No More Bad Dreams
Rise And Shine, Sleepyheads.
L. M. Chavdarov
AS WE HURTLE THROUGH THE 21st CENTURY, one can’t help but marvel at the rate at which we’re solving problems that our ancestors assumed were as permanent as death and taxes – which, by the way, we’re still working on. It’s a time where existential crises, once reserved for broody philosophers, and those who’ve read too much Camus, have become as common as the cold, and similarly unpleasant. As we solve problems that have plagued humanity for eons – like diseases, distance, and getting a decent cup of coffee – we’re left with a strange void, a kind of metaphysical itch that no amount of technological advancement seems to scratch.
In the olden days, one’s existential crisis was mostly concerned with survival – avoiding being eaten by a saber-toothed tiger, or not dying from the plague. But the plague, and tigers alike are now extinct, and it turns out they were never the root cause of our existential dread. It’s no longer about survival, but about living. We’ve moved from “Will I survive the winter?” to “What is my place in a universe where I can 3D print a pizza?” It’s a shift from existential angst to existential ennui, a word that sounds exactly like what it means.
The modern world, with its relentless march towards solving all our problems, leaves us in a paradoxical state. On one hand, we’re achieving what humanity has always dreamed of – a world without the nightmares that haunted our ancestors. On the other hand, in solving these age-old problems, we find ourselves staring directly into the abyss of the unknown, pondering questions that were once mere thought experiments in philosophy textbooks.
Take, for instance, the quest for immortality, a topic that has moved from the realms of alchemy and fantasy to the boardrooms of Silicon Valley. The idea of living forever, once a dreamy speculation, now seems almost within grasp, thanks to advancements in medicine and technology. But this brings its own set of existential questions. What does one do with all that time? If you thought finding a purpose in a 90-year lifespan was hard, try doing it for all of eternity. You’ll get tired of pushing boulders up a slope eventually.
Similarly, the rise of Artificial Intelligence has turned the ancient fear of the golem – the fear that what we create might surpass and destroy us – into a daily conversation. We’re in a bizarre race to create intelligence that could easily surpass our own – AI already seems to be smarter than most of the people I have to interact with daily – and I shudder to think what kind of destruction the singularity could bring about if poorly managed. Good old human intelligence is already wrecking the world; do we really want to give birth to a mechanical god before we’ve figured out our own ten commandments?
And let’s not forget about space exploration. Once the domain of Star Trek and little green men, it’s now a field with actual careers and prospects. Yes, real jobs that make real money. The existential crisis here shifts from “Am I alone in the universe?” to “If I’m not alone, do I need to update my LinkedIn profile to appeal to extraterrestrial employers?”
The modern existential crisis is a strange beast. We’ve answered so many of the ‘hows’ of existence that we’re left grappling with the ‘whys’ and the ‘what nows’. On one hand, it’s comforting to know that the shadows that haunted our ancestors are being dispelled by the blinding light of knowledge. But it’s disconcerting to live in a universe where all our questions have answers. The search for meaning is increasingly looking less like an epic odyssey, and more like a guided tour, replete with suggested paths and reviews.
Sure, there are still some mysteries that remain unsolved. Occasionally, just when we think we’ve got it, the universe throws us a curveball, like dark matter, or why reality TV is so popular. But even they’ll be solved eventually. Right?
Probably, but if it reassures you, it still seems unlikely that we’ll be able to properly retire from the existential crisis. It’s a fundamental part of the human experience. Even once we have answers to all of our questions, we still won’t know what to do with those answers.
Technology may solve our problems, but it won’t give us meaningful answers. Humanity has opened up Pandora’s box yet again, and found not only hope at the bottom, but also a user manual for a quantum computer and a note saying ‘Good luck!’. The line between science fiction, and Monday morning memos is getting blurred, and the prospect of arguing with a smart fridge about my dietary choices has opened my eyes to a whole new spectrum of different forms of dread. But, in putting our bad dreams to bed, we’ve come a long way from wondering whether fire is magical or not, and we’ll go a long way yet. Even if we can’t escape our existential dread, at least it’s no longer tied to less fun discoveries, like tigers where they don’t belong. Maybe we’re worried about AI, or climate change, but now we don’t have to wonder anymore whether the rain gods are angry at us. And if that’s not a comforting thought, at least it’s a fascinating one.