre-​requisite for immortality. Similarly,
grief may not be seen as the emotional reaction to the death of a loved one,
42  Transhumanism and the posthuman being

but the use of information and communication technology to express feelings

of separation from technologically constructed aspects of a person. Further,
methods like cryonics truly metamorphose the experience of grief –​a method
which aims at stabilising and freezing terminally ill patients, in order to
unfreeze and cure with the technologies that will be available in the 21st and
22nd centuries (Moen, 2015; Merkle, 1992) (for a discussion about the use
of new technologies on the dead body, see Troyer, 2020). What is striking
with cryonics, albeit the ongoing debates about ethics and morality (Minerva,
2018), is the little attention that it has attracted from thanatologists and death
scholars in relation to grief and mourning. If one is subjected to cryonics,
only to be awaken 100 years later, what happens to their family and friends in
the meantime? What do we call the type of grief for someone who is frozen?
What about the retrospective grief the ‘unfrozen person’ will experience when
they are awaken only to find out that everyone they knew before and had any
relations with are now gone?

The technological dimensions of regulating death

Having discussed transhumanism, posthumanism and the varied (but not
exhaustive) ways in which death and grief are impacted, we now circle back
to what the introduction of this book promised us. We want to consider how
technological advancements of the present and future, as alluded to earlier,
add to the way death is regulated.
Following on from the previous sections in this chapter, it is now clear to
assume that posthumanism aims to bend the rules of dying; it seems to be the
state of antideath and introducing a new type of death –​i.e. techno-​death.
Similarly, and drawing on Hauskeller (2012), posthumanism appears to be
leading us to an era of non-​ageing bodies –​bodies that can be preserved
for infinite times. In other words, it is not merely about digital immortality,
Avatars and mindcloning, but also about lack of illness and destruction.
Posthumanism presents a utopian existence in which death plays no part.
Hauskeller (2012, p.43), similarly, asks whether transhumanism is ‘a kind of
utopianism’. Regardless, death and grief as regulated aspects of social life are
altered by the varied technological influences.
To better appreciate how technology regulates death and grief, we ought to
start from tech-​death and tech-​grief, which eradicate two main substances in
order to experience death and grief. Those are embodiment and relationality,
respectively. Without a body, what dies? But, of course, tech-​death comes
to explain this and refer to the death of an Avatar, for example. Similarly,
without a relationship, who is grieving and whom?
In the introduction, we discussed how policies, practice, social and familial,
as well as religious and historical factors, or environmental, all play a part in
how dying and grieving are governed experiences in society. Further, earlier
in this chapter, we referred to the changing human nature in posthuman
 Transhumanism and the posthuman being  43

societies. Transhumanism and technological modifications alter human

agency and autonomy as well. It is not the goal for eternal life that does so,
but the impact of the actions towards that goal.
Hellsten (2012) asserts that eternal life has always been a goal of
humanity –​for example, think of the Fountain of Life or the Elixir of Life,
which I mentioned earlier. Since the beginning of those explorations, society
has tried to regulate death, dying and bereavement altogether.
Many developments in medicine and technology offered possibilities and
choice, but these turned into responsibilities, from cultural norms, very quickly –​
in other words, new methods of regulation, governance and measurement.
An example is ‘selective abortion’, whereby one chooses to continue the preg-
nancy with one foetus only, even if they are all healthy. Infertility treatments
is another (pregnancy by choice) example. Cloning (not just mindcloning) is a
further advancement, whether with the use of biomedicine and technology or
not –​simply culture –​people strive to be like the ‘ideal individual’ (e.g. with a
fit body, tanned, shiny hair). Another area where we see new methods of regu-
lating death and destruction is that of ageing. Genetic therapy, plastic surgery,
hormone treatments, antiaging cosmetic procedures, and so on are but a few
examples of new methods of approaching ageing and destruction from death.
Societies have changed, and so have their expectations of older individ-
uals (as well as everyone else). The expectation is that physical appearance
remains intact, cognitive skills honed, and social engagement high. Yet, this
is not always possible, and when it is, it requires the use of medical technolo-
gies to ensure the outcomes. Hence, these practices turned into responsibil-
ities, which lead members of the public, for instance, to feel the urge to be
presented as younger-​looking, thus are consumed by plastic surgeries.
Transhumanism and posthumanism not only change the biological and
mental human qualities or the way those are perceived on a conscious level,
but also impact on the human subconscious and influence actions, behaviours
and feelings on a much deeper level. The next chapter will focus on medical
developments and will unpack the tendencies to ‘cure’ ageing and defeat death.

Notes
1 Humanity+ at http://​humanityplus.org/​philosophy/​transhumanist-​declaration/​.
2 Christian Transhumanist Association www.christiantranshumanism.org.
3 More information here www.robot-​era.eu/​robotera/​index.php.
4 For more information visit www.un.org/​press/​en/​2019/​gaef3523.doc.htm.

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Chapter 2

Biomedicine and death

Introduction
The previous chapter explored the concepts and contestations of
transhumanism and the posthuman being. This set the right context for
expanding the conversation on technology and the advancements that have
impacted on death, dying and bereavement in the last few decades and more
importantly into the 21st century. This chapter moves the conversation to
biomedicine, but philosophically is underpinned by the same arguments and
values of the previous. Specifically, this section focuses on the biomedical
advancements and their impact on death, dying and bereavement. To do so,
it considers the philosophy of biomedicine and its multiple layers beyond the
overlap between biology and medicine.
Entries in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy1 highlight the more
complex nature of biomedicine, recognising it as ‘a set of philosophical
commitments’, and an institution that considers predominantly Western
values, dynamics and culture. That said, biomedicine is westernised in its
core, which is already pointing to ambiguities about what follows in this
­chapter –​the tendencies to extend life and eradicate death. It is not surprising
that biomedicine’s foundations are specific to the Western culture, as all other
interventions are characterised alternative –​something different than what is
or what should be.
Expectedly, biomedicine’s features focus on the investigation of disease and
scientific interventions (Cambrosio and Keating, 2001; Krieger, 1994), but
more tenets have been explored, three of which are recognised as the most
fundamental (Krieger, 2011). Those are: disease and its causes are identified
as bio-​physical and chemical phenomena; biomedicine is founded in labora-
tory research and technology; biomedicine is characterised by reductionism
(explaining disease by its parts). The primary inference from those features is
the ontological nature of biomedicine. In other words, biomedicine is a philo-
sophical concept directly concerned with disease or illness as a dysfunction
of the human body. Yet, and as mentioned above, this is a Western view that
remains universal, but the hegemony of scientific evidence is undeniable.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003088257-3
 Biomedicine and death  49

With that said, it is worth referring to the term ‘biological chauvinism’,

helpfully presented by Broadbent (2009) to describe the way biomedicine
undermines or rejects completely any methods or processes not abiding by its
principles and philosophy. To link this with Krieger’s (2011) work, the most
apparent evidence of biological chauvinism is that of the principle that dis-
ease and its causes are confined in bio-​physical and chemical reasoning only –​
rejecting all other suggestions, such as the spirit world or natural remedies.
Similarly, biological chauvinism is evident in the principle of reductionism
underpinning biomedicine. With reductionism, the human body is viewed as
an object with multiple parts, and the cause of disease can be found in one
of those parts but not all. Andersen (2016) rationalises this with a focus on
the need to tackle problems directly and make aetiologies known where pos-
sible. However, such reductionism –​or the pure focus on this approach –​may
hinder the opportunities for exploring disease and its causes from other, more
holistic perspectives.
With that said, biomedicine approaches dying as a disease, while it focuses
on identifying its causes and thus, with reductionism, develop interventions
for each of them. We have already emphasised this in the first chapter of
this book but is it not within logic to consider that if we identify causes and
develop biomedical responses, we are essentially trying to avoid dying, and
eventually death.
There are numerous challenges with such logic, some of which belong to
the unknown unknown or known unknown of our conscience (Gill, 1886);
thus, I will certainly be unable to satisfy the reader’s curiosity with those. Yet,
we can focus on few of those that we are aware of, anticipate, or suspect. First
of all, and as was the argument vis-​à-​vis technology, with the ever-​developing
biomedical methods we are led to recognise the attention to immortality.
Datta (2019, p.706) calls this tendency ‘cybernetic incarnation’ and highlights
the role of the human body in the process. Specifically, Datta asserts that
humans have ‘environmental bodies’ and gradually ‘concepts of time, death,
freedom, memories of the past relations and surroundings subside and start
dissipating’ (2019, p.707). Her focus is on cryonics and the tendencies for life
extension, but through the lens of medical philosophies. The human body
remains expendable but cryonics changes that in new and exciting ways as
‘an extension of the medical philosophy of war on aging’ (Datta, 2019, p.710,
emphasis in the original).
We can extract many debates from the above –​more importantly, the
question we want to ask here is, ‘Is the plasticity of the human body allowing
for reconsideration of its demise?’ Biomedical advancements concentrate their
intentions on new methods to eradicate human demise, regardless of whether
that comes at the expense of the human body –​environmental body, as Datta
called it. Inevitably, and this leads us to the second challenge we wanted to
discuss here, any progress that impacts on the human body and its functions
remains dubious. That said, of ongoing debate is the relationship between
50  Biomedicine and death

biomedicine and human nature and the ethics of biomedicine when it steps
overtly away from natural forms of care and more towards transhumanist
perspectives.
Buchanan (2009) explored the many aspects of human nature
counterarguing the damage that human bodies have faced ethically due to
biomedical advancements. Buchanan neither supports nor opposes such
enhancements but recognises that it is the complex interdependencies of
human nature that need to be in the core of the debate. An example that can
help us better approach this and appreciate the argument about biomedicine’s
focus on life extension and the eradication of death is that of a head trans-
plant. Sergio Canavero, an Italian neurosurgeon, has been known for
his assertions that head transplants will soon be a possibility. In his ana-
lysis, Garasic (2019) focuses on Sergio Canavero’s work and claims, while
recognising his arguments that biomedicine will soon offer transplants of
human head without disrupting the continuity of the individual –​as Garasic
puts it, making us ‘quasi-​immortal’ (2019, p.255). Canavero’s claims over the
years have been met stringently by bioethicists. Specifically, when in 2017,
Canavero claimed to have already performed a head transplant on a human
successfully, bioethicist Arthur Caplan condemned the statement identifying
it as cruel to human nature and dignity. To fill in the gaps, it became clear later
that no head transplant was performed, successfully or otherwise, at the time,
which further caused tensions in the medical world and in relation to ethics.
Garasic nicely points out the losses that humans may be facing in light
of enhancements like a head transplant which fiddle with human nature
irreversibly.

the possibility of extending our lives through a change of body/​head

in certain conditions (i.e. at the age of 90) will not take away the risks
of ending our existence in dangerous situations, creating anxiety in us,
paradoxically depriving us of the pleasure of understanding the value
of limited time as well as that of risking one’s neck in certain situations.
(Garasic, 2019, p.258)

To turn to some of the thoughts shared in the first chapter, I would agree
with Garasic here, and especially as the term ‘pleasure’ is used and not ‘value’.
The latter concept is a different type of construct that even philosophers have
not explicitly claimed that human life has intrinsic value. Yet, borrowing from
philosophy, and the work of Immanuel Kant, humans ought to be seen as
the ‘ends’ and not as the means to some other ends. In the example of head
transplants humans are seen as the means to developing scientific evidence of
head transplants, certainly a more unethical approach to the matter.
Nonetheless, and as this book is not a manifesto, but merely my ‘musings’
on the subject –​some with scientific grounding and some without –​there
is a counterargument which we should identify. Wolpe (2017, p.209) in
 Biomedicine and death  51

particular states that ‘the metaphysical separation of the body and conscious-
ness is desirable not only to allow the claim that a head/​body transplant
has no impact on selfhood, but to allow the pursuit of body enhancement
as well’. This is an interesting outlook but not one without risks of ethical
damage as well. First, selfhood, or otherwise one’s ability to have an indi-
vidual identity, is not developed away from the human body. In fact, it is via
the human body that one develops not only their identity but their sense of
it, too. One’s human body is the way that identity develops materially. If my
individuality –​selfhood –​is, for example, characterised by my personality
traits of agreeableness, extraversion and openness, it is without doubt that
my upbringing and experiences in life shaped me to be that way. That is if
we all accept John Locke’s philosophical claim that we all are born tabula
rasa –​a blank sheet –​or my other personal favourite from Rupaul, we are all
born naked, and the rest is drag. My experiences, nonetheless, are inevitably
influenced by my various identities, such as being a woman or an older person,
and so on. For example, if I am a Black female self-​identified person in my
youth, then of course my selfhood is absolutely influenced by and developed
from that. How can I identify as Black if ethnicity and race were not of query
in the social world for a long time, which developed social constructs like race
to which we then all have had to abide by and be defined by it almost most of
the times? How can the definition I am given in the world due to the colour of
my skin, which belongs to my body, not be an absolute part of my selfhood?
How can this be possible? In other words, Wolpe’s first claim above does not
seem to hold logically.
The second claim in Wolpe’s quote –​i.e. the ‘pursuit of body enhance-
ment’ –​is one which we discussed in the first chapter as well. Nonetheless,
to enter a pursuit one must either be moving away from something undesir-
able or towards something desirable. Either way, it seems that the pursuit of
body enhancement is the outcome from realising that our body is not good
enough. The vulnerabilities of our body are now perceived as flaws that need
mending. Yet, and as Ancient Greek philosophers argued abundantly, human
limitations are circumstances that allow humans to grow and develop into
better beings, ethically and morally. Do advancements in biomedicine and
progress in how the human body is handled question intrinsically our ethics
and morale altogether then?
Lastly, and again drawing on the Ancient Greek philosophers, humans
are, by nature, drawn to beauty. Despite the subjective view of beauty, the
social world has developed particular conceptions about ageing and frailty,
and the sight of an ageing body. Such view is not classified as one of beauty
in the mainstream, but one that can be ‘corrected’, specifically with cosmetic
and reconstructive plastic surgery. According to the plastic surgery statistics
report (American Society of Plastic Surgeons, 2020), breast augmentation,
liposuction, eyelid surgery, nose reshaping and facelift are the top five cos-
metic surgery procedures in 2015, with an uprise of 17% altogether since the
52  Biomedicine and death

year before. This is an example of biomedicine’s ‘battle’ to eradicate ageing

and frailty as neither is desirable, or at least neither is desirable in the main-
stream. Notions like Turner’s (1984, p.11) ‘somatic society’ argue that modern
societies (and postmodern) see youthful bodies as valuable, while older bodies
as frail and weak –​the latter carrying stigma with it. It is such notions that
help us better understand human life in the context of needing to be ‘perfect’,
but due to the natural imperfections of the human body, receive interventions
that will help develop perfection.

Biomedical advancements
The transhuman, the one transitioning into something else, perhaps the
posthuman, is associated with Radical Life Extension (RLE) (Vita-​More,
2018), also known as superlongevity. Science and technologies like artificial
intelligence and nanomedicine, both underpinning biomedicine in the 21st
century, look to eradicate ageing as a disease. That said, they are looking
to eradicate what is most threatening to human life –​its very end. Ageing is
perceived not only as a state or experience that deviates from the aesthetic
that humans are drawn to, but also one that takes us closer to the seizing of
that beauty altogether –​frailty, dependency and death. It is not chronological
age that biomedicine seeks to tackle, as ageing may be associated with that but
only by virtue. It is, contrarily, the outlook of ageing that technologies and
biomedical advancements want to halt or stop. Once this is achieved, human
life can be extended, frailty can be repelled, dependency can be nullified and
death can be forgotten for a little while longer, or ideally wiped out from the
life continuum.
Indeed, life expectancy across the globe has definitely increased in the last
few decades alone. Drawing on the Our World in Data (i.e. an online scientific
publication focusing on large global problems), life expectancy in the pre-​
modern societies was 30 years of age, and until the mid-​19th century was 40.
Since, life expectancy and thus population health have increased dramatically,
reaching an average of 40–​45 at the start of the 20th century and 60–​65 in the
mid-​20th century. In 2015, the life expectancy globally was 71.4 years of age,
with South Korea, Japan and the United Kingdom leading the way with an
expectancy of over 80 years each.
The above-​mentioned, though, needs to be approached with caution. The
data may be considering the globe, but without question those numbers are
not reflecting the disparities among westernised societies, developed and
developing countries. For example, when in 1905, the life expectancy in the UK
was 49.9, in India was 24 years of age. Similarly, in 2015, while life expectancy
is as high as 80 or over years of age for many countries of Western societies,
the same is less by at least 20 years in other nations like Ethiopia (approxi-
mately 65 years) and South Africa (62 years of age) (also see Riley, 2005).
 Biomedicine and death  53

With that said, biomedicine and the tendencies for RLE have not had a
different effect on different populations, or the various outcomes to date, or
at least my naivety says so –​and possibly the lack of scientific data, too.
The story though goes differently and is a narrative about social inequalities,
which adds to the ethical concerns when having this discussion. Meanwhile,
it is worth sharing with the reader the image (Figure 2.1) that takes you
on a journey through time, between 1800 and 2015, visually explaining life
expectancy divides among countries around the world, while covertly telling
us a story about wealth and power, a narrative articulated much better by
Mackenbach et al. (2019), while such narratives are more complex when
considering age or gender as compounding factors (see Roser, Ortiz-​Ospina
and Ritchie, 2013).
Zey (2005, p.16) reminds us of the words of the English philosopher
Thomas Hobbes who ‘described the life of seventeenth-​century mankind as
“brutish and short” ’. Certainly this is no longer the case, at least as far as
short is concerned. Whether longevity and superlongevity eradicate the bru-
tish character of life is unknown until we know a little more about whether
technological advancements and biomedical progressions ‘cure’ the fear of
decay, destruction and dying generally. Zey (2005) highlighted in his work
that an ‘immortality industry’ has been on the rise for a while, and we see it
emerging and leaving a great impression on societies. The materialisation of
such an industry is composed of companies, individuals, social groups, phil-
osophies and financial assets, intertwining in convolute curves.
Having mentioned ethics and alluded to morality earlier, almost predicts
a mention to theology, too. Peters (2018) affords a theological perspec-
tive on the matter –​one that is worth looking at. Drawing on the works of
existentialists and thanatologists like Ernst Becker, the author explores the
tensions created by the new opportunities provided by RLE and cybernetic
immortality processes. Of course, RLE and cybernetic immortality have
immense differences between them, and most have been discussed in the
previous chapter. Yet, to borrow from Peters’ (2018, p.251) work, ‘RLE is
embodied immortality. Cybernetic immortality is disembodied’. In other
words, superlongevity is concerned with the prolongation of life on earth and
in the human body –​not on the internet! Specifically, ‘radical life extension
consists of the prolongation of terrestrial embodied living as we have known
it, minus the deterioration of aging and the portent of an end of life’ (Peters,
2018, p.251). There is no expectation for immortality per se, but the extension
of life to a maximum degree. Yet, is this not the same as trying to achieve
immortality? If the focus was solely on improving health outcomes, as Zey
(2005) reminds us, should we not be content with improved health outcomes
at the age of 60, as well as that of 90? By no means, I am not taking a side
here, but my socio-​philosophical thanatological self cannot but question all
these matters and examine the underpinning values of it all.
54  Biomedicine and death

Figure 2.1 Life expectancy between 1800 and 2015, globally.

Source: Max Roser, Esteban Ortiz-​Ospina and Hannah Ritchie (2013) –​‘Life Expectancy’. Published
online at OurWorldInData.org. Retrieved from: https://​ourworldindata.org/​life-​expectancy
 Biomedicine and death  55

Other researchers, transhumanists and theorists have opined that ageing

will be eradicated. For example, Aubrey de Grey (2007, p.132), a biomed-
ical gerontologist, asserted that ‘there is a good chance aging can be entirely
defeated within the next few decades’. Without a doubt, ageing as a social con-
struct of decay and frailty has been eradicated from the age group of 60–​69,
for example, and in many societies. However, with superlongevity, the same
social construct was not eradicated from across the age continuum but moved
upwards to another age group that is more pertinent nowadays and according
to the life expectancies. Is it then eradication or postponement that we are
talking about? I suspect it depends on whether we refer to ageing as a process
(i.e. we age each day), as a period in the human lifecycle (i.e. ageing as the
65 years and above, aligning with retirement –​for many nations), or used as a
proxy to discuss physical or mental limitations, like osteoporosis or dementia.
The oxymoron here is that if our focus is more on ageing as a proxy, we are
gravely mistaken. If I am living with reduced motor function, for example,
from childhood and am currently 40, am I aged? And most importantly, if
I am still suffering from pain and weakness due to muscular strength decline,
has the claim that ageing is eradicated been at all successful? The answer is
‘no’, at least in those examples. Therefore, we are led to think that with ageing
the reference is on a certain period of the human lifecycle. If so, the goal,
based on de Grey’s argument, is to eradicate that period completely –​but
why? Well, it is that period that signals death or comes in parallel with the end
of one’s life (again, one does not only die at an older age, but for the purposes
of this argument, we will go with it!). In other words, is RLE attempting to
eradicate death or dying, or simply postpone it as mentioned earlier?
RLE might be realistic, given the progressive research in longevity studies,
yet cybernetic immortality remains unrealistic. Human intelligence is not
simply confined in one’s brain but runs through their body. Intelligence is rela-
tional; it is interdependent with the interactions with the outside world. Peters
(2018) draws tensions between eschatology and scientific advancements to
ask the very important question about religion and immortality: ‘does the
decline of religious belief link with the advocacy for cybernetic immortality
and RLE?’
Religious decline has been examined thoroughly by many colleagues
in religious studies, as well as other fields. For example, Griffin (1819, p.7)
stated that if the spirit of religion (e.g. social life, conscience, belonging) ‘be
neglected, and the affairs of the church, the religious sentiments, and the gen-
eral conduct of the people be determined without reference to it, the church
will soon decline in peace, purity, and zeal, and consequently in numbers’.
This was an accurate prediction, perhaps, and evident in authors of our era,
like Ammerman (2007), Davie (2015), Bruce (2020) or Inglehart (2021). What
is of importance here, though, and which matters when considered vis-​à-​vis
RLE and cybernetic immortality, is the diverse notion of the decline of reli-
gion and God. Hegel, for example, asserts that the decline of religion and God
56  Biomedicine and death

is creating a gap filled in with reason. Feuerbach, on the other hand, offered
that God is an illusion and religion the medium that carries that illusion in
people’s life, and science is liberating humans. That said, supporting RLE
and superlongevity are means to an end in this case; the end is the liberation
of humans from illusions. Another notion is that of Nietzsche’s, who claimed
that the decline of religion and death of God signals the end of metaphysics,
but in this case, humans do not take this place, but I would argue that RLE
and cybernetic immortality do (also see Carrette, 1999). Perhaps the answer
to the question about the tensions between religious decline and increased
RLE and cybernetic immortality is affirmative.

Cryonics
On 15 September 2020, an award-​winning documentary was released on
Netflix, a global entertaining service. This documentary takes the viewer
to a journey of a Thai Buddhist family and their decision-​making with cry-
onics. The parents of the family decided to have their two-​year-​old daughter,
Einz, cryonically frozen the day she died from brain cancer. The documen-
tary transports the audience on the emotional journey that the parents have
gone through and the reasoning behind the decision to cryo-​preserve their
daughter. The documentary Hope Frozen: A Quest to Live Twice is a true
representation of how cryonics are approached by consumers.
Human life is vulnerable and science and biomedicine, with the use of
advanced technologies, respond to those vulnerabilities and find different
solutions than what faith or spiritualism can offer –​solutions that will
revive someone in the flesh and not in spirit only. Einz’s mother, in this film,
states that her husband wanted to give their daughter a second chance to
life. Cryo-​preserving Einz allows more time for technology and biomedicine
to develop and find answers and a cure to brain cancer, which will give the
chance to the family to unfreeze their daughter and welcome her back in
the family.
Cryonics is a method that uses cold to preserve cellular viability. This
protects the human body from decay or ageing, until the moment comes
that technology and biomedicine can revive it.2 In other words, from RLE
and superlongevity, we move to the preservation of life with the use of cold
temperatures, when ordinary medicine can no longer support the person. As
Vita-​More (2018, p.46) is telling us, ‘theoretically, cryonics regard death as
an event which can be prevented’. With that in mind, ‘having a life insur-
ance policy for cryonics is the best protection against death’ (Vita-​More,
2018, p.45).
Many ethical, moral and legal issues emerge from such intentions, nonethe-
less. Those can only be approached within a philosophical context, though,
and this is why. In the branch of philosophy called Ethics, relativists, for
example, will classify choices as right or wrong based on the time and place
 Biomedicine and death  57

the decision is made. From this perspective, the choice of cryonics is both
right and wrong, based on the circumstances. Drawing on Jeremy Bentham’s
work, influenced by that of John Locke and Thomas Hobbes, and who is
known as the founder of modern utilitarianism, the relativist approach is not
ethical. According to utilitarian philosophers, only the results of an action
matter, but not the actions themselves. Alternatively, cryo-​preservation is
at a limbo here, and this is because no human has been revived from such
care to date, thus the outcome is unknown. Of course, we can always turn
our attention to the freezing of embryos used in human IVF practice and
in animal industry. Those practices have been successful to the extent that
frozen embryo transfer is more successful than fresh embryo transfer (also
see Vladimirov et al., 2019). Yet, the freezing and reviving of a developed
human being is a different and certainly complex situation to which we have
no outcomes. Lastly, returning to the different views when considering ethics,
morale and legal issues vis-​à-​vis cryonics, existentialists will think that only
choice matters, regardless of what the choice is. In other words, the ethical
and right (morally and legally) thing to do is to have the choice to make use
of cryonics.
The many problems that technology has presented life and death with are
laid out by Hughes (2001, p.2):

Technology is problematizing death. Technology has frozen conditions

between life and death that had previously only been considered in myth-
ology, fantasy or philosophy. Until the advent of the respirator, the
cessation of spontaneous breathing immediately led to the cessation of
circulation and unrecoverable brain damage. Since the 1960s we have con-
tinually expanded the gray areas between life and death, stabilizing one
process after another in the previously inexorable path from life to dust.

It is worth highlighting though that technology is not responsible for the

grey area between life and death but exacerbated what was already there. The
boundaries are often arbitrary and circumstantial. That said, technological
advancements in biomedicine, and cryonics in this case, might expose human
life to further uncertainty rather than the opposite. Troyer (2020) explores the
progression of the development of new technologies and the treatment of the
human dead body. In those explorations, he reminds us Giorgio Agamben’s
work –​‘life and death are political concepts’. Troyer’s work brilliantly threads
this across his book and indeed examines the varied new technologies and
methods of treating the dead body. In cryonics, we have to consider the
level of individualism and that of politicism to decide who benefits from a
potentially successful outcome. Surely, if Einz –​the two-​year-​old daughter in
cryo-​preservation –​is revived when her parents are either very much older or
indeed dead themselves, to what personal world will she be returning to and
for whose benefit?
58  Biomedicine and death

Robotic surgery
Another key area that medicine has evolved dramatically in the last few
decades, and continues to do so, is that of robotic surgery –​otherwise known
as robotic-​assisted surgery. With the assistance of robots and robotics, med-
ical doctors have the capacity to perform surgeries with much more precision,
control and flexibility than before. Schwaibold, Wiesend and Bach (2018)
shared their results from a non-​systematic review of the literature exploring
the success rates of robot-​assisted laparoscopic surgery. According to that
review, this type of surgical method has 94%–​100% success rates. Of course,
it is important to highlight that such method is not used apart from tiny
incisions.
That said, the overall success of robotic surgery is not yet certain for other
than digestive procedures like gastric bypass and oesophagectomy (Diana
and Marescaux, 2015). This is magnified by recent findings from Dyer
(2018). Specifically, the author critically explores the report put forward by
the coroner that investigated the death of Stephen Pettitt, a 69-​year-​old who
was admitted and underwent a procedure to repair a leaking heart valve at
the Freeman Hospital in Newcastle in 2015 (The Times, 2018). The report
suggested that Stephen Pettitt had almost a 99% chance to have survived
the surgery were it not performed with robotic assistance. A recent study
of 14 years of Food and Drug Administration data in the United States, by
Alemzadeh et al. (2016), showed that at least 144 deaths and 1,000 injuries are
linked with the use of robotic-​assisted surgery.
The consistent message with robotic surgery is that the promised result,
which is precise and successful intervention to ensure longer and healthier
lives, does not always bring clarity to human life, but frequently stirs the water
more than one wishes.

Artificial organs
When vital organs fail, we are looking at death, unless there are ways to replace
or repair them. Replacements can either be transplants or man-​made organs.
Of course, artificial organs are an easier and quicker solution, as transplants
are harder to reach, and the waiting lines are long. Yet, artificial organs are
difficult to mimic given the complexity of human organs. It is not only vital
organs that often need replacement, but non-​vital, too –​for example, bioinert
materials have been used routinely by more than 50% in procedures and med-
ical interventions (also see Hench and Jones, 2005).
The kidney was the first organ to be replaced artificially in 1954. This was
primarily due to challenges around dialysis medicine and the responses by
Willem Kolff, the father of dialysis. This is a very effective process of diffusion
and filtration, but not for a failing kidney; thus, an artificial or a transplant
is necessary. That said, David Humes has devised a bioartificial kidney that
 Biomedicine and death  59

reabsorbs good nutrients during dialysis. This is a promising development for

the future as it might decrease the number of deaths annually from kidney
failure –​that is estimated to 1.7 million people every year (Luyckx et al., 2018).
Heart is another example. The first artificial heart was implanted in Robert
Tools, 59 years old American in Kentucky, in July 2001. The organ was called
AbioCor –​made by Abiomed Inc. in Massachusetts. The option for an arti-
ficial organ to be implanted, not only accelerates procedures, but also helps
prolong life. Yet, artificial organs may also have limitations, but medicine con-
tinuously develops and provides new and refreshed methods and technolo-
gies. For example, SynCardia is a recent highly sophisticated artificial heart
to respond to the high demand for heart transplants but low offer on organ
donation (Keesling, 2020).
A very common organ replacement or repair is the skin, especially as a
result of burns. Autograft is the most common covering, but a patient may
not have enough skin to transplant. Thus, artificial skin transplants are
required, an approach that is also used to beautify and prevent from ageing
(Pitanguy, 2012).
Jin et al. (2015) recognised that global ageing population and the increase
of ageing-​related non-​communicable diseases have such social and economic
burdens that there is a demand for increased research funding in these areas.
Growing older, regardless of developed approaches and prolongation of life,
remains a process associated with biological and cognitive degeneration.
Drawing on the global ageing population statistics and unavoidable physical
and mental challenges that come with ageing, Jin et al. (2015) argue the need
for further research and development, particularly in the following areas:

1 Regenerative medicine: develop stem technologies, regeneration of

organs and tissues, controlled cell death and immune-​elimination of sen-
escent or cancer cells.
2 Tissue engineering: replacement organs and tissues by means of 3D
printing, biodegradable scaffolding, bioreactors or self-​organisation.
3 Regulation of the body homeostasis (e.g. molecular bioregulators).
4 Geroprotective substances (e.g. probiotic and bioregulating medications).
5 Dietary supplementation.
6 Gene therapy and gene modulation (e.g. attenuation of ‘Decay
Accelerating Factors’).
7 Artificial organ replacement and electrophysiological interfaces and stimu-
lation (e.g. prostheses, neuro-​prostheses, brain–​computer interfaces).
8 Cryopreservation and chemopreservation for organ and tissue
transplantation.

The above-​mentioned is a sweeping list of the many areas that biomedicine

has advanced and continues to do so, especially in response to cryopreserva-
tion and the need to identify positive outcomes to enable future funding.
60  Biomedicine and death

In addition, artificial organs are one category of implants, but another

is that of artificial devices that support and protect the human body from
disease. An example is the implantable immunoisolation devices that help
prevent immune rejection (see Colton, 1995). Tissue engineering is very close
to this as well (Bronzino and Peterson 2016; Hench and Jones, 2005). Jung
and Le Doux (2016) elaborated on gene transfer either ex vivo or in vivo.
Ex vivo is when target cells or tissue are removed from the patient, cultured
and modified and then transplanted to the patient. In vivo is when trans-
plant occurs in the patient –​the transplants are cultured in the patient. The
importance of this is in the ethics, and not dissimilar to previous arguments
in this book. As with other organ donations, financial incentives remain a
risk. Bruzzone (2015) examines the ethical problems in ex vivo organ trans-
plantation and the varied views by bioethicists. Lastly, biopolymers as smart
devices (Altomare et al., 2018) and bioreactors (Hasan, 2017) are additional
advanced technologies using mechanical forces to influence biological
processes.

Biohacking
It would be surprising not to talk about biohacking in a discussion about
biomedical advancements and their impact on death and dying. Biohacking
started with self-​experimentation like that of the British engineer Kevin
Warwick who implanted a radio frequency identification tag in his arm.
Delfanti (2012) asserted, biohacking started with ‘garage biologists’, and the
DIY BIO Institution,3 founded in 2008, states in its mission that ‘biotech-
nology and greater public understanding about it has the potential to benefit
everyone’.

Inspired by transhumanism, which advocates the enhancement of human

body and intelligence by technology, the overlap between self-​experimen-
tation and medical implant domains has created a vision to modify the
human body and document their experiences in social media for open-​
source medicine.
(Yetisen, 2018, p.744)

Warwick (2020, abstract) argued that ‘the premise is that humans are essen-
tially their brains and that bodies serve as interfaces between brains and the
environment’. Body enhancements via implants is thus a method to manipu-
late bodily functions and performance, manage the risks of decay and destruc-
tion, but also manage limitations like cognitive impairments.
Life extension, or the effort to live indefinitely and avoid death, is one of
the more ambitious forms of biohacking. Gerontologists like De Grey (2007)
have claimed that people will live up to 1,000 years. De Grey claims that
the first person to live to 1,000 has already been born. With biotechnology,
 Biomedicine and death  61

information technology and cognitive nanotechnology, as well as GRAIN –​

genetic manipulation, robotics, artificial intelligence and nanotechnology –​
human enhancements (mental and physical) are available and are used to not
only extend life but to ‘cure’ death and ageing.
There are many examples of implants, of which a very common is that of the
neodymium magnets that make you feel electromagnetic forces by tactile sensa-
tion. Further, many online platforms invite biohackers to share stories and explore
different impacts of biohacking and self-​implementation. Examples include
that of biohack.me, sapiensanonym.blogspot.com, GrindhouseWetware, and
FutureGrind.org. This area is growing fast but the challenges of it are nowhere
near to be solved (Bennett et al., 2009). Self-​implementation carries risks, and
instances of biohacking failure are inevitable (Zettler, Guerrini and Sherkow,
2019). That said, these new technologies and methods, whether approved or
implemented in one’s home, widen the opportunities for life extension and
cyborg being –​becoming a posthuman –​but, and despite the many arguments
shared in the first chapter, the success of those is questionable as we are still
missing data about the long-​term effect these implants have on the human body
and brain. What is undeniable is the certain influence of biohacking on the
human existence, adding to its changing nature and towards a posthuman.

Cloning
The technique of cloning by transferring nucleus of a somatic cell is that
used for creating identical and viable clones of Dolly the sheep (cloned in
1996) and Snuppy the dog (cloned in 2005). The company Stemagen in
California attempted this method in 2008 to clone embryos from adult cells;
the embryos were destroyed during the process of verification, however.
Vogelstein, Alberts and Shine (2002) opined that the term ‘cloning’ is often
used to refer to regenerative medicine, wrongly. Cloning’s goal is the creation
of an ‘identical copy of a biological entity’ (Vogelstein, Alberts and Shine,
2002, abstract). This is vastly different from the process of making stem cells
for regenerative medicine.
Cloning humans is a highly controversial subject, legally, politically,
socially and ethically (also see Gurdon and Colman, 1999). It may have posed
challenges to social life, people and communities, but has also opened up new
opportunities in the way human life is perceived. This is well approached by
Harris (2003, p.14):

a revolution that takes place at the molecular biology and genetics level
that will allow the deviation and control of human evolution in an unpre-
cedented manner. This revolution will give the possibility to develop some
new life forms that will order all existing life forms … being necessary to
introduce some changes at the human being level, with the reverse that
there is the risk for the future result to be worse than it should be.
62  Biomedicine and death

Perceptiveness of human life extends from concepts like individuality, per-

sonhood and identity. Cloning proposes the replication of a human (or other
being), but what might be the implications ethically when thinking about per-
sonhood? How will it differ between the two individuals? Will it differ? How
are the two individuals perceived legally? Webber (2013) argued that clones
are distinct from their human prototypes; there is the question of identity
formation, without influence by the prototype, as well (for a thorough discus-
sion about the ethical aspects of cloning, see Blesa, Tudela and Aznar, 2016).
Essentially, with cloning, humans have the opportunity to reproduce them-
selves! One can freeze their human cells to be reproduced when at an older age
in the thinking that their life will go on after death but through their clone,
and so on. This perpetuation of life is somewhat eerie –​both bizarre and fan-
tastic. We are living all the fantasies of the science fiction writers Philip Dick
and Ursula Le Guin, among others.
Surely, human enhancement on the whole, but cloning and DNA transfer
altogether have been debated restlessly in the halls of medicine and academia.
The contestations about the subject are too many to refer to, but worth noting
is that most share the notion of identifying right and wrong in the process. It
is human nature that is at risk in the face of such new technologies and bio-
medical advancements. One of the main concerns is whether human nature
is altered. The second is following on from the first, suggesting that with the
altering of human nature, we also lose our ability to recognise what is good, as
the latter is the product of our human nature to begin with. Buchanan’s (2009,
p.142) analysis responds to these assumptions more radically, suggesting that
deviating from normative essentialism is not a negative experience necessarily.

there is nothing wrong, per se, with altering human nature, because, on
plausible understandings of what human nature is, it contains bad as well
as good characteristics and there is no reason to believe that in every case
eliminating some of the bad characteristics would so imperil the good
ones as to make the elimination of the bad impermissible … altering
human nature need not result in the loss of our ability to make judgments
about the good, because we possess a conception of the good by which
we can and do evaluate human nature.

An interesting question here is, ‘Are genetically designed children not com-
patible with human nature?’ That said, cloning might be seen as a time of
‘new eugenics’ that change the nature of procreation. Yet, in such procreation,
science has more space to manipulate DNA and ensure healthy ‘products’
(Brown, 2016; Glover, 1985).
Cloning, though, is not something new. Cloning technologies are. Gardeners
have been cloning plants for a very long time, or invertebrates can also be
cloned and regenerated. Technoscience is continuously advancing, diversi-
fying the ways to maintain, recreate and monitor life (Oliver, 2013). Cloning
 Biomedicine and death  63

technologies and organ engineering set new contexts in which human life
and nature can be understood. The humankind progresses increasingly from
the state of natural to that of cultural (i.e. man-​made humanity and human
body). Cloning and other technologies raise questions about ownership –​who
owns human body or blood, when it is cloned? When it is the product of
cloning technologies owned by a single company, does the company equally
own the body produced by those technologies? It seems that we are gradually
moving to a space wherein our bodies will no longer be ours and will need to
‘rent them out’. This will be almost in the form of taxation, if it is not already
part of it. In a transhumanist society, the posthuman will exist virtually in the
main, and posthuman bodies will be on offer to move the digital self outside
of the virtual world.
To conclude, cloning may be another way of responding to the risks of
extinction of humankind. Shapiro (2020) offers that people fear extinction
for three reasons: first, people fear missed opportunities; second, people fear
change, and extinction requires change and adjustment to new circumstances;
lastly, people fear failure, and the risk of extinction is an indication towards
failure. The ethical and moral challenges in this discussion are undeniable
(Schwab, 2012), while cloning also has penal implications (Rustin, 2014);
the legal avenues of cloning remain ambiguous and with varied positions.
The National Bioethics Advisory Commission, nonetheless, suggests that
cloning a dying child is acceptable as long as it is purposeful and safe for the
‘created’ child. In other words, the ethical concern is for the clone and not the
prototype, which might lead conversations to consider whether humans will
become lesser than other man-​made creations.

Nanomedicine
Nanomedicine is emerging fast and with many promises in the response to
improving health outcomes, preventing death, and enhancing the quality of
life for those with chronic illnesses (Wagner et al., 2006). The use of nano-
technology remains essential in medicine, for purposes like diagnosis, drug
delivery and others (Kim et al., 2010). For instance, nanotherapies that incorp-
orate diagnosis and imaging, or improved circulation, are of paramount sig-
nificance for cancer patients nowadays and will continue to be in the future.
Radiation therapy, chemotherapy, and immunotherapy, to name a few, are
therapeutic interventions that are continuously influenced by the changes in
nanotechnology and nanomedicine (for more on cancer and nanomedicine
see Shi et al., 2017).
The goal for superlongevity requires such technologies and the use of
nanorobots to intervene and repair cells at the molecular level (Freitas, 2005)
to increase efficiency and effectiveness of medical intervention. As nanotech-
nology gives humans the capacity to manipulate atoms and particles, those
can be altered to a different nature or reactive response to other elements. For
64  Biomedicine and death

example, imagine your kitchen sink repelling water, or a wooden structure

that cannot be burned. Nanoparticles are modified to lead to such results, and
similarly, molecular cells may be modified to reach a different state of bodily
capacity, such as skin that does not burn, or interfering with osteoblasts or
osteocytes and turn human skeleton into an unbreakable structure.
As Jin et al. (2015) asserted, nanomedicine needs further developments in
light of ageing populations and degenerative non-​communicable diseases, for
example, nanoparticles for drug delivery, oxygen supply nano-​devices, devices
for macromolecular tissue repair. These are important areas and perhaps
closer to what humans in 2021 (those in the mainstream) are familiar with.
Yet, other implications of nanomedicine remain unexplored bioethically
and legally. The interplay of the use of nanotechnology in medicine and all
above-​discussed advancements with a shared goal to improve human life, on
one hand, but enlarge it as well, and ‘cure’ ageing and eventually dying, is
an extraordinary one. Change is happening in a pace that not everyone can
follow or has the time to comprehend before the next thing comes along.
Simultaneously, nanomedicine and other advancements come at a price,
financially, which is not an option for all. The social inequalities exacerbated
by the offer are many and deem attention, too, some of which will be given in
the fourth chapter of this book.

Disposal of the body and revival

The use of technology and nanomedicine or other nanotechnology is not only
changing the lifecycle but transforms the options available for the disposal
of the body, too. In some ways, cryo-​preservation is a form of disposal as
the body is frozen after death. As O’Connell (2017), in his To Be Machine,
asserted, cryogenic facilities are places that accommodate the corpses of
optimists. Regardless the suggestion that those who do not choose or have the
choice of cryonics are pessimists, it is clear from many discussions among sci-
entific communities and the Alcor Life Extension Foundation in Arizona that
cryo-​preservation is a form of disposal with the hope for revival in the future.
Troyer (2020, p.123) recently argued that ‘human beings will confront
a choice in the not-​ so-​
distant future about what death both offers and
mandates for postmodern technologies that alter and shape the dead body’.
This is not difficult to digest in the context of this book, but what might stir
more questions is the extent to which this is a choice or not. New ways of
disposal and treatment of the dead body will before long be institutionalised
and humans will not be choosing between burial and cremation as the norm,
but aquamation (solution of water and alkali to dissolve the body), space
burial (scattering ashes in space), promession (freeze-​drying), plastination, or
memorial artefacts (using ashes), to name a few examples.
The non-​traditional approach to the dead body is nothing new. Jeremy
Bentham’s request to have his body preserved and set out at parties if people
 Biomedicine and death  65

missed him was an unusual one, especially for the 19th century. Imagine what
we can do with today’s technology. In fact, here is an example of what we have
already done. The company Base Hologram has already developed holograms
of deceased popular public figures and artists that interact with others or per-
form in concerts. Maria Callas, one of the most influential sopranos in the
20th century, is ‘available’ in a hologram and the public can buy tickers to
watch her performance at the Hologram Tour. This is not certainly about the
disposal of the body but the disregard of the body and concern with the per-
sona to be revived for financial reasons.

Prolongation of life and immortality in utopian

realities?
Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932) proposed a soft version of a totali-
tarian society, adapted to engineered, bottle-​grown babies. In this proposed
world, Huxley details the future as an industry of (post)human beings. This is
not far from where we are now, of course, 89 years later.
I first read Brave New World when I was in my late teens. I was deeply affected
by the story but did not understand everything I was reading. Huxley’s writing
is not difficult but smart in such ways that without you knowing it you are
already on to another point. I remember being entertained by what I read the
first time, just another science fiction book for me then. Yet, as I entered my
early twenties and owned my first fancy mobile phone, this book sprang to
mind again and went back to it. This second time I was left with contentment
and excitement for the possibilities of technology. You can tell that my thinking
did not concern itself with consumerism or totalitarianism then. The third time
I read this book was when I was left shocked and eerie; I was starting to under-
stand it better. In the text, Huxley writes about the Bokanovsky’s Process:

One egg, one embryo, one adult –​normality. But a bokanovskified egg
will bud, will proliferate, will divide. From eighty to ninety-​six buds, and
every bud will grow into a perfectly formed embryo, and every embryo
into a full-​sized adult. Making ninety-​six human beings grow where one
only grew before. Progress.

Does this not remind us of cloning and laboratory babies? Is this not the
telling of a story of the future? Fertility medicine has for a long time debated
male ectopic pregnancy by surgical implantation, for example, albeit never
attempted, as well as the possibility of a uterus transplantation into a male.
Is the accumulation of biomedical advancements gradually taking us to the
place of self-​reproduction? In fact, it has, with cloning, while cryonics has
given space for revival.
Later on, in Brave New World, the Director of the medical centre addresses
an apprentice who is still puzzled by Bokanovsky’s Process, and tells them,
66  Biomedicine and death

‘Bokanovsky’s Process is one of the major instruments of social stability!’ In

other words, control is key. Social stability can be maintained without uncer-
tainties and with control. When fertility and mortality are controlled with
precision, stability can be ensured.
From the past to the present, Buchanan (2009) is asking whether
transhumanism and posthumanism change the normative essentialism.
The answer is plain and right in front of our eyes; of course, these concepts
change normative essentialism, but many others do, too, so it is difficult
to claim that it is transhumanist perspectives that change human nature
as defined by traditional, political and religious underpinnings. Ikäheimo
discusses normative essentialism by first explaining what essentialism
means, which is the concept that certain features of something are needed
for it to be that something (also see Ikäheimo and Laitinen, 2011). For
example, the concept that a person identifying as Black needs to have a
certain skin complexion to be considered Black. Essentialism is often the
product of socially constructed ideas that particularly dictate social life
and societal hierarchies. Great examples here are those of masculinity and
femininity that classify persons by constructs outside of the human but
associated with them.
Let us take an example pertinent to cloning now. The recreation of a human
entity by means of the Bokanovsky’s Process takes away features that are
essential to claim the cloned person a human, according to normative essen-
tialism. First and foremost, humans are rational and free. Despite the many
deliberations in scientific communities, cloning is still an area that cannot tell
us with certainty what the outcomes will be. This takes us back to the queries
about ownership; will the recreated being be the property of the prototype, or
the company offering the technologies, or none? Are they legally recognised
the same way as the prototype? How? In other words, freedom, as well as
other features like morality are questioned. Pedersen (2015) is one of many
authors who, drawing on Heideggerian philosophy, argued that moving
towards posthumanism will lead to losing dimensions of human existence.
Such positions align with the critique that transhumanists have received
about being utopian.
From De Grey’s (2007) recognition of ageing as a disease, to the lust for
human enhancement, it is clear that we live in an era that does not celebrate
human nature –​the lifecycle that leads to ageing and death, for those that
luckily die at an older age and not in their youth or middle-​age. To the con-
trary, humankind has invested extensively to overcoming this cycle with rem-
edies that will eradicate both ageing and death.
By no means am I opposed to technological progress and medical
advancements, but the ethical and moral aspects of their use. In fact, when
reading Martine Rothblatt’s From Mind Loading to Mind Cloning, in the
H+/​-​: Transhumanism and Its Critics, I was reminded that to call something
new and complex simply naïve or utopian is a copying strategy of normative
 Biomedicine and death  67

essentialism. Rothblatt (2011, p.113) suggests that ‘the transhumanists are no

more utopian or naïve than were the sociotechnological pioneers of the nine-
teenth century who believed in and fought for universal education, railroads,
and public health’.
Indeed, Rothblatt is correct to say so. Nonetheless, I doubt that the full
impact of transhumanist views has been explored. Twenty-​ first century
developments in medicine, technology, society and so on have quickly been
pushed into the agenda, setting out demands to people which they may be
unprepared for. This is caught well in Plato’s cave allegory. In the allegory,
Plato presents humans as prisoners chained in a cave, unable to turn their
heads. Behind them burns a fire and puppeteers are moving puppets which
the prisoners cannot see, but the shadows on the wall in front of them. In
other words, the prisoners’ experience involves the echoes and shadows cast
on the wall, but not the real objects. In this allegory the shadows may be
what normative essentialism represents, while transhumanist views show the
real objects passing behind the prisoners’ back. However, the same as when
you unchain the prisoners and give them the freedom to exit the cave, into
the sunlight, they struggle and return into the cave where they find comfort,
can happen with advanced technological influence of human life. Here is an
example.
Ray Kurzweil, an American futurist with great contributions in techno-
logical advancements, like text-​to-​speech synthesis, in his Ted Talk in 2014,4
suggested that in 20 years from now, we will have nanobots –​go into brains
and connect neocortex to the cloud (the i-​cloud), extending our neocortex.
Our thinking then will be a hybrid: biological and non-​biological thinking.
His projection is that by 2045 humans can be rid of disease, ageing and pos-
sibly death. A different level of cyborgs –​not simply with mechanical limbs,
for example, but hybrid thinking. It is extreme to me that mechanical limbs
are now seen as something simple, when the option was only available to
middle and lower socio-​economic classes in society rather recently. If what
Kurzweil says is accurate –​I have no reason to believe otherwise –​then I hope
to go on early retirement, if that is an option, by then as I sense that otherwise
I will literally have to work in my sleep, too.
Slavoj Žižek’s Like a Thief in Broad Daylight is a brilliant contribution to
the philosophical and political debates about post-​humanity. The richness of
Žižek’s work is undeniable and extrapolates ideas that have been in the clear
but not under the microscope before; it evidently states that post-​humanity
is not a surprise, nor distant from our futures. RLE or superlongevity is
one matter, but immortality, hybrid thinking, cyborgs, and digital lives are
very different and certainly impose changes on both the nature of death, the
experiences of dying and bereavement. The recent COVID-​19 pandemic gave
us room to witness the vast possibilities of technology when dealing with loss,
trauma, transitions and death altogether –​all of which fit in well with the
ideas behind posthuman societies (also see Pentaris, 2021).
68  Biomedicine and death

Notes
1 https://​plato.stanford.edu/​entries/​biomedicine/​.
2 For more information about the Cryonics Movement and Robert Ettinger’s
initiatives, visit www.cryonics.org.
3 For more information visit www.diybio.org.
4 Watch Ted Talk here www.ted.com/​talks/​ray_​kurzweil_​get_​ready_​for_​hybrid_​
thinking?language=en.

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Chapter 3

Transhumanism in the
social context

Introduction
Death plays a central role in social life, as it serves as a daily reminder of
life’s limits, influencing not only beliefs and norms but also behaviour, such
as respect towards older people, but also legislation. The welfare system is
crowded with regulations that are indeed means-​based. However, social policy
and the welfare system are not only vertical (Midgley, 1997) but horizontally
distributed as well (Alcock, 2014). With death’s impact on legislation and
ageing as the indicator of death –​as we discussed in the previous ­chapter –​
retirement schemes have developed in their current form that from a Marxist
perspective and through the lens of capitalism pension age increases as the life
expectancy does, and so does expectant productivity. The social, economic
and political structures of different societies do not allow one to not enter
the challenging cycle of employment and retirement; they would otherwise
experience social isolation, inequalities and further challenges all of which are
better explored elsewhere (Khuhawar and Shah, 2019; McNall, 2015; Feather,
2012; Gallie, 2009; Gallie, Paugam and Jacobs, 2003). To return to the initial
point, it is the fact that embodied life (we cannot know more than that) will
end, and legislation needs to be facilitating social life with that in mind.
Death and bereavement, as all aspects of human life, are socially constructed
and thus are not separate from social life, and as the latter sees changes, so
does death, and in this case through a transhumanist lens. In other words,
the ever-​changing human life, the changing human nature in the face of
transhumanist ideas, and the shifting nature of death and the way we die
and mourn, all intertwine and influence one another, but certainly the pace
in which they change is dissimilar and such gaps challenge those who both
initiate the changes (albeit some are environmentally forced –​e.g. COVID-​
19 restrictions, Pentaris, 2021) and are impacted by them. Previously, and
currently, sciences, both social and positive, have invested largely in trying to
generate the pattern of ‘good death’. Numerous theories have developed over
the decades; some of these and the governance of dying through them have
been discussed in the introduction of this book. In fact, 2.5 million scientific

DOI: 10.4324/9781003088257-4
 Transhumanism in the social context  73

papers are published each year and more than 4,500 about what is good
death have already been published in the last five years.1 These papers have a
shared goal –​to capture the what and how of good death and inform policy
and practice with mathematic precision. Is this not a reminder of the desired
rigor by which transhumanism aims to enhance human life and reduce uncer-
tainty? Does it not sound principally similar that ‘well-​calculated dying’ is in
other words an automated procedure similar to that of using face recogni-
tion on your smart phone to access your bank details and approve payments
online? Both are premeditated and aim at standardising the experience. Yet,
this chapter will not focus on this tension between technological and social
advancements but explores the social–​legal context of the changing govern-
ance of dying, and through a transhumanist lens.
Death and the process of dying are both socially and legally constructed
notions which humans neither understand nor experience without the influ-
ence of their socio-​ economic, geographical, political and environmental
contexts. Specifically, death is always the same, yet the circumstances in which
it occurs specify it. To expand on this, let us look at illusions, and a great
place to turn is Tversky and Gilovich’s experiments about the ‘hot hand’. The
authors offered:

Myths die hard. Misconceptions of chance are no exception. Despite the

knowledge that coins have no memory, people believe that a sequence of
heads is more likely to be followed by a tail than by another head. Many
observers of basketball believe that the probability of hitting a shot is
higher following a hit than following a miss, and this conviction is at the
heart of the belief in the ‘hot hand’ or ‘streak shooting’.
(Tversky and Gilovich, 1989, p.31)

The central question the above-​mentioned study explores is whether the

conviction of the ‘hot hand’ is statistical reality or cognitive illusion. Without
surprise, this is not statistical reality, albeit the many experiments. However,
the belief in such ideas or superstitions is an evolutionary by-​product of
humans’ ability about psycho-​emotional survival. It is without a doubt that
humans rely on superstitions to contextualise their actions, rationalise them
and justify choices. A simplistic example of a cognitive illusion is that of a
table that we see turning sideways in front of us. When observing it length-
wise, it appears longer, and once this is placed width-​wise, it appears shorter.
Yet, the size remains the same and even though we know it is the same, we still
see it as a longer table when placed in its original position.
Cognitive illusions are one type of illusion. When talking about death
and its uniqueness –​something that this book recognises to be at risk when
confronted with transhumanist approaches –​we might want to think of emo-
tional illusions. Just as the example of the table that looks different in size
than it is in reality, the same happens with instances that we identify differently
74  Transhumanism in the social context

than they really are. For example, how often have all of us had an experience
that we recognised as a complete fiasco when in reality it is an inconveni-
ence or simple disappointment. Another form of emotional illusion is called
infatuation and is the illusion that we have true romantic feelings for someone
when in reality we are simply attracted to them in the beginning of knowing
one another. In other words, our circumstances and context are those that act
as an emotional illusion to a death that might otherwise be seen very technic-
ally and purely on a biological level. Technological advancements, nonethe-
less, drive the transformation of those illusions, distorting what is familiar
and feels comfortable, and replacing it with more machinelike experiences
that will more likely standardise how we live, die, grieve and mourn. A recent
and global example is that of dealing with losses and trauma during COVID-​
19 when technology became a necessity in order to engage with rituals,
practices, emotional connections, farewells and so on (also see Pitsillides and
Wallace, 2021).
That said, transhumanism certainly provides opportunities for enhanced
experiences, to which we have all been subjected to, and willingly. Searching
for information and watching the news as they happen is a simple example of
how technology has been improving human relations and communications
that the world’s population, on different levels, has been benefiting from.
However, we cannot neglect the changes and challenges it brings with it.
Human produces human not only with reproduction or biologically, which
the previous chapter was focusing on, but socially, too (Marx, 1972). Human
societies, values, norms, ideals, policies, ideologies, culture and faith are but a
few examples of areas that are reproduced by humans for humans. Further,
Steinhoff (2014, p.7) argued that ‘uniquely human (as far as we can tell) qual-
ities, such as culture, required human beings to be social beings; thus soci-
ality is part of human nature’. Drawing on both the above-​mentioned points,
social context is important in reproducing social relationships, and the com-
patibility of transhumanism with it is questionable.
Bostrom (2005) specifically emphasised the negative outcomes of
transhumanist perspectives; those increase social inequalities and corrode
the nature of human relationships, as well as ecological diversity. Very help-
fully, Bostrom (2005, p.5) presented The Space of Possible Modes of Being
(Figure 3.1). This graph helps facilitate a deeper understanding of the
limitations of humans, and the vast possibilities of posthumanity. That said,
such opportunities also bring many challenges, uncertainty and ambiguity,
until all becomes familiar again.
Focusing on the different space between humans and transhumans
(Figure 3.1), we view a transcendence from one to the next but without leaving
the first. Similarly, this is the case between transhumans and posthumans.
What is of significance, though, and which is not evident in Bostrom’s work,
is that the space accessible by humans transforms when experienced in the
space accessible by transhumans. Socially and legally societies are regulated
 Transhumanism in the social context  75

Accessible by posthumans

Accessible by transhumans

Accessible by humans

Accessible by animals

Figure 3.1 The space of possible modes of being.

Source: Bostrom, N., 2005. Thanshumanist values –​Ethical Issues for the Twenty-​First Century.
Journal of Philosophical Research, 30, pp.3–​14.

in a familiar and specific manner, notwithstanding the uncertainties. It is

humans that have produced humans socially and legally in the space access-
ible by humans. If this was a task for transhumans, though –​for example,
transhumans producing humans socially and legally in the space accessible
by humans only –​would we not need a separate conversation to reconsider
societies generally?

Human relationships and virtual selves

Transhumanist perspectives pose challenges societally and individually. Evans
(2012) explored how the self is conceptualised with all the new technologies.
Before we examine this further, though, it is necessary to contemplate what
we know about self-​concept, at least in humanist psychology. Hallam (2012,
p.3) argued that:

Self, in western society, has become a central idea. It is the focus of an

endless number of popular and academic books. Since the seventeenth
century, it has become attached as a prefix to an increasing number of
words, such as self-​esteem. In sum, self is central to our beliefs, and in
this important area of our life we do not want to be led –​by authority,
dogma, or false prophets.

Yet, the influencers of one’s self are unavoidable, while technology magni-
fies them. Carl Rogers argued that self-​concept is made up of three parts: the
ideal self, self-​image and self-​esteem. Ideal self represents the person that
one wants to be. Self-​image refers to the way one sees themselves. Lastly,
self-​esteem describes the way one values and accepts themselves, which is
influenced by many factors involving how others view them (also see Argyle,
76  Transhumanism in the social context

2008). Rogers (1959) opined that a mismatch between ideal self and self-​
image –​in other words between how one views themselves and how they
wish to see themselves –​means that one’s self-​concept is incongruent. This
knowledge applies to the non-​virtual self –​that of the physical space wherein
human relationships follow a familiar pattern to us all.
To return to Evans’ (2012) argument, though, it is important to explore
the continuities and discontinuities of the self on the virtual and non-​virtual
environment. There are two urgent points to raise here. First and foremost,
does this argument suggest the coexistence of more than one selves that cross
the boundaries of the virtual and non-​virtual environments? The American
philosopher William James (1890/​1983, p.221) opined that ‘no psychology …
can question the existence of personal selves. The worst psychology can do
is so to interpret the nature of these selves as to rob them of their worth’.
Hopefully, by discussing the various virtual and non-​virtual selves here, we
are not depriving any of them of their worth but enabling us to think about
them deeper and with greater care.
James (1890/​1983, pp.281–​282) continues to say:

Properly speaking, a man has as many social selves as there are individ-
uals who recognize him and carry an image of him in their mind. To
wound any one of these his images is to wound him. But as the individ-
uals who carry the images fall naturally into classes, we may practically
say that he has as many different selves as there are distinct groups of
persons about whose opinion he cares. He generally shows a different
side of himself to each of these different groups … From this there
results what practically is a division of the man into several selves; and
this may be a discordant splitting, as where one is afraid to let one set of
his acquaintances know him as he is elsewhere; or it may be a perfectly
harmonious division of labor, as where one tender to his children is stern
to the soldiers or prisoners under his command.

The depth of James’ argument is certain and worrying (Leary, 1990). The
latter because in truth the number of social selves is primarily dependent on
those having an image of the person in question, and not the person per se.
For example, someone who has become popular through their art, like Maria
Callas, the art of whose perpetuates after their death, not only had millions
of selves, but continue to have more as the years go on.
That said, one also has as many virtual selves as there are platforms (e.g.
social media) and online profiles that describe them (also see Agger, 2004).
Self-​esteem, according to Rogers’ views about self-​concept, is interrogated by
the many ways in which one considers themselves to be seen by others, both
virtually and non-​virtually. A non-​virtual self, though, may have lower self-​
esteem because of harassment or discrimination experienced in their com-
munity, while their ideal self remains far from the reality. Simultaneously,
 Transhumanism in the social context  77

their virtual self has found the acceptance and warmth the non-​ virtual
self was looking for, and with the help of anonymity, privacy and perhaps
luxury of ‘moulding reality online’ reached their ideal self a lot more. To
return to Rogers’ view about incongruent self-​concepts, this is an example
that highlights the increased likelihood of incongruence, primarily when vir-
tual selves deceive non-​virtual personas about what is real and what self is in
fact true.
Evans (2011) visited Second Life, an online virtual world introduced in
2003, and conducted a case study exploring virtual life compared to social
life. Evans argued that the life in a virtual world is transforming the experi-
ence of the self. The study found that the degree of similarities between actual
and virtual selves varies based on experience, while the virtual self is seen
as a separate entity. That said, we are not solely talking about more than
one social or virtual selves anymore, but the coexistence of two persons with
many selves each –​a virtual person with virtual and social selves alike, as well
as a non-​virtual person with social and virtual selves, too.
Among the many science fiction novelle by the American writer Ursula Le
Guin is The Word for World is Forest (1976). This book was first published
in 1972 and presented a futuristic view of humanity and posthumanity,
considering ‘other selves’ on planet Athshe, where the indigenous population
represents what we think as an avatar. In fact, this story is retold by James
Cameron in what has been described as an epic science fiction film titled
Avatar. This film was released in 2009, while it is developing into a series of
four films, the second scheduled for release in 2022. The story develops in the
mid-​22nd century, when humans are attempting to colonise –​and succeed –​
an extra-​terrestrial planet called Pandora. The local tribe on Pandora, called
Na’vi, have their planet invaded and experience avalanche changes. The film’s
title refers to a genetically engineered Na’vi body that a human controls
through their brain activity. In other words, the human self experiences
Pandora and the Na’vi tribe through their avatar, a technologically advanced
vessel that is, though, equipped with the human’s thoughts, values, beliefs
and so on. The film presents an extreme where the protagonist as a human is
a wheelchair-​user, but as an avatar is mobile and enjoys freedom. The ending
of this film (hopefully not a spoiler) shows the ultimate concern when mixing
virtual and non-​virtual selves. The protagonist decides to leave the human
world, and through a ceremony of the Na’vi tribe, his soul is transferred from
his human body to his avatar, no longer controlling both but remaining indef-
initely in his avatar and living life as an avatar in Pandora. Transhumanists
believe that uploading our memories, thoughts, character, behaviour and self-​
concept altogether is a possibility with the help of technology, allowing us to
do similar things. Transfer ourselves in a digital world and ensuring immor-
tality. Yet, who is immortal in that instance? Are we the same person when not
connected to our bodies that have helped us develop into who we are? Is our
death in that instance at all a matter of our sense of mortality or life?
78  Transhumanism in the social context

The storyline of the film Avatar is not very far from many people’s
experiences in Second Life –​but the ending –​where the virtual self and life
take hold and start featuring as the person’s reality, satisfying desirability. The
actual reality, in that case, is distorted, transformed or at times annihilated.
Death and dying are now important aspects in virtual life and the death of
an avatar (digital death2) is an important loss (also see special issue by Sas
et al., 2019).
MacKinnon (1997, p.232) rightfully asked, ‘how much of one’s day does
someone have to spend playing a game before it is fair to call it a “life” ’? In
addition, does this virtual life substitute wholly one’s social life? Can self-​
conception, in fact, no longer be understood in terms offered by humanist
psychology, but there is a demand for a new field, ‘posthumanist psychology’,
to start developing new concepts that will help explain the transformation of
self and human relationships?
Hallam (2012, p.298) highlighted an additional human ability, which fur-
ther complicates the above-​mentioned: ‘a fascinating property of human
thinking is its recursive nature. Having created virtual selves in a real world,
it becomes possible to think of virtual “virtual selves” in an imagined world’.
This process suggests that perhaps the transfer from human self to virtual self
also indicates the transfer of human capacities onto an avatar. Yet, drawing
on the arguments from the first chapter of this book, human properties are
not left untouched when technology interferes. If anything, human nature is
transformed and we no longer talk about mourning rituals like wailing, which
are emotionally loaded and ritually orchestrated. To the contrary, wailing is
now a programmed activity performed by technologically engineered selves
that do not develop relationships or attachments with others to express
feelings in that process. It is the human behind a virtual self, whose emotions
are vicariously experienced through their avatar. This is perhaps a significant
counterargument to transhumanist views, but one that can be defeated in a
posthuman society. This argument is not sufficiently cogent when explored
in parallel with the intention to reach singularity –​‘a point in time in which
artificial intelligence will supersede human intelligence’ (Boenig-​Liptsin and
Hurlbut, 2016, p.239), introduced by the transhumanist Ray Kurzweil. When
artificial intelligence outweighs that of humans, the possibility of machines
developing self-​image and emotional ties is evident, and thus relationships are
further transformed.
Technology and the use of many online platforms have wittingly or not
been adopted as the media to experience transhumanist or posthuman living
and dying, stepping away from what has been classified as human limitations –​
always referring to ageing as a disease and death as its outcome. Bostrom’s
(2005, p.4) thoughts help explain this further:

In much the same way as Chimpanzees lack the cognitive wherewithal to

understand what it is like to be human –​the ambitions we humans have,
 Transhumanism in the social context  79

our philosophies, the complexities of human society, or the subtleties

of our relationships with one another, so we humans may lack the cap-
acity to form a realistic intuitive understanding of what it would be like
to be a radically enhanced human (a ‘posthuman’) and of the thoughts,
concerns, aspirations, and social relations that such humans may have.

In a science fiction world, humans are the livestock –​or perhaps the pigs
alone –​in George Orwell’s Animal Farm, and transhumans or posthumans
are the humans. The first of the seven primary commandments in Orwell’s
work states that ‘whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy’. By and large,
technological influence in human biology, such as biohacking, is seen as an
enemy in the mainstream (Battle-​Fisher, 2020; Vargo, 2017). However, the
closer pigs get to humans and human life in the context of gaining power over
the remaining animals, the more the commandments changed and resulted in
one rule: ‘all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others’
(Orwell, 1945, p.90). Without much difference, the enhancement of human
life, including the undermining of death and dying, which transhumanism
argues, is unequally distributed to those with the adequate resources. And
so, all humans are equal, but some are more equal and thus progress to a
transhumanist state.
Conclusively, even though technology restructures society, the current
structures equally influence the development of transhumanist perspectives,
albeit conceived by humans. That said, human relations are an intrinsic part
of societal structures and, accordingly, current human relations influence the
restructuring of them.

The social environment and alienation

Steinhoff (2014) investigated the philosophical connections between
transhumanism and Marxism, a truly important linkage that highlights
the importance of material conditions and technological advancements –​
conceptions of humanity and nature (also see Petrović, 1963). With the pro-
cess of globalisation, social stratifications and inequitable social life emerged
or were exacerbated. Such tensions are best explained through the lens of
Karl Marx’s theory of alienation (Marx, 1932/​1959). This theory depicts
the estrangement of humans of their nature as a result of social hierarchies
and inequalities. However, Marx supported that the various attributes of the
human nature differ from society to society; human nature is not fixed. Marx
believed that the socio-​economic and political infrastructure of a society
will shape human nature as well. Humans are designed to survive in their
environment –​socially and naturally –​and, thus, human attributes change
with one remaining stable –​adaptability. In his Economic and Philosophical
Manuscripts (Marx, 1932/​1959 –​original publication in 1844) Marx named
four distinct ways in which capitalist society is alienating. The first one is
80  Transhumanism in the social context

product of labour, which describes the alienation of the final product from
the worker –​the person who produced it. This is because in a capitalist society
the product only belongs to those who commissioned the work completed
by another. This type of alienation is evident in the advancements of medi-
cine and technology as well; that is to say, the production of transhumanist
materialism can only be understood in the prism of capitalism, explained by
humans for posthumans.
The second form of alienation is the labour process; this is identified as the
lack of control of the circumstances under which labour is produced –​the
worker having no power over that –​and which influences mental and phys-
ical health and, therefore, the quality of creativity put into labour and, thus,
the final product. The third type of alienation is that of our fellow human
beings –​in other words, the estrangement from other humans due to social
classes. Human productivity creates a large network that connects all and
shows the interdependences between humans. Take the example of needing
intensive care; the patient is dependent on the doctor’s knowledge and skills,
which are dependent on the University where they studied, and the professors
and clinicians that taught him. The patient is also depending on the right
medical equipment to support their life; some of the equipment is made by
workers and robots in China, some in Germany, some in Poland, and so on,
while those with the expertise to use the equipment come from other places
and their knowledge depends on the origins of their learning. You can tell
that this example could be endless. Humans depend on one another indef-
initely through the products they create in the world. I am writing this book
using an iMac, but I would be unable to complete it without an electronic
device and a writing processor. Handwriting it would not be accepted by the
publisher, neither by the audience to be candid. As Bertell Ollman (1996,
p.144) wrote, ‘We do not know each other as individuals, but as extensions of
capitalism: “In bourgeois society capital is independent and has individuality,
while the living person is dependent and has no individuality” ’.
The fourth and final type of alienation, according to Karl Marx, is that of
our human nature. Capitalist societies that standardise labour and product
exchange, as well as the structures of social classes alienate humans of their
own species (Marx, 1932/​1959). Considering transhumanism in this context,
it is almost natural to think of transhumanist perspectives as enablers of the
creation of a transhuman society of stratified social classes. Taking all four
types of alienation into account, we ought to consider whether transhumanism
is indeed an advanced product of capitalist societies that orchestrate social
environments in ways that in fact demand the change of human nature for
the purposes of survival.
Steinhoff argued that Marxists and transhumanists can learn from one
another. Living and dying are merely what humans are purposed for while
on Earth, but transhumanists, in many ways, argue that the prolongation of
the former and eradication of the latter should be the goal. The Marxist view
 Transhumanism in the social context  81

that humans can be alienated from their own nature, habitus and proper-
ties should be a learning curve for transhumanists, developing strategies that
allow for those to be maintained in a transhumanist self. On the other hand,
Marxists can learn that human nature does not need to be limited but can
expand to the extent of human capacities –​or transhuman in this case. In
other words, dying does not need to be a limitation of human life, diminishing
potential, but technology and biomedicine can tackle death and remove the
risk of not living, as Ray Kurzweil would put it.
Marxism rejects all immaterial ideas, substance and spirit, but is influenced
by Hegel’s dialectical form. Marxism, though, says no to the idea of abstrac-
tion in the Hegelian form and claims that ‘abstraction can only be made in
imagination’ (Marx, 1972, p.149). Yet, in these terms, how is imagination
perceived and is it indeed a non-​state as Marx would consider, or a carefully
constructed state of being wherein humans find space for creative building of
other selves? Is the land of Pandora in the film Avatar not an imaginative state
but real as well? Does cryo-​preservation invade the realm of imagination or is
it real? Is the chance of neurobiologically connecting oneself to a computer
and manipulating data at a distance part of imagination, or a reality? Perhaps,
and returning to Marx’s view, the line separating imagination and reality has
moved radically over the centuries, and especially in the last few decades and
since the mid-​20th century. Similarly, imagination is utterly subjective. When
I was at the age of seven or eight, one of my grandfathers had to undergo
amputation of both lower limbs, one after the other. Even though prosthetic
limbs, made of wood and metal, were first invented in the 16th century, and
later advanced in the recent decades and became more mainstream, the idea
of my grandfather receiving a prosthetic leg, let alone two, was pure imagin-
ation. Resources and social stratification, to return to Marx, are key factors
that help separate imagination from reality, and such divide is different for
different people. To give an example, globalisation has allowed to say goodbye
to those dying in quarantine during COVID-​19, yet not to everyone. Those
with adequate resources and access of the right technology, as well as digital
literacy to make good use of it, benefited from globalisation well. However,
over 750 million adults around the world are lacking basic literacy,3 let alone
digital literacy, and for those the idea of dying and saying goodbye virtually
remains part of the imagination. Thus, if imagination has no clear margins,
then so does the space wherein abstraction can be made. If transhumanist
perspectives offer imaginative spaces for the majority of the population,
then the ‘art of abstraction’ goes hand in hand with transhumanism, while
access to technological and biomedical advancements equates to expansion
of imagination.
Steinhoff (2014, p.3) asserts that ‘the social problems of private property
and alienation arise from the material reality of the means of production
being owned by the capitalist class’. In other words, a socialist revolution that
follows technological advancements has as pre-​requisite material conditions
82  Transhumanism in the social context

compatible with transhumanist and posthuman demands. Such conditions

are vastly different from those we currently face in society and which are
informed by and affect human nature in its current form.

Human experience in a transhumanist social environment

For centuries, humanity and human societies have been facing the lack of
social recognisability of human experience. Democratic institutions since the
ancient Greece have tried to mitigate social problems, which gradually have
been primarily solved by way of acceptance rather than intervention (also see
Tridimas, 2015). As Kessler-​Harris (2003) points out, the pursuit of equity can
be traced back to legal systems and the balance of human rights is focused on
changes in the institutions and policies that govern social identities and social
life, not on changes in human nature. For example, LGBTQIA+ identities
were for centuries, and in many nations still are (Pentaris, 2019), considered a
social problem –​one that interferes with society’s and family’s accepted roles.
When tackling such phenomena, humanity did not meddle with people’s
sexuality but gradually was more educated, culturally appropriated itself to
find ways to remove disenfranchisement from those experiences. Once the
larger part of the population considered this to be an important development,
by means of legislation, social life is regulated to the extent that individuals’
experiences and identities are protected, disallowing others to act against
them and promote discrimination, prejudice and oppression. Similarly, the
care for the dying has not always been of importance in the healthcare system
of most countries. Recent progress, since the post-​World War II years, led to
increased recognition of the needs of those who are at the end of their life,
which prompted new policies and legislation to govern dying and caring for
the dying.
Societies have evolved and are increasingly transitioning away from the
general disenfranchisement of human experience. When this is not the case,
we need to think about why? Perhaps we all believe that child poverty is
unacceptable, that all human beings deserve a chance in life or that no person
should be sleeping roughly in the streets. However, what do we do about it? We
donate three pounds to a charity organisation, or run a marathon once a year,
or help at a soup kitchen during holiday periods. How radical is the impact?
Are we contributing to the eradication of these issues, or simply reaffirming
our ego and indeed our actions are more selfish than we care to admit?
Karl Marx’s attention to social hierarchies is key to understand this; stratifi-
cation of social classes is a social construct that is necessary for the survival of
the human-​made constitution of life and death. In Year Million, a docuseries
depicting the complex and deep-​rooted advancements of technology and
medicine vis-​à-​vis human life, transhumanists and futurists emphasise the
general concern that accessibility to new technologies to enhance human
life is divided between the haves and have nots. Naturally, if transhumanist
 Transhumanism in the social context  83

perspectives talk about the improvement of human nature (which I call trans-
formation as it is no longer human), do they also allude to an evolution of
social rights? In what way and how will equity be maintained? Is it possible to
have and maintain equity? If we return for a minute to the example of RLE
(i.e. radical life extension), which we discussed extensively in Chapter 2, can we
with certainty claim that the option for RLE will be equally distributed based
on resources? It seems to me that RLE comes hand in hand with prolonged
poverty, deprivation and other similar social phenomena.
The extension of one’s life does not constrain an improved social life,
but possibly the extension of their experience as well. In other words, the
rich will continue to be rich and the poor will go on being poor, but for
a longer period and with further social divides which will emerge with the
introduction of new ways of living with the use of technology –​phenomena
we have already been observing and exploring in light of digital poverty and
digital illiteracy (McGann, 2008; Norris, 2001). Let us take the example of
older people. Consider a 90-​year-​old person who has had access to biomed-
ical intervention that they can afford and has been able to ‘push back their
ageing’ for another 50 years while improving their physical and mental cap-
acities. Imagine another 90-​year-​old person who is now living in poverty
and without health insurance who is unable to obtain such treatments. This
person’s life expectancy is just a few years, and they are already dependent
and mentally challenged. In this case, ageing as the cause of death is defeated
in a transhumanist society but at a cost –​the capitalist essence of this
requires further investigation. We are looking at a heightened stratification
of humans in society and a wider gap between social classes, leaving those
in the lower class to remain humans and those from middle-​upper classes to
progress and move in the spaces of transhumans and posthumans as shown
in Figure 3.1. Koch’s (2020) point is similar in that it highlights not only
the danger of more social class divisions, but also that benefits to one party
entail disadvantages to another. The disenfranchisement of human experi-
ence can seem to be one of the consequences of transhumanist perspectives,
but it is uncertain to what degree the transformation of human nature entails
the expansion of social phenomena, or at the very least their transformation,
but not the way those phenomena are separated and dispersed throughout
the population.
Hayles (2011) is writing about her constant battle with the ideas offered
by transhumanism, oscillating between the benefits and disadvantages –​very
much like what this book has been doing for a while. Partially, the debate is
centred around the human realities that are accepted and the possibilities that
transhumanism offers. Hayles (2011, p.216) argues that:

to see why reproduction is at the center of transhumanist concerns, we

need only consider the rhetoric of the singularity, a term introduced by
SF writer and mathematician Vernon Vinge to indicate a decisive break
84  Transhumanism in the social context

in which advanced technology catapults us into a future qualitatively

different from all previous human experience (emphasis in original).

Drawing on Hayles’ work, it is possible to entertain the chance that

the need to care about the acceptance of human experience is irrelevant.
Human experience will no longer be, thus the need to accept or reject it is no
longer of question. Dying in a transhumanist society, for instance, already
poses many challenges, which social institutions spend many resources to
tackle. For example, in 2016, a 14-​year-​old girl who was dying of cancer
won the legal battle to be cryo-​preserved. The teenager’s mother supported
the decision and legally pursued this opportunity for her child. The patient
had shared in court, ‘I don’t want to be buried underground. I want to live
and live longer and I think that in the future they might find a cure for
my cancer and wake me up. I want to have this chance. This is my wish’
(Bowcott and Hill, 2016). The human experience that we comprehend here
is that of loss and grief contextualised with specific death outcomes. Yet,
how well equipped are we to understand loss and grief when a loved one
is neither dead nor alive? To give an example, end of life professionals and
end of life care policies around the world have overused (often abused or
misused) many grief models like that of the five stages of grief by Elizabeth
Kübler-​Ross (1969). When the body’s disposal options are limited to burial
or cremation, such theoretical ideas have helped us in framing the human
experience of death. How far do these theories though apply to someone
preparing to be cryogenically frozen to be woken up in a hundred or two
hundred years? When someone is planning to download their consciousness
into a humanoid robot like Erica (see Glas et al., 2016), how do models
like the one above help us understand anticipated grief ? The human experi-
ence of death and dying is no longer human but transhuman, moving into
unknown territories and leaving us in a precarious situation, without the
right tools to respond to it.
To conclude and at the risk of overemphasising the point, Max More (1990,
p.11) underscores the transhumanist rhetoric with the following:

We seek to avoid all limits to life, intelligence, freedom, knowledge, and

happiness. Science, technology and reason must be harnessed to our
extropic values to abolish the greatest evil: death. Death does not stop
the progress of intelligent beings considered collectively, but it obliterates
the individual. No philosophy of life can be truly satisfying which glori-
fies the advance of intelligent beings and yet which condemns each and
every individual to rot into nothingness. Each of us seeks growth and
the transcendence of our current forms and limitations. The abolition of
aging and, finally, all causes of death, is essential to any philosophy of
optimism and transcendence relevant to the individual.
 Transhumanism in the social context  85

The emphasis in transhumanist debates is on the transcendence of the indi-

vidual but there is lack of focus on dynamics beyond the person, such as all
social, legal and environmental factors influencing and constructing human
experience.

The natural environment

The human body cannot be separated from its natural environment. It is the
proof that human life is not simply mortal but material as well. It is both
of these points that troubled Bostrom (2008, p.4), who asserted that ‘your
body is a deathtrap … You are lucky to get seven decades of mobility; eight
if you be Fortuna’s darling. That is not sufficient to get started in a serious
way, much less to complete the journey. Maturity of the soul takes longer’. Is
maturity of the soul not subjective, though? Can we claim that it simply takes
longer than the human body’s growth? And longer than which human body’s
lifecycle? Other bodies last seven decades, other eight, other one or none. We
can presume that Bostrom was referring to older age –​over 70 –​and that
human soul needs more than that to reach a level of maturity, which is not
necessarily explained. What is the optimal degree of maturity and how can we
tell if we have reached it? Regardless, it appears that with Bostrom’s work we
are asking whether by escaping the decay and destruction of the human body
there is a higher chance to experience maturity and free humans. But to free
humans implies that they are imprisoned, and in this case confined in their
bodies and natural environment.
Overall, the argument about freer selves and souls free from materiality in
a more sophisticated environment is very complex to arbitrate. Steinhoff’s
(2014, p.5) assertion appears reasonable in this sense: ‘we may need to down-
load our consciousness to synthetic systems to conquer death’; creating an
emulation of a person’s mental state and digitalising it in order to remove the
dependencies on the human body.
Our perception of humans and human nature is firmly influenced by
the natural environment without which human evolution would have been
impossible. With that in mind, transhumanism is not simply about the chan-
ging nature of humans, the transformation of human and social life, but the
metamorphosis of the social and natural environments, too, or perhaps –​for
accuracy –​the annihilation of those environments and their replacement with
transhuman physical spaces, as much as digital. Of note, transhumanists
see humans to have emerged from nature, thus the two cannot be separated
and the evolvement of one requires the evolvement of the other. We see this
in Marx’s arguments, too: nature is socially constructed; it is influenced by
industry and human action. Human and environment develop as processes
together; one has to accommodate the other. Steinhoff (2014, pp.11–​12)
suggested that ‘humanity does not bring nature into existence, but it does
86  Transhumanism in the social context

create nature as far as humans can be concerned with it’ and continued to
argue that

nature is inadequately represented in the form of static facts because

it is an evolving heterogeneity of processes, of which humans are an
integrated and contributing part … to be static [nature] it would have to
somehow stand outside of nature.

Similarly, humans are neither static nor homogenous, yet technological

advancements are developing the techniques to maintain a fixed state of
humans which can be manipulated and negotiated enough when moving to
transhuman environments, highly sophisticated but with static processes.
If we talk about transhumanist perspectives of the human and explore
posthuman status, then logically we ought to consider postnature status, too –​
one that facilitates the posthuman and its new nature, other than human. In A
Letter to Mother Nature, Max More (1999, 2013) writes:

Mother Nature, truly we are grateful for what you have made us. No
doubt you did the best you could. However, with all due respect, we must
say that you have in many ways done a poor job with the human constitu-
tion … You held out on us by giving the sharpest senses to other animals.
You made us functional only under narrow environmental conditions …
What you have made us is glorious, yet deeply flawed … We have decided
that it is time to amend the human constitution.

More’s letter is powerful and undeniably provocative, but it neglects to take

into account the need for an amended environmental constitution, as well,
if the human nature is to be changed. The first amendment in More’s (1999,
2013) letter reads:

We will no longer tolerate the tyranny of aging and death. Through the
genetic alterations, cellular manipulations, synthetic organs, and any
necessary means, we will endow ourselves with enduring vitality and
remove our expiration date. We will each decide for ourselves how long
we shall live.

The intention is to transform human nature and promote immortality,

while seeing death as a deficit to which Mother Nature is kept responsible for.
Is More, though, thoroughly considering the human–​natural environment
relationship? In his book The World Without Us, Alan Weisman paints the
picture of what the world –​the planet Earth –​would look like if all humans
were extinct. Weisman (2008) argues that every story is ultimately an envir-
onmental story; no politics, religion, love, or other life experience and social
construct would be possible without a ground to stand on. The book quickly
 Transhumanism in the social context  87

sets the scene that says that humans are suddenly all gone –​whether due to
a virus or other disaster. Weisman then goes on to explore how nature will
respond to this extinction. What will it do to things that will be left behind –​
e.g. buildings, cars, mattresses, coffee cups? Without humans around, all such
products, within a century’s time, will have come down and nature will be
taking over. Weisman writes, ‘On the day after humans disappear, nature
takes over and immediately begins cleaning house –​or houses, that is. Cleans
them right off the face of the Earth. They all go’. In this debate, big part plays
the question, ‘what about larger, cosmopolitan cities’, and indeed, those will
also be turning into a forest, once humans are no longer occupying them.
Animal life will start thriving further and more, miraculously. Weisman’s
well-​researched book shows that once humans turn their backs on something,
other animal life will flourish –​both flora and fauna.
In other words, transhumanists are making plans, many of which we see
unravel before our eyes –​typically watching them in science fiction films and
other pop culture without realising that science fiction nowadays refers to
‘not mainstream yet’ –​that require an environment in which they can materi-
alise. The plans lead to a changing nature of humans and transformation
into posthumans, but how compatible will this species be to Mother Nature?
As Weisman shows, the natural environment will endure and thrive without
humans, but humans, or posthumans, will still require an environment to
act in. Even if digital environments become the primary and ultimate space
in which posthumans exist, one day in year million, those still need to be
based somewhere. Where will the digital space exist if not on planet Earth.
Perhaps another planet? Is this not leading to the same question once again?
We cannot think in transhuman terms without considering transnature or
postnature that can facilitate the new (trans/​post)human constitution.
Alluded in Weisman’s work is the fact that the extinction of humans would
not be inevitably indefinite. Nature evolves and nurtures its species, providing
the context in which separate species evolve differently, and thus it is not
impossible that humans are ‘reinvented’. Particularly, human nature is part
of the natural environment and how the planet Earth evolves. The attempt to
eradicate death and ‘cure’ ageing is perhaps a forlorn hope. Transhumanists
like Kurzweil (2005, p.326) argue that ‘we will no longer need to rationalize
death as a primary means of giving meaning to life’. Yet, to me, this seems to
be a linear approach to the matter. Surely, death has been examined endlessly
over the decades and centuries as a focal point that sets criteria to assess life
and find meaning, but death is neither a homogenous nor a singular fact.
The death of humans is a composite fact with the lifecycle of nature. The
immortality of any of the species on the planet Earth will signify further
social changes that might impact on the dying and living of other creatures,
too. What will happen to livestock, for example, once we are cyborgs in full
capacity, plugging ourselves at night to recharge in the place of food and
nutrition? The familiar food chain will be gone, and oversized populations
88  Transhumanism in the social context

of different species will begin to swarm the Earth, with massive corporations
committed to deactivating animals and posthumans in order to maintain an
acceptable size of the population.

Transhumanism and human rights

So far, we have discussed human relationships and how those might be shaped
through a transhumanist lens, and also discussed the social environment of
humans and the tensions between human enhancement and environmental
stability; this was further emphasised in a discussion about the natural envir-
onment, too. All this is absolutely necessary in order to explore how the
human experience of death is affected in the short-​and long-​run. Equally
important, to round up the conversation of this chapter, is a discussion about
human and transhuman rights.
Vita-​More (2018, p.9) writes:

There is a large formation of political transhumanists who consider the

governance –​laws, policies and legislation –​of their countries as crucial
to the transhumanist agenda. Along these lines of thinking, bioethicists
and machine ethicists are of interest to many transhumanists whose
debating skills are highly beneficial to the movement.

The tendency to govern both benefits and challenges as they emerge from
transhumanism is rather promising. Yet, does this entail a complete reboot
of the governance of social life and death? Kurzweil (1995) argued that living
in virtual environments will gradually be preferable; partly because human
needs will essentially disappear as humans develop into posthumans. With
that in mind, will human rights be irrelevant in the future or are governments
called to develop a new set of legislations about transhuman rights that will
replace what we currently know?
Similarly, the sixth commandment of the Transhumanist Declaration,4
adopted by the Humanity+ Board in March, 2009, reads:

Policy making ought to be guided by responsible and inclusive moral

vision, taking seriously both opportunities and risks, respecting autonomy
and individual rights, and showing solidarity with and concern for the
interest and dignity of all people around the globe. We must also con-
sider our moral responsibilities towards generations that will exist in the
future.

Once again, the intentions to respect autonomy and human rights are
coming through clearly. However, to what degree is autonomy respected in a
human society and to what extent are human rights recognised and exercised
globally? To give simple examples, autonomy is very often violated in everyday
 Transhumanism in the social context  89

life: when family members pressure a terminally ill patient to receive treatment
they did not desire. Human rights are also not always recognised: the Trump
administration continuously worked towards supressing parts of the popu-
lation as it promoted false narratives that perpetuate racism and discrimin-
ation, and undermined the rights of women and LGBTQIA+ self-​identified
individuals. So, we live in a human society whose actors (humans) have yet to
achieve respect of autonomy and recognition of human rights. Yet, the same
actors, as leading parts of transhumanism, suggest that human-​made policy
will adequately ensure those virtues for a transhuman society. Admittedly,
this is not far from the human nature and what distinguishes humans from
other animals. Humans have the ability to imagine the outcome before they
achieve it. That said, we can hope that the outcome will match the intention.
Adding years to our lives, extending our potential and reducing the chances
of ageing will redefine everything, including human rights. Article 2 (§1) in
the Human Rights Act 1998 states, ‘Everyone’s right to life shall be protected
by law. No one shall be deprived of his life intentionally save in the execution
of a sentence of a court following his conviction of a crime for which his
penalty is provided by law’. RLE and the possibility of immortality will rad-
ically change the notion of life altogether. The transhuman species will need
to redefine what it means to be alive. Are those in cryopreservation alive or
dead? Is mind cloning a form of life? Or do transhumanist views of digital
preservation and humanoid existence refer to what Robert Lifton (1996) has
already described as symbolic immortality –​i.e. what remains from our lives
after death?
Another example of how current legislation may not fit for purpose
following the many and radical changes in human nature is that of the
freedom of expression (Article 10, §1): ‘Everyone has the right to freedom of
expression. The right shall include freedom to hold opinions and to receive
and impact information and ideas without interference by public authority
and regardless of frontiers’. Without a doubt literature about transhumanism
so far has emphasised the direction towards self-​image and the creation of
consciousness in robots –​a more advanced form of artificial intelligence.
In theory, this seems to be alluding to freedom of thought and expression,
too. Yet, when considering the transformation of humans into posthumans,
enhancement is the underlying principle. That said, would intervention to
the human consciousness as it is downloaded somewhere digitally not be of
intent? Such interventions may be the answer to reducing or completely eradi-
cating crime, for example. Thus, freedom of expression is no longer autono-
mous but confined in the boundaries of the rights of posthumans.
Everyone has the right to enhance their physical and mental capacities and
live longer, and everyone has the right to reject both. This will be a transhuman
right: the choice between a human or a posthuman world.
Currently, the rights of the dead are divided by law and ‘many legal
rules favoring the dead could be explained simply as an attempt to control,
90  Transhumanism in the social context

incentivize, punish and empower the actions of the living’ (Smolensky, 2009,
p.4). When being dead is no longer an option in future societies, such rights
and laws will no longer be pertinent to our existence. Tinkering with human
genes will gradually result in the transformation of the human DNA and
the possibility to (re)produce humans that are genetically perfect. There will
be no assessment in learning as everyone will be genetically programmed to
perform the same. Menopause will be regulated, and also hair growth, or the
genes associated to behavioural traits (Martynoga, 2018). All these changes
will redefine our rights and consequently responsibilities.
If we return to all the options made available in RLE, we ought to examine
what will be the rights of those in cryo-​preservation, digitalised or uploaded
into a humanoid. Genetic engineering certainly speaks progress, but does it
also remove rights that human societies have come long way to celebrate and
empower individuals to thrive? Do all these not affect the experience of death
to the extent that grief is also affected through what Pierre Bourdieu (1990)
called ‘habitus’? Robert Ettinger, known as the father of cryonics, who died at
the age of 92 in 2011, is cryopreserved at the Cryonics Institute in the United
States. His hope has been to be revived much later, when medicine and tech-
nology can intervene and preserve him in life. Let us think for example that
this will be a possibility in the 22nd century, and Ettinger is woken 150 years
after the year his body was frozen. He will be woken in a society far removed
from his familiarities of the 20th century. What will this new society be able
to do with him? What will be his rights? Will he be displayed in museums
of human history? Will legislation protect those who are revived the same
as those who are genetically engineered to be perfect and far from the flaws
transhumanists and futurists recognise in the human essence? What about the
body of the psychologist James Bedford, the first person to be cryopreserved
in 1967 at the age of 73. Bedford was born in the 19th century and could be
revived in the 22nd century or earlier. I assume if you wake up 200 years later
there may be a law or two that is different than your reality when you were
cryopreserved. Is this newly revived person held accountable for their actions
when they have not been educated or introduced to them? It is possible that
we cannot comprehend at the moment the human rights of those ‘retuning
from the dead’. Nor can we calculate the degree of compatibility of the per-
sonhood and human nature of Ettinger and Bedford with the posthuman
societies of the future.
In 1986, in Walter Pitt’s film, Welcome Back Mr. Fox, Mr. Fox, the protag-
onist who is a movie producer, is resuscitated from a cryogenic freeze only to
find out that the life he had imagined after cryopreservation was nothing as
what he had hoped. In fact, he has returned as a ‘head in a jar’. In the film
we view vividly what the drawbacks of being revived might be and foremost
the uncertainties involved with this decision. In addition, we are reminded, as
we are from current debates among futurists and transhumanists, of whether
reviving a human body and brain also means that memories will be revived.
 Transhumanism in the social context  91

Human rights are not merely redefined and adjusted to meet the needs of
those revived from cryonics. In the far future, as transhumanists like Martin
Rothblatt argue, when mind uploading directly into a humanoid computer
like that of Erica is a possibility, will those humanoid robots not want rights?
With the intention to develop consciousness into robots and advance self-​
image at the degree of expressing freedom, thought and belief, are we also
not anticipating that there will be demands as well? The cognitive and mental
limitations of our human essence do not allow us to comprehend the detail
of that complexity, where what we may be looking at is the ontogenesis of
posthumans that will then take the lead to devise the right mechanisms to
help those still in their human nature to understand how we are no longer
debating the adaptation of human rights to support posthuman privilege, but
the development of posthuman rights that will negotiate the rights of those
remaining human.
Before we reach that point though, we might want to think more sim-
plistically and into the near future. Consider T-​HR3, a humanoid robot
that mimics its operator’s movements –​a real life robotic avatar. This robot
was introduced by Toyota in 2017 and will be used to perform surgeries
from other parts of the world. What are this robot’s rights, if any? As a
product it belongs to a company, I suspect, or could belong to an individual.
In either case, does this robot have rights like a pet would? Pet dogs have
rights, for example, and those rights are protected by global associations
and institutions. This is primarily because of the emotional connections
developed between humans and animals, but is this not a possibility with
robots, too? In fact, not a possibility but a reality. Studies have already
investigated not only the ethics and morality of the interactions of humans
and robots, but also the emotional connections developed (Meacham and
Studley, 2017; Sorell and Draper, 2014; Sparrow and Sparrow, 2006). In
other words, the need for the rights of robots is now, and subsequently this
will inform the rights of posthumans.

Notes
1 For more information read http://​blog.cdnsciencepub.com/​21st-​century-​science-​
overload/​and www.universityworldnews.com/​post.php?story=20180905095203579.
2 Digital death entails more than one form, involving the loss of data. Also see
Moreman and Lewis (2014).
3 Visit UNESCO resources here http://​uis.unesco.org/​en/​topic/​literacy.
4 Also see https://​humanityplus.org/​transhumanism/​transhumanist-​declaration/​.

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Chapter 4

An unsettled future

Introduction
Humanity has always been concerned with the sought of ways to survive
and potentially enter a realm of immortality. Among many scholars, Brown
(2017, p.40) identifies the four ways that humans have used to achieve immor-
tality: ‘by staying alive as long as possible … by surviving death in some
attenuated spirit form … by surviving through our children and children’s
children … by our works and deeds, embedded in memory and society’. These
four represent the survival of the body, mind, genes and memes, respectively.
The way Brown and others put it, these four are closer to humanity’s current
reality as they address subtle ways by which humans are trying to live longer
or create legacies that will. In posthuman terms, though, the survival of the
body is achieved through cryonics; the survival of the mind through mind
uploading and cloning; that of the genes through genetic engineering; and the
survival of memes through digitisation of legacy. In other words, we should
broaden the discussion to include these conflicts, since they are not just a
potential but also a current trend.
Another concern of humanity, for centuries, is that of how successful the
search for survival and immortality has been. Intentionally, this book has not
given much attention to the controversies between science and religion, and
it will not do so now; however, it is important to recognise that both fields
are progressing at the same time, and religion has remained more stable in its
doctrines for everlasting life, reincarnation, and final judgement, among other
things. Science, however, has made various arguments, and many schools of
thoughts presented a variety of notes about the survival of humanity and
the planet Earth. Regardless, it is possibly unavoidable that humanity will go
out of existence, as many other species do. This may be the result of a nat-
ural disaster like an asteroid hitting the Earth, or an irregular movement of
the Earth’s tectonic plates. It may, though, be the outcome of a man-​made
disaster –​for example, a war with chemical weapons, or a digital virus domin-
ating human brain activity and leading masses to destruction. In The Future of
Humanity, the physicist Michio Kaku (2018, pp.1–​2) starts the prologue with:

DOI: 10.4324/9781003088257-5
96  An unsettled future

One day about seventy-​five thousand years ago, humanity almost died.
A titanic explosion in Indonesia sent up a colossal blanket of ash,
smoke, and debris that covered thousands of miles. The eruption of Toba
was so violent that it ranks as the most powerful volcanic event in the
last twenty-​five million years. It blew an unimaginable 670 cubic miles
of dirt into the air. This caused large areas of Malaysia and India to be
smothered by volcanic ash up to thirty feet thick. The toxic smoke and
dust eventually sailed over Africa, leaving a trail of death and destruction
in its wake.
Imagine, for a moment, the chaos caused by this cataclysmic event.
Our ancestors were terrorized by the searing heat and the clouds of gray
ash that darkened the sun. Many were choked and poisoned by the thick
soot and dust. Then, temperatures plunged, causing a ‘volcanic winter’.
Vegetation and wildlife died off as far as the eye could see, leaving only
a bleak, desolate landscape. People and animals were left to scavenge the
devastated terrain for tiny scraps of food, and most humans died of star-
vation. It looked as if the entire Earth was dying. The few who survived
had only one goal: to flee as far as they could from the curtain of death
that descended on their world.

Kaku’s argument transcends into his book, detailing the many ways in
which humanity can, will and should evolve to avoid death and destruction
when such a catastrophe will come again; in the words of many futurists, it is
not a question of if but when.
Transhumanism is now arguing the chance for eternal life in a computer,
and this is the final step following RLE when someone might reach the age of
350. This is a topic that the well-​known series Black Mirror returns to repeat-
edly. How confident are we though that these suggestions will work, that they
will work for all, that prolongation of life or immortality of the human does
not always mean eternity for the social problems we are facing, and so on.
Perhaps Hayles’ (1999/​2008, p.286) work is a more subtle interpretation of
the description of posthumans, which carries with it all of humane social phe-
nomena (or at least it seems it does):

But the posthuman does not really mean the end of humanity. It signals
instead the end of a certain conception of the human … What is lethal
is not the posthuman as such but the grafting of the posthuman onto a
liberal humanist view of the self … the posthuman offers resources for
rethinking the articulation of humans with intelligent machines.

Hayles (1999/​2008) as well as Braidotti (2013, p.101) argue that subject-

ivity is not purely a conscious human characteristic; it does not need to ‘coin-
cide with conscious agency’ but posthumans can possess liberal thinking and
autonomy outside of human nature. Once again, the philosophical questions
 An unsettled future  97

linking to the future plans for eternal life are many and concerning. Such
questions only emphasise that the future is unsettled and can simply secure
uncertainty for us, but perhaps not such that we would not seize, given the
short lifespan of humans.

Why is the future unsettled?

The many contexts in which posthumanism exists or might exist also
suggest a wide range of possible futures, none of which we can be certain of.
According to Borg’s (2012, p.165) philosophical arguments, posthumanism’s
foundations are humanity itself; ‘posthumans share a genetic past with human
beings’. This has not only provided the means to develop posthumanity (or
the many possibilities for posthumanity) but shapes the standards for the
survival of posthumanity –​a rather intriguing paradox, but not the only.
In 2016, a science fiction (perhaps not that much of science fiction but
future forward) series was released on HBO, titled Westworld. In the series,
humans have developed humanoid robots that populate a theme park which
humans can visit virtually and act out any of their fantasies, regardless of
whether they are acceptable in the human world. As the series progresses, it
becomes clear that in fact the robots have been programmed to ignore the
fact they are robots, but instead believe they are also humans and the theme
park is their actual reality. Eventually, the robots’ heightened AI surfaces,
all of which is the product of human design, and the humanlike machines
develop consciousness of their nature and start redesigning the ‘game’ (i.e.
the virtual reality that humans experience when entering Westworld), exer-
cising autonomy and independent decision-​making. Alternatively, humans
developed AI that would entertain their needs and be commodified to a
large degree, but the product (i.e. posthumans) moved to a level beyond
what was expected or desired. It excelled and went beyond humans’ capacity
to control; it became independent, more intelligent and more powerful than
humans.
The paradox here is that despite the genetic or cognitive links, posthumans
are no longer representative of human nature. Similar to what we have seen
in Westworld, we (i.e. humans) go on developing new technologies and medi-
cine, being overwhelmed by the prospects of future life (digital or otherwise)
but may be spending very little time being concerned with the consequences,
losses and trauma that is associated with the magical future of eternal life or
‘cure’ of ageing. That very attitude, though, is absolutely human. Humans are
somewhat greedy; there is something new and exciting and we cannot stand
waiting for long enough before we grab it. Take for example the new iPhone
releases every time. When the iPhone X was released –​in fact weeks prior to
that –​people started queuing outside of Apple stores to be the first to get the
gadget. It seems that camping in the countryside or by the beach is not exactly
what many people will consider when buying camping gear. Thousands of
98  An unsettled future

people actually camp outside of hardware stores to purchase new gadgets as

they come out of their delivery boxes –​not because they might not be avail-
able a week or two later, but to be the first to get them!
That said, it almost seems certain that regardless of whether people can
afford new RLE technologies and medicine, greed will lead the way and we
will all dive in –​being immortal and young-​old. It will be the idea that we
can be immortal by comparison to others, which will drive our will. It is
humane –​maybe a part of the human nature that we should not be sad to let
go of –​that if there is no one around to praise us for our achievement then
we are not interested in achieving anything. We are consumed by the idea
of being the best at something –​best in football or cooking or drinking or
anything really. Yet, without a doubt, when the charts say that Lionel Messi
is the best male footballer in the world, they neglect to also state that Lionel
Messi has performed the best out of those who cared to perform and com-
pete for the place of best male footballer in the world. We forget that quality
is circumstantial and dispensable. Thus, AI and the quality of life it may offer
is also circumstantial and dispensable. The main question is not whether
one would like to live forever, but how they would like to live forever. There
are conditions; one may not want to live eternally in a posthuman society
where racism continues virtually and hate crime develops to the degree of
risking being deleted completely from the digital world, what the Year Million
docuseries calls the multi-​verse.
To borrow from Slavoj Žižek in his Like a Thief in Broad Daylight (2018,
p.40), ‘to understand how our lives are regulated today, and how this regula-
tion is experienced as our freedom, we have to focus on the shadowy relation
between the private corporations that control our commons and the secret
state agencies’. The UK’s Government Communications Headquarters
(GCHQ), for example, has re-​confirmed in 2021 (Leprince-​Ringuet, 2021),
that AI will be used further to increase national security and have a better
handling of its population. The governance of death, as discussed in the
introduction of this book, is currently achieved with theories, cultural
stereotypes, familial and traditional drives, and biomedical limitations. Yet,
with biohacking, mind cloning and genetic engineering, our posthuman
living and dying is no longer a liberal act, but purely monitored and directed
based on ‘the algorithm’. First, of all, if we are digitising all of our data,
memories, experiences and so on, then how are we to be confident that none
of that will be hacked? Cybercrime will become very private of an issue –​
cyber-​rape perhaps we can call it, when another user penetrates your pri-
vate memories and deletes or distorts them. Drawing on the fact that secret
agencies like that of GCHQ invigilate human relationships and actions
with national security as a goal, it is a no-​brainer that AI is associated with
more and more surveillance of human life, in which case the advancement
to posthuman societies in the future is almost equal to a high-​surveillance
environment.
 An unsettled future  99

That said and drawing on an earlier mention of ‘good death’ (see

Introduction), even today we live under the illusion that at the end of our
lives we have choice and make independent and autonomous decisions, but
we do not (see Wright, 2017). Our choices have already been made for us
the same way we were born a boy or a girl, and our roles in society had been
predetermined before we had a chance to know what it all meant. We cele-
brate preference nowadays, in many aspects of life and death. We encourage
people to state their preferences when they are near the end of their lives.
However, we neglect to remind ourselves that our preferences can only been
confined in the options designed for this purpose. What if my preference were
to be eaten by grizzly bears after I die? We experience the way our death is
regulated as freedom and we will do the same once the way death is regulated
and governed changes with the use of technology.
The future is uncertain for many more reasons though. Better than US is
a 2021 series that depicts life in 2029 when robots have become an integral
part of human life. The series follows the life of a separated family, and in
the first episode, there is a scene where the father is picking up his seven or
eight-​year-​old daughter to go spend time at the park. As the daughter enters
the car, she sees a kite and asks where the remote is. A subsequent scene shows
the father teaching his daughter how to fly the kite, without a remote! It is not
uncommon that generational gaps are widening more and more with tech-
nology, leading towards technological or transhumanist gaps between and
within generations.
Generation Z –​or the Post-​Millennials (Strauss and Howe, 1991) or also
known as zoomers –​represents those born between the late 1990s and early
2010s. This generation is the first to be recognised as a cohort that has grown
up with the use of technology, with access to many platforms and devices,
with phones and game consoles. Often the term ‘digital natives’ is used to
describe individuals born in the period of Generation Z (also see Dimock,
2019; Rothman, 2016). That said, certainly there are generational gaps with
regard to how technology is used and perceived, which informs how tech-
nology will be used and perceived moving forward by the different age
cohorts of the population. Yet, things are not that simple here either. When
we speak of generational gaps, we also ought to take into account the grey
zones! Seemiller and Grace (2019, p.xix) put this nicely:

Along with elasticity between generational cohorts, there is also some

variance within generations. With generational birth ranges spanning 15
to 20 years, the experiences of the oldest and youngest members of a
generation can be very different. In addition, the oldest may look a bit
like the generation that came before them and the youngest may exhibit
similarities to the following generation. The individuals who are born
towards the beginning or end of a generational birth range are called
cuspers, as they are the cusp of two adjacent generations.
100  An unsettled future

This further complicates our attempt to understand how technology is

perceived and used by different generations, which makes the future a little
more unsettling. Despite the many futurists belonging in the Baby Boomers,
many of the innovators and entrepreneurs belong to the Millennials: take for
example Henry Hu, in his late twenties, who is the co-​founder of the Café X –​
revolutionising the food service industry with the use of AI and robotics; or
Alastair Aiken, also in his late twenties, whose work was popularised with con-
tent design and the video game ‘Fortnite’. There is a main difference in what
we see here. Older generations have many more visions about how technology
can be used; there are many aspirations and ambitions. Younger generations,
though, simply make use of technology more organically, and using AI to
improve services, for example, is not seen as innovation but expectancy (also
see Iorgulescu, 2016; Shatto and Erwin, 2016; Singh, 2014; Wood, 2013).
Besides the generational differences, there are cultural divisions, too.
The generalisations of the different generations may be too risky. Other
compounding factors equally influence both the perceptiveness of technology
and advanced medicine, as well as how those can be used.

Although modern world is becoming increasingly international, it does

not mean the disappearance of cultures. People still have different
national laws, habits, and practices; they have different religions, different
languages, and different moral standards. Similarly, countries differ
along cultural dimensions that can determine forms of life and the way
in which technology is used and perceived. In fact, the irruption of tech-
nology into the human way of life has given rise to the idea of techno-
logical forms of life. Technology externalises knowledge, speeds up life,
and stretches out and changes the concept of distance, closely interacting
with social, cultural, and biological ways of living.
(Cañas-​Bajo et al., 2016, p.111)

Cañas-​Bajo and his colleagues argue that individual and societal contexts
need to be first of all understood before technology and its use. It would be
utopian for us to comprehend, for example, how we can make use of a pace-
maker when in fact individual factors like religious or natural beliefs may
oppose its use. That said, to be in a position to understand a transhumanist
future of death and dying requires a full grasp of both, in context and at the
present. Yet, scholars argue that we still lack such an understanding (Oh, 2011;
Howarth, 2007; Seale, 2000) or continue to explore our understanding of it,
on the grounds of religion, culture and family values (Leming and Dickinson,
2020; Lofland, 2019; Panagiotaki et al., 2018; Corr, Corr and Doka 2018;
Hsu, O’Connor and Lee, 2009).
Despite the complexities and the many uncertainties these associate
transhumanist views about life and death, Pyyhtinen and Tamminen (2011,
pp.136 & 139) interrogate the posthumanism from an anthropological
 An unsettled future  101

perspective and propose a form of ‘ahumanism’. They argue that Foucault

provides a posthumanist anthropology ‘with vital means to challenge human
exceptionalism’, and they continue to say that ‘we are significantly dependent
on the capabilities of various non-​humans in our everyday existence’. We are
dependent on a GPS to navigate our way around a city, or on ventilators to
remain in life –​from the simplest to the most critical.
Foucault’s exploration of the non-​human drives the conversation to one
place only; technology, robotics, nanomedicine and nanotechnology, and
so on are all possible because of humans. They designed and used them. In
other words, without the human condition, posthumanity would be impos-
sible. Yet, the human may not have necessarily mastered the consequences of
the posthuman but moving towards a direction that might cause more harm
than provide benefits. Specifically, and as Žižek (2018, p.44) argued ‘the “will”
of a living animal agent, its “spontaneous” decisions about the movement it
makes, were taken over by an external machine’. Transhumanist views (also
see Chapter 1) pursue an advanced human who will retain their autonomy
and control the posthuman until the latter is the only one standing. Is this
logic not suggesting that the posthuman will surpass the human, though? The
goal of human enhancement does not seem to be so.
In the TV series Better Than Us, among many others, the more advanced
humanoid robot, which acquires the consciousness of a killer and makes
autonomous decisions, does take control and exercises power over humans.
That was not the intention of its makers, nonetheless, who are in pursuit of the
robot once they found out how powerful it is. In this example, the human con-
dition was pre-​requisite to the development of the non-​human, in Foucault’s
words; but without a doubt the human did not consider the potentials of the
posthuman and once this was revealed, the human immediately started a hunt
to retrieve their own creation.
A final view of how the future of death and dying may be unsettled is that of
Foucault’s analysis of neoliberal biopolitics –​in other words, the drive towards
more globalised and universal norms and rituals and achieving the ideal indi-
vidual. Foucault’s (2010) interpretation of neoliberalism is a subjectification
regime centred on competition. The politics of ‘making live and letting die’
(Foucault, 1978) are seen as a part of the wider neoliberal order. According
to these views, neoliberalism is not as simple as the free market taking over
politics but emphasises the commodification of human life to the extent that
it must be ruled and controlled as an organisation. This book started with
an introduction that, among other things, invites us into a narrative of the
many ways in which death, dying and bereavement are governed in contem-
porary societies –​whether this is on the grounds of culture, family values
and norms, or policies and legislation. It then moved on to argue the new
advancements of human life and towards a posthuman world, and this is
where we see the transformation –​moving from free movement to CCTV!
Or, moving away from a simple death at home to an emergency service that
102  An unsettled future

digitises the deceased. It is almost impossible not to consider the notion of

homo oeconomicus (Foucault, 2010, p.273) and the reorganisation of society
around economy, market and competition, as transhuman perspectives of the
future of humanity seem to be well aligned with those principles. That said,
the challenge remains and has already been discussed; how is this ethically,
morally and legally feasible?

The uneven progressions of technology, medicine

and society
A team of Boston physicians led by Joseph Murray transplanted a kidney
from a 23-​year-​old into his chronically ill twin sibling in the 1950s. Murray
and his colleagues demonstrated that by matching as many HLA antigens as
possible between the organ donor and the recipient, they could save lives. Since
then, hundreds of thousands of people have received organ donation (e.g.
kidney, bone marrow, skin, heart, lungs) with success. Kemeny and MacAry
(2007, p.13) highlighted in relation to this, that ‘greater understanding of the
biological weapons that make up our immune system has resulted in antisera
and monoclonal technology. This has had a major effect on disease diagnosis
and is emerging as an important area for therapeutics’. Monoclonal antibody
technology in the 1950s was a tremendous discovery that has not only helped
save lives but extend life expectancy as it offered to improve therapies.
Simultaneously, the post-​World War II boom, the beginning of the Cold
War, and the Civil Rights movement in the United States characterised the
1950s. Following the end of the World War II, all nations were in a desperate
need for restoration and restrengthening. Migration increased as regions like
the UK needed the labour force to help rebuild infrastructure and develop ser-
vices that were much needed for survival. Military power was then recounted
and strategically empowered while considering the risk of further impact
(also read Lowe, 2012; Crosthwaite, 2009). Yet, in this period of restoration,
much conflict arose and in fact as societies started recovering the social class
divisions started becoming crucial to economical survival. However, with the
booming economy and booming suburbs, middle class was emphasised and
had more money to spend than ever. Between the 1950s and 1960s historians
recognise the Golden Age of American Capitalism, for example. While capit-
alism and social division were widening in the ‘boom’ years, the Civil Rights
Movement started growing stronger, with a large group of people speaking
out against social injustice and inequalities. Racism and segregation were at
the centre of these discussions. In 1954, in Brown v. Board of Education of
Topeka, in the United States, the Supreme Court ruled that racial separation
of children in public schools is unconstitutional, starting the end of Jim Crow
legislations. Another example from the Civil Rights Movement is that of
Rosa Parks, who was arrested, in 1955, for refusing to give her seat to a White
person in a public bus. This led to a 13-​month boycott of public buses by
 An unsettled future  103

black citizens and gradually companies agreeing to seize racial discrimination

on buses. Racial discrimination has been addressed differently at different
times and in different contexts, while racial segregation is depicted in various
cultural forms over the decades. In the 1950s, in Britain, for example, class
divisions were reflected in how people dressed or in the educational system.
White collars, suits and hats were the indicators of middle-​upper classes, while
caps and ‘labour’ clothes were a sign of lower classes –​interestingly clothing
seems to remain an indicator of such divisions today (also see Oh, Shafir and
Todorov, 2020; Karademir Hazir, 2017)
Another important societal change of the 1950s is that of pop culture.
Television became mainstream, while theatres were popularised with Marilyn
Monroe, Grace Kelly and Dean Martin, among many others, dominating
the box office. Similarly, Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning introduced
abstract expressionism paving the way for other artists that followed in the
1960s and 1970s, and especially in the art scene of New York City. An example
of those is that of Andy Warhol in the 1960s.
As far as technology is concerned, the 1950s was a revolutionary period for
all households. Electricity became more and more mainstream, and people
were able to use appliances in their own home, which boosted the idea of
cooking and advertisement companies made millions focusing on the ‘cereal
packet family’ (see Saggers and Sims, 2005; Ingram, 2005). Everyday life was
suddenly supported largely by technological inventions that could automate
many of those activities that were otherwise laborious. The radio and tele-
vision revolutions were the most significant in terms of communication and
information sharing. Globalisation started being more and more established
with legal interventions like the Copenhagen Frequency Plan in 1948, which
regulated the assignment of radio frequencies in Germany.
Further, the 1950s became the starting point of the race for space. The
first man-​made satellite was sent to space by the Soviets in 1957, while the
race between Russia and the United States about who will get to the Moon
first was ongoing. In 1961, Yuri Gagarin was sent to space, but in 1969, Neil
Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin set foot on the moon for the first time, which
became a monumental achievement in human history.
In other words, in the 1950s, while the world was facing severe trauma and
loss from the Word War II, solutions included increased globalised agendas
which improved mainstream communication and comfort in life, but simi-
larly exposed social injustice and inequalities. Monoclonal antibody tech-
nology revolutionised medicine in many ways since the 1950s, but while this
was happening society was economically, racially and socially segregated
between those who could receive treatment and those who either could not
afford the toil (financially or otherwise) of treatment, or were not perceived as
worthy individuals in society for such treatments; gay men, for example, were
widely criminalised for their identity and their existence was disenfranchised
altogether, when in the open. In the film The Imitation Game we see a great
104  An unsettled future

depiction of this area in Britain of the 1950s. In the film, we follow the story
of Alan Turing, a mathematical genius, who, following hormone therapy due
to his sexual identity and after being convicted in 1952 for gross indecency,
committed suicide in 1954. Alan Turing’s sexuality was logged as an ‘offence’,
and in 2013 was ‘pardoned’ posthumously. This is telling that even in 2013
one had to be ‘pardoned’ for being a gay man, of course, and certainly adds to
the argument of this section that progress in technology, medicine and society
follows a different pace.
The tendencies and interconnectedness of the 1950s between technology,
medicine and society are not dissimilar to what we see in the 2010s and
2020s. The more advanced technology and medicine become, the more
radical are the social segregations, and the more critical are the social
injustices and inequalities. Horizon Europe has identified the seven main
societal challenges of the 21st century. Among those are health, demo-
graphic change and wellbeing; food security; climate action; and secure soci-
eties. Most of these causes make use of advanced technology to respond,
yet the irony remains; the use of technology is dependent both on digital
wealth and digital literacy (Allen, 2017), but more than 750 million adults,
including 102 million people between the ages of 15 and 24, not only lack
basic digital skills but literacy skills altogether. In other words, progress in
technology is accessible to those in the privileged position to have the skills
to access it (Montoya, 2017).
Similarly, as medicine develops, health inequalities remain high and while
the world is phasing out from the first-​year shock from COVID-​19 (the
time of writing this book) even more exacerbated in societies, emphasising
social divisions. The National Health Services (NHS) in the UK has iden-
tified socio-​economic status, deprivation, protected characteristics like age,
gender, sex, religion, sexual orientation, and so on, as well as geography
as key factors that influence fair access to health treatments and services
(NHS, 2020).
The world progresses rapidly, but the lack of individual and familial
resources to follow mean that many are left behind, causing a situation
wherein those that are deprived or live in deprived areas will turn into the
‘debris of humanity’, and the rest will move on to the posthuman era. In
addition, this uneven pace is not merely noticeable when looking at the three
strands of evolvement (i.e. technology, medicine and society). It is equally
pertinent when looking at geography alone. For example, infant mortality
has dramatically changed due to medical interventions and nanotechnology,
but not in all parts of the world (Wegman, 2001). The same goes for gender
(Ayentimi et al., 2020), abortion (Singh et al., 2009), democratic perform-
ance (Adejumobi, 2015), and many other examples. It is this unbalanced pro-
gress that humanity is making towards posthumanity which poses many more
challenges than gives solutions, locking the position that in fact, while fig-
ures like Habermas (2018) have argued that technology will transform human
 An unsettled future  105

species, the argument remains incomplete without attaching to it Marxist

views of capitalism and social divisions, as technology will indeed transform a
species and that will be the human species with the means to be transformed.

Advancements in a changing environment

So far, in this chapter, we have mentioned geography, culture, generation and
other characteristics when exploring the context in which transhumanism
evolves. What is further important to identify, though, is the environment in
which this takes place –​the physical/​natural environment. Hayles (1999/​2008,
pp.36–​37) in How We Became Posthuman wrote:

In a world despoiled by government, overpopulation and time-​release

environmental poisons, it is comforting to think that physical forms
can recover their pristine purity of being reconstituted as informational
patterns in multidimensional computer space. A cyberspace body, like a
cyberspace landscape, is immune to blight and corruption. It is no acci-
dent that the vaguely apocalyptic landscapes of films such as Terminator;
Blade Runner; and Hardware occur in narrative focusing on cybernetic
life-​forms. The sense that the world is rapidly becoming uninhabitable by
human beings is part of the impetus for the displacement of presence by
pattern.

Even though the above is from the late 1990s, Hayles captures very well a
forthcoming risk, which global associations and researchers have been arguing
all the more since the start of the 21st century; the planet Earth is dying. The
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change of the United Nations states
that ‘scientific evidence for warming of the climate system is unequivocal’,
and the Global Climate Change (NASA) presents further facts that empha-
sise that indeed the carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere, since the 1950s,
have been increasing rapidly, with the current level being between 400 and
420ppm, well above 300ppm which has been the maximum level noted by
scientists for hundreds of years before today. This information is coupled
with the dangerously rising global temperature; the planet’s surface tem-
perature has risen by 1.18 degrees Celsius in the last five years, while years
2016 and 2020 are in competition about which has been the warmest year
on record. Other very important changes include the warming of oceans, the
shrinking of ice sheets, glacial retreat, decreased snow cover, sea level rise by
20 centimetres, extreme natural events, and so on (for more information on
environmental changes, read Emanuel, 2018; Aspinall, 2013; Pittock, 2013).
The above mentioned are effects on the environment that have already
been observed, but many more will rise and are anticipated. In the fifth syn-
thesis report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC,
2014), it is evident that climate changes have impacted not only the habitual
106  An unsettled future

environment of all living creatures, but have influenced behavioural and sur-
vival patterns, too.

Evidence of observed climate change impacts is strongest and most com-

prehensive for natural systems. In many regions, changing precipitation
or melting snow and ice are altering hydrological systems, affecting water
resources in terms of quantity and quality (medium confidence). Many
terrestrial, freshwater and marine species have shifted their geographic
ranges, seasonal activities, migration patterns, abundances and species
interactions in response to ongoing climate change (high confidence).
(IPCC, 2014, p.6)

That said, it is almost necessary to ask whether transhumanist perspectives

present coping strategies for the inevitable human extinction from planet
Earth, primarily due to environmental changes. Noteworthy is also the sci-
entific evidence that details what strategies are required to reverse the pro-
cess of the human’s growing inability to survive on Earth while human. It is
estimated, for example, that in order to restore our climate to make it hospit-
able in the future, we ought to reduce carbon emissions by 70% (Washington
et al., 2009). With both these points in mind, are technological advancements
truly supporting the need for a developed human being with qualities different
than those of a human, in order to survive the Earth in case habitation in the
Space is not yet possible by that time? A most fascinating narrative is that
of using human engineering to make humans smaller. Liao, Sandberg and
Roache (2012, pp.208–​209) write:

Human ecological footprints are partly correlated with our size. We need
a certain amount of food and nutrients to maintain each kilogram of
body mass. This means that, other things being equal, the larger one is,
the more food and energy one requires … A way to reduce ecological
footprints, then, would be to reduce size. Since weight increases with
the cube of length, even a small reduction in, for example, height, might
produce a significant effect in size, other things being equal.

The same authors continue with three suggestions about how height specif-
ically can be reduced. Namely, they suggest (1) preimplantation genetic diag-
nosis (PGD) to select shorter children; (2) the use of ‘hormone treatment
either to affect somatotropin levels or to trigger the closing of the epiphyseal
plate earlier than normal’ (Liao, Sandberg and Roache, 2012, p.209); or
(3) reducing birth weight, which has been found to correlate with adult height
(also see Sorensen et al., 1999). The film Downsizing, directed by Alexander
Payne, is one such story. The film tells the story of a couple that decides to
pursue a new invention responding to the need for solving overpopulation
and global warming. This method is to shrink people to a height of 12.7 cm.
 An unsettled future  107

On the other hand, the lack of balance between the environmental ten-
dencies to lead humans towards extinction but technology and biomedicine
moving towards RLE and immortality, may suggest another scenario. In that
scenario, technology intervenes to bring changes to the environment that
might affect the characteristics of human life altogether. Is this not what tech-
nology is used to explore, among others, when rockets are sent into space? –​
survivorship of humans on other planets.

Death, dying and grief in the hamster wheel of

the future
The transhumanist philosopher FM-​ 2030 –​Fereidoun M. Esfandiary –​
insisted that humanity must treat the future with optimism, especially given
the many and rapid changes since the 1950s.

We are daily surging ahead in many areas: biology –​genetics –​physics –​

biochemistry –​astronomy –​medicine –​surgery –​fetology –​communication –​
transportation –​food production –​computation –​weather-​forecasting –​
environmental monitoring –​international relations –​interpersonal
relations –​ self-​image.
Advances in these and many other areas since 1955 have been more
monumental than all the progress in the previous two thousand years.
Even fifteen years ago, many of today’s breakthroughs would have been
dismissed as fantasies –​too Utopian and optimistic. To us they are
already routine.
This rate of advance is now accelerating. Progress is faster and more
global than ever.
(Esfandiary, 1973, pp.ix–​x)

Optimism, though, is subjective and levels of optimism may differ based

on the aspect of human life that we focus on each time. Death, dying and
bereavement are experiences that are seeing tremendous changes, which are
difficult to understand when their future is beyond human comprehension.
Derrida’s two experiences of mourning, for instance, focus on preserving the
past and forgetting the past. In this context, how possible will mourning be in
posthuman societies? If loved ones are preserved for ‘future use’ like with cry-
onics, or biogenetically engineered to last longer and perhaps surpass death,
what is the purpose of mourning –​is there a life to mourn?
Rabinow and Rose (2003, p.xxxi) postulated the transformation of the
human ‘from ontological to artificial’, due to biopolitics, biopower and
biosociality. Death, dying and grief are all experiences founded in ontology
based on the natural concepts and relationships that formally exist between
groups of people. The transformation of humans from ontological to arti-
ficial beings is triggering as it also suggests a refreshed nature that is not
108  An unsettled future

associated with ageing, death, destruction and the many existential concerns
that bereavement sheds light on.
Hellsten (2012, p.1) argues that recent advancements have led to two trends:

On the one hand, whole our individual human beings can live longer
than ever before while remaining physically and mentally ‘younger’, the
overall human existence is becoming more ‘uniformed’ as we appear to
make choices towards ‘the same ideal of human life’. On the other hand,
the large-​scale risks to human life are now maybe more evident than
before.

Moving away from the certainty of death and to an era of death being
merely a risk, we ought to ask who is at risk of death –​or of ageing for
that matter. These points have already been raised in this text, but I want
to briefly rehearse the point about inequality. Pressing questions emerge and
social scientists perhaps need to become more acquainted with transhumanist
perspectives and the impact on dying and grieving as vital human experiences.
How are social classes reflected on the way technology and biomedical
advancements progress? Some transhumanists like Vita-​More (2018) argue
that no inequalities will exist in the future. Yet how can we be certain of it
when the more we progress into the posthuman times, the more society is
divided between the haves and have nots. Vita-​More (2018, p.18) specifically
claims that in the future where automation ‘could produce products at a nano-​
cost and deliver to people independently’ no inequalities have a place. Yet,
this requires the eradication of the concept of ‘money’, or the prerequisite
of exchanging services or products. Similarly, the annihilation of inequalities
requires the end of capitalism, yet if anything, transhumanist perspectives
seem to be founded on the very fabric of capitalism. Marxists’ view that to
overcome capitalism one must go through it is of importance here; perhaps
transhumanism is the way that humanity goes through capitalism and maybe
Vita-​More is correct to suggest that inequalities will not exist as we will have
defeated capitalism. I will preserve some doubts for now and hopefully I can
be proven wrong in the future.
One of those changes that is part of our routine is that of multiple
existences in many substrates. For example, video games and virtual real-
ities –​as discussed earlier in this text –​give the space for multiple presence.
Reality is questioned and people have experienced their personas in platforms
like Second Life as real and fully representative of who they are, their values
and aspirations. When individuals will continuously develop emotional
connections with avatars and online personas, how many deaths do we then
experience and how do we grieve for them in the future? Does the meaning
of death change in the digital world and how? Klastrup (2006, p.31) explored
gameworld deaths and to begin with, she listed the many meanings of death
online:
 An unsettled future  109

1 Avatar death as in-​game mechanics (concrete event)

2 Death as a symbolic event visualised in a variety of forms
3 Avatar death as narrativised event in the life of an avatar
4 The death of a player.

Interestingly, what we do see here is death as a liminal phase. Drawing

on Van Gennep’s (1960) work on the rites of passage, this phase focuses on
the transition from one phase to another. The players of the avatars dying
or being dead experience this phase, lingering on the real techno-​death (see
Chapter 1) and real human living. More importantly, until now, doctors may
have been the knowledgeable authority of death. But how will this change if
death no longer refers to the physical body but a posthuman being’s vessel,
possibly a less tangible form of a vessel? In a posthuman world where we are
digitised and immortal to the point of death being considered a phase of
‘shutting down’, who will be that authority? If corporations own the digital
archives where one is stored, do they also have the power to decide when one
is at the stage of being ‘erased’ –​in other words die?

Futuristic dialogue
In a digital world and at a time when human life is self-​recorded and monitored
by many media and other online platforms, we ought to ask ourselves what
part of our lives is private and what is publicly accessible. Of course, this is
not a new debate –​scholars since the 1990s have focused on these tensions
(e.g. Green et al., 2016; Marshall, 2016; White, 2014; Östman, 2013; Lasén
and Gómez-​Cruz, 2009). Gunter (2009) explores, for example, the impact of
blogging in social life and its use as a medium that shares privacy with the
public –​transforming the private into public information. Gunter invests in
an analysis that explores holistically the outreach of blogs, identifying that
users are driven by the desire to reach masses. However, the reality is that
they do not. Similarly Sofka (2020), in her explorations about the transition
to the digital afterlife, draws on the theory of continuing bonds to explore the
dialectic between life and afterlife in the knowledge of the latter exposing the
privacy of the former.
The well-​renowned TV series Black Mirror involves how new technolo-
gies affect our everyday lives. In the episode titled ‘The Entire History of
You’, people have implanted a device in them which records everything that
they say, feel or hear, enabling others who monitor these online platforms
where the information is archived to access it. Many more episodes focus on
such areas of biohacking and the risks of hacking. This is already a concern,
regarding the stealing of information and the exposure to a public domain,
that we may not fully understand after all.
Warfield (2015), among others, explored digital subjectivities, which is the
most significant area of concern when considering what is private and what is
110  An unsettled future

public in life and death. Jean-​Paul Sartre in his What is Subjectivity? explores
both the subject of experience and the experience of the subject, developing
his existential phenomenology in such ways that enabled progress both among
scholars and non-​scholars. Sartre speaks of subjectivity as a necessity –​the
need to be aware of where we are and what we are doing in relation to the rest
of the world: to others and to nature. Similarly, the move to a multi-​verse or
the design of multiple personalities via avatars and other media pre-​requisites
the development of subjectivities, as well –​and those differ from one another.
Let us think of virtual vigils; the subject of the experience if those were in
person would differ very much than that of a virtual instance. In the former,
subjectivity is influenced much more from traditional, cultural, religious,
familial and social norms, while the public expression of subjectivity via a
public and open platform virtually allows for more monitoring and control
of one’s expression. Warfield (2015) argued that living our lives through a
smartphone that functions as a mirror, a stage and a camera creates parallel
subjectivities and that we do not yet own the understanding of these multiple
lived subjectivities.
The futuristic dialogue is also generational. Peters (2018, p.251 –​emphasis
in the original) asserts that ‘the present generation giving birth to the future
posthuman species is made up of the transhumanists’. This almost classifies
us all in three distinct groups of human species; we have the humans of the
past, the transhumans of the present and the posthumans of the future. We
also have many gaps in the necessary dialogue between the representatives
or leaders in these groups, which possibly hinders the future of human life
altogether.

Death as a choice
Huberman (2018, p.59) asserts that transhumanism seeks to ‘reconstruct
immortality through technological means’. So far, in this text, we have
referred to transhumanists arguing that technology can present immortality
as an option, but Huberman is being more generous suggesting that immor-
tality is there, but we merely reconstruct it at this stage. Regardless, though,
our learning and conclusion from all the above and earlier chapters is that
death will be a choice; you can choose to live and the way you would like your
life to be experienced, and you can choose to die and the way you wish to
experience your dying and death.
That is not a simple thought though, as the choices diversify even further.
Death as a choice appears to be more of a choice about whether one wishes
to remain human or become posthuman; such identities will depend on the
choices about life and death.
Morphological freedom theory (Sandberg, 2001) has been referred a lot
in transhumanist texts (Shatzer, 2019; Trothen and Mercer, 2017; More and
Vita-​More, 2013). This theory refers to a proposed civil right of an individual
 An unsettled future  111

to preserve or change their own bodies on their own terms, by educated,

consensual use of, or rejection of, available therapeutic or enabling medical
technology. Sandberg (2001, S6, §4) developed this concept to argue that ‘the
desirability to many of the possibilities allowed by morphological freedom
also helps support the right to not change, as people see that they are two
sides of the same coin’. It is, in other words, the notion of transhumanist
freedom we are discussing when thinking of death as a choice in the future.
Bradshaw and Muelen (2010), drawing on Sandberg’s work, asserted that:

a transhumanist may hold that if it would be possible given available or

near future technology and desirable; according to her understanding of
‘enhance’, for her to fly like an eagle, then anyone preventing her from
accessing, developing, or encouraging the development of such tech-
nology is interfering with her freedom to spend her money and time and
her freedom to change herself –​body, brain, and mind –​in accordance
with her ends.

There is one main query emerging from the notion of transhumanist

freedom, though, and which we have already mentioned earlier in the text,
but it is worth returning to here. Exercising morphological freedom seems
to require mental and cognitive capacity, as well as a degree of self-​reflection
and status quo that allows for such decisions to be made. Inevitably, death is
a choice, but who is making that choice?
Finally, ethically we ought to ask what happens to those choosing to live
a human life, which leads to death as we currently understand it. Returning
to the query earlier in the book about what happens to someone who is
woken up after a 200-​year cryopreservation, we can consider whether those
choosing to be human, and so choosing death, choose to become Antique
Homo Sapiens. Vita-​More (2018, p.17) argued that ‘this would only occur if
a person determines that they want to remain an antique –​100% biological
human with no enhancements. It will be a personal choice’.

Coda
The policing of grief and death is patriarchal (policing of females by males)
(e.g. Ashkenazy, 2014). As technological advancements bend gender divides
and the posthuman being does no longer have a gender, do patriarchal the-
ories no longer apply? This surely can be a positive outcome, yet ridding of
patriarchal influence does not suggest that there will not be a replacement –​
perhaps a capitalist or techno-​hierarchical construct that will influence all life
and death decisions, thus moving from one undesirable (being political) mode
to another.
Levcheniuk (2018) argues that technologies replace values. This is a ser-
ious statement and one that links with the suggestion of moving into
112  An unsettled future

transhumanist underpinning of the policing of grief and death. If Hellsten

(2012, p.5) is correct with her assertion that ‘once neoholistic world view gains
more ground, we may also have to give up on our ideal of human individu-
ality and uniqueness as a fundamental feature of humanity’, values are indeed
replaced but with what? Are new ideals Marxist in nature –​a more capitalist
and hierarchical structure that facilitates an ideal society as imagined by those
designing it?
Morally and ethically, posthumanity is difficult to digest and certainly
unfamiliar with our existential status of humanity. There is, however, another
assertion that is worth noticing. Borg (2012) offers a philosophical explor-
ation of the futurity of humanity and posthumans as a phase in humanity.
He is asking, ‘Is posthuman identity to be interpreted as a mere phase in the
history of human subjectivity?’ (Borg, 2012, p.163). Influenced by the works
of Derrida and Beckett, Borg has argued that posthumanism is both the pre-
sent and the future; we are not truly exploring this as a possible scenario
of the future but a certainty of the present. I would, though, add to Borg’s
suggestion and argue that posthumanism is the present for some, the future
for some others, and utopia for many.
The existential impact of advancing technologies and the engineering of
the human being is immense but also not always possible to comprehend or
examine. It is difficult to know, for instance, what the existential impact on
people will be when they are given the choice to be immortal –​physically
or digitally. Bostrom’s essay titled ‘Existential risks: analysing human extinc-
tion scenarios and related hazards’ is an interesting contribution here. What
classifies as existential risks is transforming alongside the rapidly growing
technological input. If technology is influencing our very existence and per-
haps changes what constitutes a state of existence, then the circumstances
that may shatter our existence might be different than what we know. For
example, lack of cybersecurity is an existential risk in a posthuman world,
whereas we would view a pandemic as an existential risk in this transitional
phase of our world.
Similarly, it is a strenuous task to explain existential concerns and person-
hood when from a place of labels (i.e. genders, non-​conforming identities,
sexualities, religions, languages and so on) we will move to a place of uni-
formity –​no diversity but that of different software languages and engin-
eering parts (in the far future). An example is De Val and Sorgner (2010) who
talked about metasex in a transhumanist world, referring to sexual liberty
with no restrictions.
At this point, we can be certain of the uncertainties the future beholds.
Transhumanists and futurists have argued at length that the future is certain
and firmly grounded on the immense progress that technology, medicine and
biology have made. However, those advancements or intentions to enhance
humanity are lacking the depth of social, political, ethical, moral and existen-
tial analysis necessary to better prepare those directly affected, e.g. humans.
 An unsettled future  113

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Conclusions

When assembling this manuscript, I was extraordinarily fascinated by the

abundant literature about transhumanist perspectives, views, realities, debates
and so on. But I was underwhelmed by the dearth of concern about the ethical,
moral, legal and existential conceptions of the promises of transhumanism.
Largely, transhumanists, futurists and millionaires have either subcon-
sciously or consciously neglected to examine what human enhancement in
transhumanist terms means. This piece of work has taught me and hope-
fully the reader, too, that social sciences, arts, humanities, professional discip-
lines, policymakers, all have a vital role to play in the coming decades. This
role is to thoroughly investigate the impact of technological advancements
on human nature, our understanding of it and human behaviour altogether.
There is a great gap between the progress that we see in biology, medicine and
technology, and the work we do in end-​of-​life care, policies and education.
This gap will gradually lead to a chasm between those requiring support and
those offering it. We have been privy to similar scenarios where religion was
considered ‘dead’ for a long while, which removed essential training and edu-
cation in how to respond to religion, belief and spiritual needs in end-​of-​life
care (Pentaris, 2019). Similarly, if we do not start thinking more construct-
ively of how those involved in the care of the dying and bereaved will be well-​
equipped to respond to ‘transhumanist’ needs or preferences underpinned
with futuristic desires, we are certainly moving towards the direction of
destruction. Yet, of course, if death and dying have no place in posthumanity,
this may not be important at all.
Transhumanism and posthuman societies allude to many things, but one
seems certain –​stagnation. The danger of extensive lifetime is associated with
the danger of procrastination, inactivity or sluggishness. When someone can
live for 400 years, then plans like leisure travel or education will be postponed
more indefinitely as ‘there is time’. Currently, we are all in a race, finishing
secondary school education, rushing into college and/​or university, finding a
job and working with zest towards developing and advancing our careers. We
are concerned with a retirement plan, to be prepared for a retirement some-
time between 55 and 70 years of age, depending on what plans people have
DOI: 10.4324/9781003088257-6
118 Conclusions

invested in, what sector they have worked in, and so on. We run this race tire-
lessly to reach a hopeful age of 70 or more to ‘start living life’ –​start relaxing
and enjoying activities we always wanted to but never had the time. Yet we
realise, so often, that our physical (sometimes mental, too) strength has left
us, and achieving the things we anticipated is not as much a reality but wishful
thinking. Of course, we see changes on this since the start of the 21st century,
with more involvement of older people in physical activities and a heightened
physical literacy among the general public. All this is happening in the space
of seven, eight or nine decades of life –​for a part of the population much less.
Surely, prolonged life or indefinite life might offer the luxury of running a
marathon and not a race, but how certain are we of this outcome?
In my research and reading for the purposes of this manuscript, I revisited
a lot of work about the use of the internet and social media when experi-
encing grief or dying, from colleagues, researchers and scientists, many of
whom I personally know and respect. This book never intended to reiterate
brilliant points made by colleagues like Carla Sofka or Stacey Pitsillides (see
Pitsillides, 2019; Sofka, Gibson and Silberman, 2017; Pitsillides, Waller and
Fairfax, 2013; Sofka, Cupit and Gilbert, 2012; Sofka, Gilbert and Cupit,
2012; Sofka, 2012, 1997), and explore areas that may not be exhausted but
have been pertinent since the 1980s and 1990s. The aim was to step beyond
that and truly allow thanatological queries to be viewed through the lens of
transhumanist perspectives. This helps highlight the very new nature of our
lives –​abundant choice. Living forever, or much longer than we would expect,
may also mean that we will be paralysed by choice. At the age of 65 you might
choose a career change and become a pilot, and then again at the age of 167
you might choose to become an engineer, and so on. Along the same lines, the
choices in end of life, dying and grieving are broadening. We are moving in a
world of extraordinary abundance. However, will everyone have access to it?
The choices in death are already there, but the expense for cryonics is
$28,000–​$200,000. Even the most inexpensive option is one that those not
living in poverty are not able to manage, let alone the 689 million people
worldwide who live in extreme poverty for under $1.90 a day (World Vision,
2020). In other words, we are indeed moving in a world of affluence, but
poverty seems to be a key factor that pre-​decides WHO is moving in this
new world.
It is important to highlight that poverty is not simply about money –​but
I am assuming if you are reading this book and all the way through, you
already know it. The World Bank (2021) statistics is illuminating us here with
the following: women represent a majority of those living under the poverty
line, as well as children. More than 70% of those aged 15 and over, who are
living under the poverty line, lack education, or have received only basic pri-
mary education. More than 40% of those classified as ‘poor’ live in coun-
tries with affected economies, conflict and violence, while the percentage is
expected to rise to 67% by 2030. More than 132 million people living under
 Conclusions 119

the poverty line reside in areas prone to natural disasters and are the first to
die in such situations. More than 60% of those living under the poverty line
are from the sub-​Saharan regions and less than 20% are classified as White.
This is merely some basic information to re-​awaken our perceptiveness and
start exploring who is the recipient of ‘transhumanist freedom’.
The abovementioned, of course, is continuously challenged and shuffled.
I have been writing this book during the most part of 2020 and into 2021,
making it one of my tasks during COVID-​19 and the associated measures
that restricted us all from physical contact and social activity (or any other);
of course, some were affected worse than others and especially when social
support was unavailable or denied as a result of political choice. The global
pandemic by the name coronavirus disease 2019 challenged human life on all
three levels: macro, meso and micro. I want to refer to the micro primarily.
The number of those living under the poverty line mentioned earlier is not
one that takes into account the impact of COVID-​19, and the necessary
measures to safeguard public health forced (and are still forcing) individ-
uals and families to live a more deprived life, often struggling for nutrition
and shelter. COVID-​19 is one example of a natural disaster that shifted the
numbers and indeed exacerbated the inequalities we had already recognised
before (Pentaris and Woodthorpe, 2021).
Life extension or immortality are rich, White, men and educated. A com-
bination we have seen over and again in human history and regardless the
disastrous outcomes, we go back to it. Of course, there is a great irony here
because the person arguing this is a White, educated man –​not rich though! –​
himself. I am by no means suggesting that we ought to generalise, but we
should be mindful of the tendencies and where the evidence is pointing.
The central question this book is asking is, ‘how will death, dying and
bereavement be governed when longevity or immortality become an everyday
choice?’ Policy, activism and human rights movements have led a lengthy
battle of utmost importance to ensure the many choices we have in life and
death nowadays; this is undeniable. Yet, we are also experiencing levels of gov-
ernance in the way we die and grieve. Such management and control of those
experiences will shift as the circumstances and choices transform. The ‘cure’
of ageing and subsequently of dying sounds exciting to many but what will
happen when the world starts facing the risks resulting from overpopulation?
The world population is estimated to continue to grow from 7.7 billion in
2019 to 9.7 billion in 2050, reaching its peak at the end of the 21st century at a
level of nearly 11 billion people (United Nations, 2019). When we reach these
numbers, is it not possible that not only death but birth will be monitored by
central governments as well? If more and more people grow older and achieve
longevity, will there be a different way of managing life and set a ‘due date’ for
us all? Instead of the natural cessation of bodily functions that lead to death,
will there be a cut-​off point at which one has to seize to live, to make room
for the next? Of course, there may be a choice of extra-​terrestrial residence
120 Conclusions

by then, which might lead to other questions, but those should be explored
elsewhere.
Posthumanity, in some ways, appears to contradict human ambition of
being free from limitations, albeit aiming towards that. If we accept dying as
a limitation, then surely that may be nullified. However, what limitations does
posthumanity portray? Let us think of human rights, which certainly broaden
options for humans, but will those not change along with transhumanist
enhancements of humanity? What will be the rights of posthumans and
are we looking at a scenario of a bigger social divide wherein posthumans
become superior to those who either lacked the resources or the willingness
to follow that path?
Another problematic area is that of considering ageing and death as dis-
ease. Human condition is understood in the context of its limits. Managing
those limits and eradicating them requires a necessary exploration of the
remediation of the dead and the bereaved. In addition, ‘resolving’ those
limitations does not necessarily mean the eradication of death but perhaps
new modes of death will emerge. Digitalising human life leaves the actors at
risk of being hacked, deleted or shut down. With that in mind, who owns the
digital form of a human? Are they in control and how? (also see Fernandez-​
Armesto, 2004). Those are very important and pressing questions in light of
the excessive changes we see in biology, medicine and technology, as well as
society.
This book also emphasised how grief and mourning will be transformed
in the context of a transhumanist and posthuman society. Adaptability
will be the key (Wilson and Haslam (2009) and more work is in demand to
explore how grief will manifest itself when one retires from one mode of life
and into another. How do we make the choice between death and e-​life: in
the ‘cloud’?
Hauskeller (2012) is asking whether it is possible to know that drastic
enhancement towards posthumanity will lead to outcomes that are desired.
How can we measure this when not already posthuman? Are transhumanist
perspectives of posthumanism simply ‘an obvious wish-​fulfilment fantasy’?
(Hauskeller, 2012, p.41). Rightfully, Hauskeller (2012, p.46) asserts that
‘the brighter we make the future shine, the duller the present will appear’.
Drawing on this, the more we praise the benefits of advanced biomedicine
and technology, much of which is still under scrutiny and not available in the
mainstream, the more we despise our current state and potential. Perhaps
it is a coping strategy to resist such changes, because accepting them would
mean the acceptance of the desired outcomes from these changes. The latter,
though, are not a given but placed in the remits of a utopian reality, until it
is realised.
However, we ought to return to the argument about humanity’s historical
journey to achieve the Elixir of Life. ‘The dream of some kind of life without
end is a universal feature of human experience, common to all cultures across
 Conclusions 121

time and place-​and still today driving us on toward new achievements that
surpass even the pyramids’ (Cave, 2012, p.3). That said, a major contradic-
tion is before us, and this book is not providing an answer to that, surely, but
expects that future trends will focus on better understanding death, dying and
bereavement in their new environment.
As I am reaching the end of this book, I want to thank all those who have
provoked my thinking to think outside of the normative measures I have
been educated. Both my conceptual and moral understandings of the very
advancements I have discussed in this book have been limited to those that
I have inherited from the human world wherein I have been brought up. But
I have to wonder whether perceptiveness and morality progress in the same
pace as technology and biomedicine.

References
Cave, S., 2012, Immortality: The quest to live forever and how it drives civilization.
New York, NY: Crown Publishers.
Fernandez-​Armesto, F., 2004. Ideas that shaped mankind: a concise history of human
thought. Prince Frederick, MD: Recorded Books.
Hauskeller, M., 2012. Reinventing Cockaigne: Utopian themes in transhumanism
thought. Hastings Center Report, 42(2), pp.39–​47.
Pentaris, P., 2019. Religious literacy in hospice care: Challenges and controversies.
London, UK: Routledge.
Pentaris, P. and Woodthorpe, K., 2021. Familiarity with death. In Pentaris, P. (ed.),
Death, grief and loss in the context of COVID-​19. London, UK: Routledge, pp.17–​28.
Pitsillides, S., 2019. Digital legacy: Designing with things. Death Studies, 43(7),
pp.426–​434.
Pitsillides, S., Waller, M. and Fairfax, D., 2013. Digital death: What role does digital
information play in the way we are (re)membered? In Warburton, S. (ed.), Digital
identity and social media. Hershey, PA: IGI Global, pp.75–​90.
Sofka, C.J., 2012. Blogging: New age narratives of dying, death, and grief. In Sofka,
C.J., Gilbert, K.R. and Cupit I.N. (eds.), Dying, death, and grief in an online uni-
verse: For counselors and educators. New York, NY: Springer Publishing, pp.61–​77.
Sofka, C.J., 1997. Social support “internetworks,” caskets for sale, and
more: Thanatology and the information superhighway. Death Studies, 21(6),
pp.553–​574.
Sofka, C.J., Cupit, I.N. and Gilbert, K.R., 2012. Thanatechnology as a conduit for
living, dying, and grieving in contemporary society. In Sofka, C.J., Gilbert, K.R.
and Cupit, I.N. (eds.), Dying, death, and grief in an online universe: For counselors
and educators. New York, NY: Springer Publishing, pp.3–​15.
Sofka, C.J., Gibson, A. and Silberman, 2017. Digital immortality or digital death.
In Jacobsen, M.H. (ed.), Postmortal society: Towards a sociology of immortality.
London, UK: Routledge, pp.173–​196.
Sofka, C.J., Gilbert, K.R. and Cupit, I.N. (eds.), 2012. Dying, death, and grief in an
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Company.
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The World Bank, 2021. Poverty. Available at: www.worldbank.org/​en/​topic/​poverty/​

overview (Accessed: 12 May 2021).
United Nations, 2019. Growing at a slower pace, world population is expected to reach
9.7 billion in 2050 and could peak at nearly 11 billion around 2100. Available at: www.
un.org/​development/​desa/​en/​news/​population/​world-​population-​prospects-​2019.
html (Accessed: 21 May 2021).
Wilson, S. and Haslam, N. 2009. Is the future more or less human? Differing views of
humanness in the posthumanism debate. Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour,
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May 2021).
Index

Note: Locators in italics refer to figures.

2045 Innovation 38 advancements 52–​56; robotic surgery

58; transhumanism 11–​12
abnormal grief 7; see also Black Mirror 109
complicated grief body enhancements 51, 60–​61
abortion 43 Bokanovsky’s Process 65–​66
ageing population 34 Borg, R. 26–​27, 40, 97
ageing, use of technology to slow 43, Bostrom, N. 74, 75, 78–​79, 85, 112
51–​52, 55, 59 Bourdieu, Pierre 20, 90
ahumanism 101 Bradshaw, H. G. 111
AI see robotics Broadbent, A. 49
alienation 79–​85 Brown, G. 95
Andersen, H. K. 49 Buchanan, A. 50, 66
Aristotle 18
artificial organs 58–​60 Cañas-​Bajo, J. 100
assisted suicide/​dying 10–​11 Canavero, Sergio 50
autonomy: human rights 89; policing/​ capitalism 79–​80
medicalisation of death 9–​10 care settings see end-​of-​life care
Avatar 77–​78, 81 settings
Avatar-​making 38–​39 children, assisted suicide/​dying 10–​11
Christian Transhumanist Association
Badmington, Neil 27 31–​32
beauty 51–​52 Christianity 30–​31
Becker, E. 41, 53 Civil Rights Movement 102–​103
Bentham, Jeremy 64–​65 climate change 105–​106
bereavement 1 clinical lore 7–​8
Better Than Us 99, 101 cloning 43, 61–​63, 66
biohacking 60–​61 complicated grief 5, 7
biological chauvinism 49 conventional grief 5, 7
biomedical technology 1; artificial COVID-​19 pandemic 81, 119
organs 58–​60; biohacking 60–​61; Cox, E. 36
cloning 43, 61–​63, 66; cryonics 12, cryonics: disposal and revival 64; ethics
42, 56–​57; and death 48–​52; disposal 42, 56–​57; extending life 12; waking
of the body and revival 64–​65; future up 84, 90
of 102–​105; genetic engineering 12; culture: posthumanity 26; and
nanomedicine 63–​64; prolongation of technology 100
life and immortality 53, 65–​67; recent cybernetic immortality 53–​56
124 Index
cybernetic incarnation 49
cyberrevolution 35–​37
Datta, A. 49
Dawson, L. L. 28
de Grey, A. 55, 60, 66
dead body: disposal and revival 64–​65;
handling and disposing of 12–​13;
necropolitics 40
death: and biomedical technology
48–​52; as a choice 110–​111, 118–​
119; contemporary context 13–​14;
cyberrevolution 36; ethics 2–​3; future
of 107–​111; life cycle 87–​88; morality
of 2–​3; policing/​medicalisation 3–​4,
8–​11; in a posthuman world 1, 2;
social context 72–​73; tech-​death
39–​40, 41, 42; technological
dimensions of regulating 42–​43;
technology altering perceptions of
40–​42; transhumanism 25–​26
death metal genre 40
depression 5
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual
(DSM) 5
digital environments 32
digital immortality 29, 37–​39,
41–​42
digital natives 41
digital subjectivities 109–​110
diversity 112
DNA transfer 62
Dolly the sheep 61
Elixir of Life 29, 121–​122
emotion: expression of 7–​8; see also
grief
emotional illusions 73–​74
end-​of-​life care settings: healthcare
robotics 34–​35; policing/​
medicalisation of death 9
environment see natural environment
environmental bodies 49
Esfandiary, Fereidoun M. 107
essentialism 66
ethics: assisted suicide/​dying 10; cryonics
42, 56–​57; death 2–​3; head transplants
50; posthumanity 112; rights of robots
91; transhumanism 23, 117
Ettinger, Robert 12, 90
Evans, S. 75, 76, 77
existential risks 112
Foucault, Michel 14, 101
freedom of expression 89
Freud, Sigmund 4
Garasic, M. D. 50
gender roles 26
gene transfer 60
Generation Z 99
generational differences 41, 99–​100, 110
genetic engineering 12
geography: of health 104–​105;
technology by 39
Gilovich, T. 73
globalisation: COVID-​19 pandemic 81;
post-​war 103–​104; technology 13;
technology by geography 39
Google generation 41
Government Communications
Headquarters (GCHQ) 98
grief: contemporary experience of 3;
conventional and complicated 5, 7;
cryonics 42; expression of emotions
7–​8; future of 107–​111; policing/​
medicalisation 4–​8; similarity with
depression 5; tech-​grief 39–​40;
technology altering perceptions of
40–​42; therapeutic interventions 6–​7
habitus 90
Hallam, R. S. 75, 78
Hauskeller, M. 27, 120
Hayles, N. K. 83–​84, 105
head transplants 50–​51
health inequality 104–​105
healthcare robotics 33–​35
heart transplants 59
Hegelian form 81
Heidegger, M. 20, 21
Hellsten, S. 43, 108, 112
Hobbes, Thomas 53
holograms 65
Homo erectus 19
homo oeconomicus 102
hospices see end-​of-​life care settings
Huberman, J. 23, 37, 110
human behaviour 20–​21
human engineering 106–​107
human extinction 95–​96
human life: Christianity 30–​31; life
cycle 19, 72; ontology 19–​20;
transhumanism and posthumanism
21, 23–​24; understanding 18–​19

human nature 32; limited lifespan
120; natural environment 85, 86, 87;
philosophical thinking 18, 21, 96–​97;
religion 28, 30–​32; social context 3,
79–​83; technological advancements
50, 62, 117; transhumanism and
posthumanism 1, 42–​43, 66, 72;
virtual selves 78
human relationships, and virtual selves
75–​79
human rights 88–​91
human uniqueness 32–​33
humans as a species 32–​33
Huxley, Aldous 65
ideal self 75–​76
identity, and selfhood 51
illusions 73–​74
immortality: biomedical technology
53, 65–​67; cryonics 12, 42, 56–​57;
cybernetic incarnation 49; digital
29, 37–​39, 41–​42; Elixir of Life
29–​30, 121–​122; head transplants
50–​51; philosophical thinking 96–​97;
problems with prolonged life
117–​121; religious perspective 30,
53–​56; symbolic 38–​39;
transhumanism 12
individualism: mind cloning 38;
transhumanist debates 84–​85
inequalities 102–​105, 108, 118–​119
inhuman 27
intellectual movement, transhumanism
as 23
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate
Change (IPCC) 105–​106
International Classification of Diseases
(ICD) 5
Itskov, Dmitry 38
James, William 76
Jin, K. 59, 64
Kaku, Michio 95–​96
Kass, L. R. 24
kidney transplants 58–​59, 102
Krieger, N. 49
Kurzweil, Ray 67, 87, 88
labour 79–​80
Levcheniuk, Y. 26, 40–​41, 111
LGBTIQ+ 13, 82
Index 125
life cycle 19, 72, 87–​88
life expectancy 52–​53, 54, 83
life extension 60–​61, 117–​121;
see also Radical Life Extension
(RLE)
Lifton, Robert 89
Lyotard, Jean-​Francois 12
MacKinnon, R. 78
Marx, Karl 79–​80, 81, 82
Marxism 79, 80–​81
material causes (Aristotle) 18–​19
materiality: natural environment 85–​86;
religion 30
mauvaise foi 26
medicalisation: death 8–​11; experience
of dying 3; grief 4–​8
medicine see biomedical technology
melancholia 4
mental health disorders 5
Mercer, C. 31
mind cloning 37–​39
minors, assisted suicide/​dying 10–​11
morality: cryonics 42, 56–​57; of death
2–​3; human rights 88–​89;
posthumanity 112
More, Max 24, 25, 84, 86
mourning 4
Muelen, R. T. 111
nanomedicine 52, 63–​64
nanotechnology 12, 64
national security 98
natural disasters 95–​96
natural environment 85–​88; future of
105–​107
necropolitics 40
neoliberal biopolitics 101
normal grief 7; see also conventional
grief
normative essentialism 66–​67
ontology 19–​20, 107–​108
organ transplants 58–​59, 102
Orwell, George 79
overpopulation 119–​120
palliative care see end-​of-​life care
settings
Paul, G. S. 36
Pearce, David 12
Peters, T. 53
126 Index
philosophical thinking: approaching
human life 18–​20; biomedical
technology 48; cryonics 56–​57;
immortality 96–​97; posthumanity 97;
selfhood 51; transhumanism 23
plastic surgery 51–​52
Plato’s cave allegory 67
Point-​Of-​Care (POC) devices 34
policing/​medicalisation: death 8–​11;
grief 4–​8; technological advancements
111–​112; technological dimensions of
regulating death 42–​43
pop culture 103
population growth 119–​120
posthuman mind 37
posthumanism 1; approaching human
life 18–​19; definition and meaning
of 26–​28; future of 96–​102, 111–​113;
health inequality 104–​105; human life
21, 21–​22; morality 112; philosophical
thinking 97
postnature status 86
poverty 118–​119
racial discrimination 102–​103
Radical Life Extension (RLE) 52–​53,
55–​56, 83, 90, 96
religion: immortality 39, 53–​56; and
science 95; transhumanist debates
28–​32, 117
religious movements 28, 29
retirement 72, 117–​118
rituals 6
robotic surgery 58
robotics: altered conceptions of
death and grief 40–​41; future of
99–​100; impact on social life 33–​35;
inequalities 108; national security 98;
rights of robots 91
Rogers, Carl 75, 76
Romanian Sociological Society 28
Rothblatt, Martin 29, 37–​38, 66–​67
Rotilă, V. 36
same-​sex partners 13
Sandberg, A. 111
Sartre, Jean-​Paul 110
science: biomedical advancements
52–​56; cloning 43, 61–​63, 66; and
religion 95; slowing the ageing process
43, 51–​52, 55, 59; transhumanism
23–​24, 25
Second Life 77, 78, 108–​109
self-​concept 75–​76
self-​esteem 75, 76
self-​image 75–​76
selfhood 51, 75–​79
settings see end-​of-​life care settings
skin transplants 59
smart devices 36
social class 102–​103, 108
social environment: and alienation
79–​85; future of 102–​105; human
relationships and virtual selves 75–​79;
impacts of transhumanism 67, 74–​75;
and technology 100
social hierarchies 82–​83
social stability 65–​66
socially assisted robots 35
Steinhoff, J. 74, 79, 80–​82, 85
Sutton, A. 30–​31
SWOT (strengths, weaknesses,
opportunities and threats) analysis
34–​35
symbolic immortality 38–​39, 89
tech-​death 39–​40, 41, 42
tech-​grief 39–​40
technoimmortality 29, 37–​39,
41–​42
technology: altering perceptions of
death and grief 37–​39, 57; conditions
of possibility 27; cyberrevolution
35–​37; digital immortality 29, 37–​39;
digital presence 13; future of
102–​105; by geography 39;
globalisation 13; mind cloning 37–​39;
policing/​medicalisation 111–​112;
regulating death 42–​43; robotics,
robots and social life 33–​35; smart
devices 36; transhumanism 1, 11–​12;
transhumanism and posthumanism
21–​22; virtual selves 76–​79; see also
biomedical technology
thanatology as field 15, 28, 33, 118
The Hedonistic Imperative 12
theological perspective: immortality
30, 53; transhumanist debates
28–​32
therapeutic interventions 6–​7
transcendental philosophy 27
transhumanism 1–​2, 117; 21st-​century
challenges 11–​12; approaching human
life 18–​19; definition and meaning of
 Index 127

22–​28; future of 96–​102; human life values 111–​112

21; human relationships and virtual
selves 75–​79; human rights 88–​91; as
movement 24; natural environment
85–​88; religion 28–​32; social
environment and alienation 79–​85;
social impacts 67, 74–​75; technology
21–​22; this book 14–​15
Transhumanist Declaration 88
Trothen, T. J. 31
Troyer, John 40
Turing, Alan 104
Tversky, A. 73
utopianism 27, 65–​67
Van Gennep, A. 109
video games 77, 78, 108–​109
virtual environments 32, 96, 108–​109, 110
virtual selves 76–​79
Vita-​More, N. 23, 24, 25, 27, 88, 108
Walter, Tony 6–​8, 14
Warwick, Kevin 60
Weisman, Alan 86–​87
Westworld 97
Wolpe, P. R. 50–​51
Zey, M. G. 53
Žižek, Slavoj 67, 98, 101