Robot Cultist Hank Pellisier wants to know who the Robot God should resurrect from the dead with their techno-transcendentalizing nanobotic femtobotic soul-migration take-a-picture-pretend-it's-a-person magic (science!). It's an important question (oh, wait, it's the opposite of that).
Of course, with futurology one usually tries to get past the surreal implausibility of the premise as quickly as possible, the better to spend ninety percent of the article masturbating about how awesome magic would be if it were real. And so, within moments of stipulating robo-resurrection is on the way, worthy candidates for techno-resurrection are being proposed by Pellisier for due consideration of the Robot God. He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows when you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake! Among the lucky duckies with whom Pellisier means to share Paradise are "honorable people" (criteria for honor to be determined later, donations gratefully accepted), "dead babies" (won't somebody please think of the children!), "victims of genocide" (we care a lot!), and so on. All Very Serious, as you see.
I can remember being a teenager trying to explain to my religious father (now a full-on fulminating Republican racist greedhead warmonger theocrat, natch) the doubts I was having that were leading me to my eventual atheism (cheerfully maintained for more than half my life now), among them the fact that I found it difficult to understand why I should reverence a god who was my ethical inferior -- since if I were God there would certainly be no Hell. I find it interesting to observe that neither can Robot Cultists when they are waxing techno-religious seem to resist morbid fantasy power-trips selecting who should be eternalized and who should be damned. Of course, the vicious and the virtuous are all of us mortal, and the measure of heaven and hell besets us on earth, in our words and works, perishable as we are.
The honorable and the dishonorable? The dead babies? The starving, the sick, the cold, the ballooning bodies on fields of war, of crime, of intolerance -- and the many who struggle with them and for them and for a better world (with little time to spare, by the way, for Very Serious Futurology)? They're all dying or dead, Hank. You are going to die, too. The Robot God is not going to scoop up all the cremated and rotten and cryonically hamburgerized futurologists and reassemble you and migrate your souls into cyberheaven for eternal holodeck sexy times.
Do you guys actually hear yourselves?
(By the way, the hilarious New Agey Ayn Raelian picture at the top of the post, you know, the bald white guy uploading his naked comic book physique -- purple 'cause he's, you know, data instead of ooky meat, despite the soft porn musculature -- don't ask -- into cyber-heaven ready to get on with the sexy times, despite being data instead of ooky meat -- don't ask -- well, that picture accompanies the Pellisier article itself, apparently non-parodically -- seriously, don't ask.)