The Star Larvae Hypothesis
Nature's Plan for Humankind
Part 1. Metabolic Metaphysics

Technology

Defining an organism becomes even more complicated when the organism extends its metabolism through, and becomes dependent on, its own artifacts.

During the eighteenth century, industrialization grabbed the attention and the economies of the Western world, and the outpouring of inventions inspired novel philosophies. The French philosopher La Mettrie perceived a similarity between human beings and the new devices. He intuited the metabolic continuum. But La Mettrie took the mechanistic mode to be nature’s default and the organic to be a special instance, as did Descartes. La Mettrie extended Descartes' view and reduced even the mind to just another mechanical process of the body. In 1748 he wrote Man a Machine, in which he presented his mechanistic philosophy. He categorized animals of all types, including human beings, as complicated mechanical devices. Biological life seemed to be nothing more than a type of machinery—of a high order but nevertheless reducible to mechanics, hydraulics, pneumatics, and so forth. No metaphysical souls or Cartesian "mental substance" necessary.

La Mettrie did not use the term intelligent design in the context of nature's machinery, but the implication for theology is there. La Mettrie took the opposite tack and promoted an intellectual fashion that became hostile toward God. Mechanistic philosophy gained prominence in the wake of the Enlightenment; it accepted natural law as a first (and only) cause but extended its application to cover the biological world. In the intervening years this view has served as ontological bedrock for the modern secular mindset, giving us behaviorism, a mechanistic approach to medicine, and the schism between science and religion. But in its early years it provided freethinkers with an alternative to church dogma, such as the doctrine that humankind is a divine creation. It gave us humankind as natural machine, its ultimate origins, albeit, still a mystery. Darwin later cemented the link between natural law and human origins.

More recently, during the 1960s, La Mettrie's model was stood on its head. Marshall McLuhan also intuited the metabolic continuum. But he made the case that machines, properly understood, are the imitations, or extensions, of capacities of the human body—not Man A Machine but Machine A Man. McLuhan’s book The Mechanical Bride is a kind of anti-sequel to La Mettrie's "Man A Machine." The phrase mechanical bride refers to the libidinal appeal of machinery and commercial culture’s exploitation of that appeal. The postwar advertising culture that McLuhan analyzed embraced commercial machinery, and the family car was the star of the show. The advertisers sold cars by conspicuously juxtaposing engineering achievements with female anatomy. McLuhan points out that a perhaps less visible but nonetheless identifiable trend was the complementary tendency to use technological jargon and blueprint-type graphics to advertise female undergarments. McLuhan had discovered a place in the modern unconscious that conflates sexual allure with the seductive powers of technology. This psychology seemed to him to be a natural adaptation to the evolving relationship between urbanites and their gadgets, the collections of extensions of bodies that constitutes homes. Electricity, in McLuhan's analysis, adds a psychical extension of sensory and mental faculties to the mechanical extensions of muscle and bone. Hence, his concept of the "global village" in which everybody knows everything about everybody else. Digital photos of private events taken with cameraphones and posted instantly to web sites that are accessible worldwide secures McLuhan's prophetic status.

McLuhan and La Mettrie both perceived organic qualities inherent in technology, but each adopted a different view as to which was the original—the organic or the technological—and which was imitation. But in a feedback cycle starting points are arbitrary. Just as the nonliving hair that covers a human head can be said to enjoy a symbiotic relationship with the organism from which it sprouts, and to which it presumably confers some adaptive advantage, technologies are symbiotic with the organisms from which they sprout and to which they confer adaptive advantage. The critter and its environment, especially its manufactured environment, are inextricable.

In the biological world, symbiosis among organisms enables the participants to overcome environmental circumstances and expand into new territorial niches. Technologies deliver the same capacity. The orbital space around Earth, for example, gradually is opening up as an ecological niche for human habitation as a result of human symbiosis with technology.

Locating technology in the context of symbiosis undermines the notion that human inventions are inherently antithetical or detrimental to nature. They take on the character rather of functional extensions of the human organism, as McLuhan saw. And as such they are natural extensions of the metabolic processes of the human body and human society. McLuhan grasped the nature of the relationship, observing in Understanding Media,

"Physiologically, man in the normal use of technology (or his variously extended body) is perpetually modified by it and in turn finds ever new ways of modifying his technology. Man becomes, as it were, the sex organs of the machine world, as the bee of the plant world, enabling it to fecundate and to evolve ever new forms."

Biologist Richard Dawkins complements and extends McLuhan's thinking with his notion of "the extended phenotype." In the book of that title Dawkins examines various instances of animal industry, such as the dam building of beavers, nest building of birds, and pebble-house building of an insect called the caddis fly. Presumably—and naturally this is clearest in the case of insects—these animals do not learn from instruction by experts how to go about building their various artifacts. The genes that guide their behaviors instruct them. Dawkins makes the case that animal-built structures enhance the adaptive advantage of the creatures that build them and, like McLuhan, characterizes the structures as functional extensions of the bodies of the builders. Dawkins comments in The Extended Phenotype,

"The house of a caddis strictly is not a part of its cellular body, but it does fit snugly round the body. If the body is regarded as a gene vehicle, or survival machine, it is easy to see the stone house as a kind of extra protective wall, in a functional sense the outer part of the vehicle. It just happens to be made of stone rather than chitin."

The adaptive unit just happens to be made of inorganic material. Its relationship to its builder transcends the distinction between the organic and the inorganic and challenges any neat delineation of the organism distinct from its environment.

The family life of the beaver is adapted to an environment that beavers manufacture from sticks and mud and a rudimentary sense of architecture. Certain ants manage the environments of underground "farms" in which they plant spores of and harvest as crops certain fungi. Homo sapiens mines the Earth for ores and hydrocarbons and builds shopping malls and space stations. Species then adapt to the circumstances that their own handiwork imposes on them. Technologies participate fundamentally in the dynamics of organic life and its evolution, because technologies bestow an adaptive advantage onto the genes that guide the behaviors from which the technologies result. The technologies participate in a feedback loop with organic critters. The indivisible evolutionary unit of a technological species is the unit of organism-technology symbiosis. Sociobiologist Edward O. Wilson rendered essentially the same concept in terms of "gene-culture coevolution."

Urban humanity rests on an accommodating technological infrastructure that delivers countless adaptive adjuncts to the human organism: waste disposal, temperature control, antibiotics, processed foods . . . to begin a list. Electrical energy grids make viable human population densities that would be unthinkable off-grid. Domesticated urbanites have become inseparable from their collective artifacts, or anatomical and psychological extensions, to which they have become adapted and within which they continue to evolve.

So where is encapsulated urban humanity headed, with its industrial mass potentially straining Gaia's homeostatic feedback system? Biology provides a set of concepts that we can use to recast the problem in terms of a natural evolutionary juncture: Technology is humankind's symbiotic partner in managing a migration, a birth, and a metamorphosis. The human-technology symbiosis is preparing to shepherd a human migration, midwife a Gaian delivery, and complete the encapsulation process that provides biology's photoelectrochemical metabolism with a suitable environment within which to metamorphose, or mutate, into a gravitational-nuclear metabolism.

As if we had a choice.

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