THIS BOOK has taken longer to bring to fruition than I ever imagined it would. As a consequence, there are more people to thank than might otherwise have been the case. I only started to enhance my memory of such people by making a list after the process had already extended itself to such a degree that I fear there is every likelihood that I have forgotten some important assistance, kindness, or inspiration. To any of these people who might pick up this volume without finding the recognition due them, my sincere apologies.
It has been a deep pleasure for some years now to work in a variety of contexts, not the least of which is the Futurisms blog, with the talented editorial staff of The New Atlantis: Adam Keiper, Ari N. Schulman, Samuel Matlack, Brendan P. Foht, and Caitrin Nicol Keiper. They also served as my editors on this book. As usual, their thoughtful corrections and suggestions have the net result of making me seem a better writer and a more intelligent person than I am. My only excuse for complicity in this deception is that at least I am smart enough to recognize that is the outcome, and to acknowledge it herewith. Eric Cohen was the founding editor of The New Atlantis; he along with Peter A. Lawler at Perspectives on Political Science were the first to provide a print home for the writing I was doing on the arcane topic of human redesign, encouragement that came at a crucial moment. I also owe many thanks to the assiduous fact-checking efforts of several New Atlantis research assistants and interns: Maximilian de la Cal, Steven Fairchild, Barbara McClay, Maura McCluskey, and Galen Nicol. New Atlantis interns Moira E. McGrath and M. Anthony Mills helped compile the index. And thanks are due, too, to Roger Kimball, Heather Ohle, Carl W. Scarbrough, and the rest of the Encounter Books team for their contributions to unleashing this book on an unsuspecting public.
Having touched on the subject of finding a place to publish my thoughts on the topics this book covers, let me single out also Mary Nichols, who was instrumental in founding the Politics, Literature, and Film section of the American Political Science Association, and by so doing, and by the example of her own writing, encouraged me and many like me to think of literary analysis as a legitimate way to understand political things. Similarly, Stuart Kingsley’s efforts to make a place for discussions of optical SETI at conventions of the International Society for Optical Engineering (SPIE) opened the door for this political scientist to put my thoughts before a community of natural scientists and reap the benefits thereof. Robby George and Brad Wilson likewise generously provided opportunities to air my ideas in the context of conferences hosted by the James Madison Program in American Ideals and Institutions at Princeton University.
In its early stages, my writing was supported by a sabbatical from Duquesne University and a generous grant from the Sarah Scaife Foundation. I note “early” to express my gratitude for the subsequent patience of executive director Michael Gleba, who never failed to show interest in how the book was going.
I can’t even begin to thank my wife Leslie enough for the many things big and small she did over the years to give me the time, emotional support, and advice that allowed me to write. From discussion in the earliest days of this book to the last stages as she read galleys, her help has been indispensable. I am grateful that I can count on her energy and intelligence under all circumstances. My children Ted and Anna did their part by showing a remarkable tolerance for the needs of a father with such odd interests.
This book is less the product of specialized academic studies within a clearly defined discipline than it is of an academic life where, thanks to the tolerant attitude of colleagues at Duquesne University, I have been able to pursue the questions that intrigue me wherever they have led. But academic life is just one aspect of life, and when thinking about prospects for the human future, one can hardly help (even if unknowingly) drawing on that larger life experience. Such insights as I hope the book contains could have arisen as much from encounters walking about in my community or attending synagogue services as from the classroom, conferences, the library, the Internet. Its lineage is correspondingly complex. The list that follows encompasses people to whom I am indebted for a variety of the usual kinds of scholarly help: inspiring students and teachers (formal and informal), research assistance, paper discussants, or editorial advice. It also includes some intellectual sparring partners, sounding boards, and providers of moral support. I offer all my appreciation, without of course imputing any responsibility to them for arguments or ideas that, in some instances at least, I quite hope they do not agree with. So my thanks to: Steve Balch, Mark Blitz, Todd Bryfogle, Nigel Cameron, Mark Coda, Tobin Craig, Stephen L. Elkin, Robert Faulkner, Barbara Goldoftus, Kim Hendrickson, Shawn Igo, Leon R. Kass, Caroline Kelly, Syma Levine, Michael Lotze, Don Maletz, Michele Mekel, Thomas W. Merrill, Jacqueline Pfeffer Merrill, Andrew Morriss, Gary McEwan, Michael Myzak, Steve Ostro, Marty Plax, Betsy Rubin, Bill Rubin, Jeff Salmon, Adam Schulman, Tom Short, Ted Weinstein, and Stephen Wrinn. Thanks also to Wilfred M. McClay, whose 1994 book The Masterless included a chapter on Edward Bellamy that introduced me to the fascinating story “Dr. Heidenhoff’s Process.”
The last years of writing this book have taken place in the shadow of my Mom’s developing “dementia consistent with Alzheimer’s disease,” as the more careful physicians seem to put it. I did not particularly need this lesson to teach me the fragility of human life, nor to bring home the depth of the love between my parents. On the one hand, then, it has reinforced my belief that we still have a great deal of progress to make simply towards alleviating human suffering and disease, and that however what we learn in the process of so doing might be related to grand schemes for redesigning ourselves, those schemes remain a distraction, and a rather ethically oblivious if not cruel one at that. Yet on the other hand, it has shown me more clearly than I would have wished the occasion for noble and beautiful deeds that open to loving and respectful souls, my Dad’s foremost among them, as they provide the care that must be given her in the absence of cure. I cannot call these opportunities compensation, let alone silver lining, but they are a weighty moral fact, and not the first my folks taught me. So this book is dedicated to them.