In transhumanist discourse, one issue that frequently arises is that of the significance of configurations (gender phenotype, neurological tendencies, etc.), particularly when technologies already exist that permit people to change aspects of themselves that once sat firmly in the category of “immutable”. Through the machinery of modern surgery and medicine, men can become women, women can become men, shy people can become extroverts, and scatterbrains can become focused engines of productivity. Emerging transformative technologies are likely to dilute the concept of an ultimate, identity-bolstering constraint even further. And the net result of this is going to be that more people than ever before are going to be faced with the question: “What makes me me?”, coupled with the inevitable followup question, “Who do I want to be?”
I don’t know how many people consciously ask themselves such questions—my observations over the years seem to indicate that few people enjoy talking about such things, at least in the context of casual discussion. Nevertheless, I remember noting as a child how commonly I was asked by adults, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” While I now realize this question is probably a kind of cultural script that evolved out of a need for adults to have something to say to the young children they encountered, I also think that this particular cultural script probably developed in part due to the degree to which adults define themselves according to their chosen work.
But most people still consider themselves to be “the same person” even if they change careers (though there are exceptions to this, particularly, perhaps, when the “new” vocation is of a religious nature). It seems that in some respects, certain formerly-immutable aspects of being are moving into a realm similar to that of a person’s “career space” or “hobby space”—that of things which are chosen by someone but that do not wholly comprise that someone.
Regardless of whether we consciously acknowledge it or not, personal identity determination is a dynamic, multivariable process for each of us. And each of us applies different levels of significance to things within, about, and attached to us that might be considered to make us “who we are”. For some people, something as seemingly superficial as hair color might be a primary determinant of identity, whereas for others, identity is an illusory thing—an emergent property of a string of autobiographical memories woven through spacetime. My own concept of identity is part emergent property, part cognitive processing style, and part perceptual interface with the environment outside my brain (which is a dynamic system as far as I’m concerned, and not a static set of parameters).
Together, these components combine to form my version of something that cultural critic Erik Davis has referred to as, “the chooser”. It doesn’t really matter so much what the chooser is made of—only that it is the thing which decides what is going to be part of me and what is not, according to whatever meta-goals and impressions my consciousness has managed to come up with.
I find the “chooser” concept to be a very robust one—one that is, perhaps, an antidote to the future-shocked existential angst that is probably hitting many for the first time (perhaps as they’re faced with the decision of taking, or not taking, a pill that might change their work habits or personality to an unpredictable degree). Regardless of how many factors you think define you, or what those factors are, “you” can still be said to be the thing that chooses—even if that choice is that of deciding you don’t want anything but your memories to determine who you are, or even if you decide to dispense with the concept of “you” altogether.
I don’t personally subscribe to the concept that the ultimate fate of consciousness is that of entereing into an irreducible hive-mind; being able to “unplug” at least on occasion is something that I find very useful. In the words of James Russell Lowell:
Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.
Regardless of what some discussions might sound like at times, transhumanism (at least my brand of it) is not about becoming the Borg. Hence, the concept of individual identity is likely to be an important one for a long time coming, possibly for as long as we have conscious beings. Though there is strength in interconnectivity, something is lost when parts of the whole cannot periodically separate and take in some of the raw data from the universe surrounding them. As profoundly real as culturally-defined reality might seem, it is dangerous to lose oneself in it to the point where you forget you’re a tiny fragment of flesh and intent scurrying to and fro on a globe spinning through a space apparently much more optimized for the proliferation of black holes than for sentient humanoids.
It is the contention of this author that a strong model of individual identity is an essential aspect of existential risk mitigation—for individuals as well as for the population at large. Life extension medicine is a wonderful example of affirmation of the value of individuals—that single brains and minds have worth whenever the chooser native to that brain and mind remains enamored with living, exploring, and perceiving (and wishes to be able to do these things for as long as possible). Therefore, transhumanists must encourage a continued discourse between individuals and the structures and cultures and memeplexes we form. I’ve noticed some very interesting bits of existential questioning creeping into mainstream media these days (particularly in articles about biotech and new medications), and I am often struck by the fact that anyone considers this sort of questioning to be new.
By the time a new technology reaches mass market, it’s generally too late to start figuring out how to answer people who might, for the first time, finally start getting interested in matters of identity and consciousness. Part of conscious evolution (and part of the evolution of consciousness) consists of enabling people to develop a dynamic, healthy, and utterly non-nihilistic concept of who and what they are.
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