#92 = Volume 31, Part 1 =
March 2004
Javier A. Martínez
Technology and Theology (or Lack Thereof)
Elaine L. Graham.
Representations of the Post/Human: Monsters, Aliens and Others in Popular
Culture. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2002. xi + 259 pp. $60.00 hc;
$23.00 pbk.
Elaine Graham’s book is most impressive in a way she never intended, as a
thorough overview of postmodernism in a technocratic age, and less striking in
what the book promises to do, namely, “to examine the impact of twenty-first
century technologies—digital, cybernetic and biomedical—upon our very
understanding of what it means to be human” (1). This is not to say that
Graham’s work is a failure; it is generally engaging and covers much ground. But
other writers, specifically Sandra Harding, N. Katharine Hayles, and Donna
Haraway, all of whom are cited and oftentimes heavily quoted, have already
explored much of this ground. Most disappointing, however, is Graham’s failure
to apply her theological framework to her subject matter.
Graham’s book is divided into three parts. Part one, “Science Fantasy,”
attempts to establish “the inter-relationship between the institutions and
practices of contemporary technoscience and the genres of science fiction, myth,
and literature” (19). Key to her discussion in chapter one, “Representing the
Post/Human,” is the by now obvious observation that definitions of the human are
rooted in cultural contexts, not in a priori knowledge. In order to highlight
this understanding, Graham proposes the term “post/human” as an “occasion for
acknowledging what has always been the case—that ‘human nature’ is as much a
piece of human artifice as all the other things human beings have invented”
(37). I certainly do not disagree with this observation, but I’m somewhat
skeptical of the efficacy of the term “post/human.” Do we really need yet
another way of referring to what we all understand is the socially constructed
nature of the subject? Chapter one could have been much stronger if the need for
this new term had been justified in a more robust way. Instead, what the reader
finds leading to this pronouncement is a series of very cursory commentaries on
David Cronenberg’s film eXistenZ (1999), the Human Genome Project,
genetically engineered food, early sf, Constance Penley’s use of the term
“NASA/Trek” (also the title of her fine 1997 book), and the theories of Donna
Haraway and Bruno Latour.
In many ways, chapter two, “The Gates of Difference,” extends some of the
flaws found in chapter one: heavy summary of existing theories—in this case
Michel Foucault’s ideas of archeological and genealogical critique—and some
cursory discussion of William Gibson and Bruce Sterling’s The Difference
Engine (1991) that ends at the point where it becomes interesting. What I
found most compelling in this chapter was Graham’s connection of Foucault’s
already much discussed ideas (and some would claim overly so) with the field of
teratology, the study of monsters. The result of her move is, unfortunately, a
series of not-so-original statements, such as “creatures on the margins of
acceptable humanity—the monstrous, the ‘other,’ the pathological, the
almost-human—thus serve to delineate the fault-lines of exemplary and normative
humanity” (19) and “The beings who occupy these positions ... are ‘monstrous’ in
that they destabilize evolutionary, technological and biological hierarchies
that serve to privilege the rational male subject” (60). I certainly do not
disagree with Graham, but at this point I’m sixty pages into her study and have
found nothing that wasn’t said a couple of decades ago.
Part two of her book, “Monstrosity, Geneology, and Representation,” begins
with the third chapter and a question, “What Made Victor’s Creature Monstrous?”
Apparently, the answer is that it “manifest[ed] a disordered physiognomy
conditioned by the transgression of a moral and theological order” (62). Again,
I agree with her completely, as I did with the various other critics who have
over the years argued the same position. This chapter, and the central idea of
the book, could have benefited from a more focused discussion of the notion of
the “post/human” in relation to her reading of Frankenstein (1818).
Instead, for twenty or so pages, we get what is actually a very nice discussion
of “the creature’s monstrosity [as] stem[ming] from his being a
mixture—uncomfortably and impossibly so—of speech and embodiment, of conceptual
and material imagination. The mismatch between physical ugliness and
intellectual beauty becomes the source of his displacement and exclusion” (65).
Nicely put, but chapter three remains nothing more than a traditional close
reading of a text, bolstered by Graham’s polished prose and keen analytical
mind.
Graham’s fine writing shines in chapter four, but it is not enough to salvage
a chapter that really should not have been included in this study. ”Body of
Clay, Body of Glass” attempts to examine how the “attributes of the golem are
remolded and reshaped over the centuries, [and how] it is possible to see them
as vehicles for human reflections on the origins of the cosmos, on human liberty
to emulate divine creativity and the problematic character of post/human
identity in a technoscientific age” (86). Instead, what we find is a fascinating
chapter on the history of the golem that borders almost on the esoteric, with
its obscure references to and lessons in occult history. The irony here is that
this chapter is one of the most fascinating sections of the book, but really has
no place in it and serves only to distract the reader from the main purpose of
the project.
In chapter five, “In Whose Image: The Power of Representation,” Graham
examines the social effects of the “medicalization” of reproduction and
childbirth. Key to her discussion is Foucault’s notion of bio-power, “the
mechanism by which regimes of coercion and control are mediated through the
emergent human sciences” (115). Her discussion of how medical rhetoric
reinforces conservative notions of gender and family, while not entirely
original, is nevertheless well laid out. I found especially fascinating her
discussion of the gene as a social construct and how it has come to represent
erroneously the biological essence of humanity in the modern technocratic age.
Also included in this chapter is a section on AI and how most contemporary
research in the field assumes that “intelligence operates according to essential
formal principles which transcend their specific material circumstances” (124).
Fascinating, yes, but again this is all ground that has been covered before,
most notably by N. Katherine Hayles, whom Graham refers to at various points in
her discussion. Perhaps of more direct interest to the reader of sf criticism is
Graham’s very brief commentary on the film GATTACA (1997), which “plays
on audience fears of a totalitarian society founded on the dehumanizing ...
criteria of invasive technoscience” (110), and Asimov’s I, Robot (1950),
which “may be read as a series of cultural incidents in the growing
discontinuity between robotic motivation and human comprehension” (130). Graham
is juggling many topics here—genetic research, reproductive technologies, AI,
sf—and her attempts at critiquing the politics of representation at work in each
of these can sometimes be dizzying. As with earlier parts of the book, I wish
her discussion of the chosen texts were more fully developed.
Part three of the book, titled “Post/Humanities,” moves nearer to fulfilling
the promises made in the introduction. Graham posits that all responses to
technology fall between two poles: technophobia, the resistance to technology
and the changes it initiates, and technophilia, an uncritical adoption of
technology and the promises it presents (131). While not original, this
observation does set up her engaging discussion of Data from Star Trek: The
Next Generation (ST:TNG 1987-1994). Chapter six, playfully titled “Much Ado
About Data,” effectively argues that the character construction of the ST:TNG
android
corresponds to a strongly secular humanist vision of what it means to be
human, as refracted through Data’s cravings to understand and emulate human
subjectivity. His contested status as a free person, his longings for a family
and the delicate negotiation between exemplary qualities of rationality and
affectivity, all illustrate how the principle of infinite diversity is
overshadowed by the values of conformity. (133)
Graham discusses the political views of the series’ founder, Gene
Roddenberry, before moving on to close readings of several ST:TNG episodes that
feature Data in his quest to become more human. Graham argues that the popular
series “celebrates a humanity defined by a unitary high culture untroubled by
cultural difference,” a position best illustrated by Captain Jean-Luc Picard (a
Frenchman with a British accent, the height of Western sophistication). Data’s
quest to become more human, as defined by a “White, rational masculinity” cuts
short any true engagement with the possibility of a new and emerging identity
(141). The posthuman, or post/human as Graham prefers, is subsumed under the
traditionalist rhetoric of liberal humanism.
I enjoyed Graham’s critique of the annoying elitism that runs throughout
ST:TNG, but I was surprised to find her sympathetic to the latest installment in
the ST mythos, Star Trek: Voyager (1995-2001). ST:V takes place in a
universe, Graham argues, where “geographical estrangement from the Federation
diminishes the power of external authority” (149). In this situation, Seven of
Nine, the Borg character, is free to explore what is for Graham the most human
of elements, the value of belonging (152). Whereas Data’s journey toward the
human is little else than a “perpetuation of modernity’s most highly valued
precepts of human nature” (153), Seven of Nine comes to embody the show’s
driving idea, “the quest to discern some degree of purpose to the universe amid
the complexity and fragility of everyday experience” (153). While I agree with
Graham’s reading of Data, I do not share her enthusiasm for ST:V, nor am I
convinced by her reading of the show. Still, Graham does a nice job in this
chapter and I certainly recommend it to students and critics of the Star Trek
mythos.
Chapter seven is perhaps the most engaging chapter in the study. Titled
“Nietzsche Gets a Modem: Transhumanism and the Technological Sublime,” the
chapter examines the trend of futuristic optimism in popular culture, especially
in cyberpunk literature and culture. Graham explores here the rhetoric that
promises the transcendence of the physical world through the use of technology,
especially the disembodied states of cyberspace, the revolutionary potential of
nanotechnology, and fringe sciences like cryogenics. She asks some important
questions in this chapter: “Who gets to participate in the post/human future?
Whose desires fuel the priorities of technoscience?” (155). Her answers indicate
some disturbing patterns of thought in contemporary scientific geekdom,
especially the disregard for ethnic, gender, sexual, and economic difference
that often result when entertaining fantasies of technologically-based physical
transcendence. Most disturbing is her insightful observation that such rhetoric
has an origin point in the pseudo-scientifically legitimated racism of the late
nineteenth century: “Such a vision of the post/human era is therefore in many
respects a cybernetic version of social Darwinism, anticipating a future
meritocracy founded upon the survival of the fittest, represented by the
intellectual and psychological superiority of postbiological humanity” (160).
Graham drives her point home when she cites some frightening numbers: over 93
percent of Internet users originate from the wealthiest 20 percent of the
world’s nations (164). While the developed West engages its various fantasies of
downloading its collective consciousness into a quantum hard drive, “the
technologically rudimentary prospect of furnishing every man, woman and child on
the planet with clean water goes unaddressed” (165).
After reading this chapter it seemed that Graham would end strongly, but
chapter eight, “The End of the Human?,” is a step back, unfortunately, in part
because some of her arguments contradict the points she so effectively made in
chapter seven. I’m left a bit bewildered by such statements as “The sentiments
of cyberpunk mount a rebellion against the increasing commercialization of
science fiction, and in particular against the humanist utopianism of much
mainstream science fiction” (195). What happened to that long list of problems
created by cyberculture that was just covered in the previous chapter? I don’t
think such a blanket statement can be made without addressing “‘The Gernsback
Continuum’ and William Gibson,” Gary Westfahl’s devastating comparison of
Gibson’s seminal cyberpunk novel Neuromancer (1984) to Hugo Gernsback’s
seminal pulp sf work Ralph 124C 41+ (serialized 1911-12); or Carol
McGuirk’s pithy observation, found in “The ‘New Romancers’: Science Fiction
Innovators from Gernsback to Gibson,” that cyberpunk situates itself firmly
within traditional sf rhetoric when claiming revolutionary status (both essays
are collected in George Slusser’s and Tom Shippey’s Fiction 2000: Cyberpunk
and the Future of Narrative [1992]). Nor, oddly enough, does Graham comment
on the sexism at work in most cyberpunk novels written by men. I’m left with the
sense that she is neither familiar with cyberpunk nor with the hefty body of
criticism that is in dialogue with it.
Graham is familiar, however, with the work of Donna Haraway and she proves it
with an intriguing reading of Haraway’s famous essay “A Cyborg Manifesto”
(1991). Chapter nine, “Cyborg Writing,” is nicely balanced, taking into account
the influence of Haraway’s work, but not being limited by it or blinded by its
influence. Graham refers to her reading of Haraway as “heretical” because she
seeks to bring “to the surface the implicit and buried religious allusions” in
Haraway’s writing (218). The strength of Graham’s reading lies in her
explication of how Haraway’s cyborg is able to offer a kind of transcendence
while remaining lodged firmly in the realm of the physical. This “sacramental
sensibility” affirms “the existence of the cultural and manufactured products of
human labour while placing them within a horizon of sacred value which speaks of
a transcendental—but not other worldly—mode of being. Sacraments are thus sign
of the ‘transfiguration’ of the material and not of its effacement or denial”
(218-19). Here, finally, we begin the move toward a theology of the post/human,
one that promises to be as controversial as it is engaging. Note how Graham ends
this chapter:
Commodities and material artifacts are, potentially, redolent with sacred
power; and transfiguration and redemption can be achieved within, not beyond,
the realms of technologies, human agency and material culture. It is
imperative to rethink the model of ‘transcendence’ that informs
representations of the post/human premised on a vision of immortality,
omniscience, omnipotence and incorporeality. The task is not simply to
interpret the symbolic of transcendence in whose image technoscientific desire
for omniscience and necrophilia are legitimated, but to change it. (220)
This is fascinating ground we’re moving into, and ground that promises to be
developed in chapter ten, “Gods and Monsters.” Unfortunately, I’m again left
frustrated with a chapter that only highlights the main points of the
book—“representation, monstrosity, alterity, the contingency of human identity
and the resurgence of the sacred” (225, emphasis in original). The provocative
ideas that close chapter nine are never fully developed nor are they placed in
any dialogue with theology or postmodern theory, and this is precisely the main
problem with the book.
In her introduction, Graham cites Ronald Preston as one of her main
influences. Preston is author of several books on Christian social thought, one
of the best being Religion and the Ambiguities of Capitalism (1993),
which rigorously explores from a Christian perspective the current world
economic systems and their impact on the lives of people. Much as that book
builds a bridge between two sometimes opposing ideas, Graham intends to bridge
theology with science studies by “continu[ing the] tradition of constructive
theological conversation with the disciplines and institutions of contemporary
society” (x). But such a theological conversation is mostly absent from her
work. This is truly unfortunate because her aims are laudable and the project
necessary, but the end result is so heavily weighed down by summaries of
pre-existing theories and constant reminders of the constructed nature of
reality that a theological reading of the subject matter is never presented. How
does theology address technology in a postmodern age? If the postmodern human
subject is a result of numerous socio-political influences rather than a set of
pre-established and constant verities, then how does theology view this
development and how has it affected contemporary theological thought? How do we
go about changing the symbolic of transcendence as Graham says we must, and just
what does this mean in relation to traditional theology? Other contemporary
Christian scholars have tread these waters, including Alister E. McGrath,
especially in his most recent work, The Future of Christianity (2002) and
the first two (of a projected three) volumes of his Scientific Theology
series (Nature [2001] and Reality [2002]), Alan Jacobs in his A
Theology of Reading: The Hermeneutics of Love (2001), and Stanley Hauerwas
in his numerous writings. Of more interest to sf criticism proper is Stephen
May’s Stardust and Ashes: Science Fiction in Christian Perspective
(1998), but Graham only mentions his work once and in passing. The point here is
that there is a tradition of work in theological studies that engages the
postmodern while remaining rooted in theology.
Graham’s book is an elaborately and well-written summation of how we read
technology in a postmodern age, with some commentary on sf texts thrown in for
good measure. I’m disappointed the book does little more. As the Samuel Ferguson
Professor of Social and Pastoral Theology at the University of Manchester,
Graham is eminently qualified to speak on theological issues. I get the sense,
however, that the emphasis of her research the last few years has been in the
area of science studies. She’s learned this material well, but is unable to mesh
it with her theological background. This came as something of a surprise for me,
since she did such a fine job of showing the interplay among postmodernism,
gender, and theology in her 1996 book Making the Difference: Gender,
Personhood, and Theology, a work that achieves a richness and coherence of
vision lacking in this most recent effort.
Back to Home