Architects of Emortality - Brian Stableford [117]
Children have already become rare on the surface of the earth; they will eventually become as nearly extinct as those obscure species which are never decanted from the ark banks except to supply the demands of zoos.
“Whatever might happen on Mars, or in the circum-lunar colonies, Earth will presumably remain what it has already become: the MegaMall-dominated Empire of the Old. In time, maturation will ensure that it becomes the Empire of the Eternal. Some form of that empire is the heart’s desire of every thinking man and the ambition of every practical scientist—even those, like me, who stand condemned as the last generation of the envious—but its emergence is bound to cause us anxiety and fear. The death of death is a prospect we ought to celebrate, but it is also a prospect we ought to approach with solemn concern.
Who better to remind us of that than Rappaccini, the master of commemoration, the monopolist of wreaths?” Charlotte suddenly realized that Wilde was deliberately understating the case.
He was waiting for someone else to take the next step in the sequence, lest it be thought that he understood a little too well what the man he called Rappaccini wanted to achieve.
“He’s murdering people,” she said, taking it upon herself to fill the gap. “He’s murdering old men. He’s not just making an aesthetic statement; he’s writing an ad for the philosophy of Elimination. That’s how some of the vidveg are going to read this crazy business, at any rate—and I, for one, think that he always intended them to read it that way. His sim said as much, when it said that murder mustn’t be allowed to become extinct.” Oscar Wilde smiled wryly. “He did indeed,” he admitted.
“And is that the way you were supposed to read it?” Charlotte followed up. “Is that part of the interpretation that you were supposed to put to the world on his behalf?” “I don’t know,” he answered frankly. “But I am, as you have cleverly observed, reluctant to go so far in my approval.” “So you don’t agree with him, then?” Michael Lowenthal put in. “When all the fancy rhetoric is set aside, you agree with us.” Charlotte knew that the implied collective was the masters of the MegaMall, not Lowenthal and herself.
“I do share Rappaccini’s anxieties,” Wilde replied, “but I don’t think the threat is as overwhelming as he seems to think. I don’t believe that the old men will ever take over the world completely, no matter how few they are or how long they live, or how clever they are in sustaining their claim to own the earth. I can’t believe that a world in which death has been virtually abolished will be a world full of Walter Czastkas. I may, of course, be prejudiced by vanity, but I think that such a world could and should be a world full of Oscar Wildes. I’m even prepared to concede that the world will probably get by perfectly adequately even if I’m half wrong, and men like me are forced by circumstance to live alongside men like Walter.
“The spark of authentic youth can be maintained, if it’s properly nurtured. The victory of ennui isn’t inevitable. When we really can transform every human egg cell so as to equip it for eternal physical youth, at least some of those children—hopefully the greater number—will discover ways to adapt themselves to that condition by cultivating eternal mental youth. My way of trying to anticipate that is, I will admit, primitive and rough-hewn, but I am here to help prepare the way for those who come after me: the true children of our race; the eternal children; the first authentically human beings.” “That’s all very well,” Charlotte said, “but it’s Rappaccini, not you, who’s going to be world-famous tomorrow, at least for a while. Others may be more sympathetic to the violent aspects of his message than you are.” “Undoubtedly,” said Wilde.
“On the other hand,” said Michael Lowenthal, “the great majority will be horrified and sickened by the whole thing.” “I’m a police officer,” said Charlotte sourly. “I’ll be dealing with the troublesome minority.” “That was another thing