The Familiar Shock of the New
By Darrell Lee
Scientific and technological advancement, particularly in biotechnology and artificial intelligence, is accelerating at a breathtaking pace. The power to edit the very code of life through CRISPR, the ability to design synthetic organisms, the emergence of sophisticated AI capable of human-like reasoning, and the looming prospect of Artificial General Intelligence (AGI) present humanity with possibilities that were, until recently, confined to the pages of science fiction. Yet, alongside the excitement and promise of progress, these developments also stir unease about unintended consequences, ethical dilemmas, and the redefinition of what it means to be human. However new its causes may seem, this apprehension is not a new human experience. It's similar to previous transformative scientific breakthroughs that challenged established worldviews, reshaped power structures, and forced humanity to confront the responsibilities accompanying new knowledge. By examining the anxieties surrounding two such pivotal advancements, Darwin's theory of evolution and the advent of atomic energy, we can see recurring patterns of fear, ethical dilemmas, and society's attempt to adapt that offer an understanding and a guide for the complex bioethical and AI debates of today. The familiar shock of the new has much to teach us about preparing for an increasingly bio-digital future.
Before Charles Darwin published On the Origin of Species in 1859, the dominant Western worldview was anchored in the concept of special creation, fixed species, and a clear, divinely ordained hierarchy placing humanity at its apex. Nature was a reflection of a purposeful design. Darwin's observations and argument for evolution by natural selection delivered an intellectual and cultural shock. His theory proposed that species were not immutable but changed over eons through variation, inheritance, and differential survival, driven by environmental pressures without recourse to a guiding intelligence.
The anxieties provoked by this paradigm shift were multifaceted and intensely felt. Firstly, there were religious objections. Darwinism directly challenged biblical creation and the notion of humanity's creation in God's image. The idea that humans shared common ancestry with other animals and that life evolved through a blind, material process insulted faith and divine authority. This clash between scientific discovery and established religious doctrine generated friction that persists in debates over evolution education today.
Secondly, Darwin's theory unleashed moral and social concerns. The concept of "survival of the fittest" (a phrase coined by Herbert Spencer, not Darwin, but popularly associated with evolutionary theory) was quickly, and often crudely, applied to human society, giving rise to Social Darwinism. This ideology, hijacked by bigots to justify laissez-faire capitalism, imperialism, and racial hierarchies, suggested that socioeconomic inequalities were merely the natural outcome of inherent biological differences. The fear that evolutionary theory would undermine traditional morality, compassion, and the sanctity of human life was widespread. If humans were merely advanced animals, subject to the same brutal laws of nature, what became of altruism, justice, and human dignity?
Philosophically, Darwinism caused humanity's dethronement from its special place in the cosmos. No longer the centerpiece of creation, humankind became one branch on a sprawling tree of life, its existence an outcome of natural processes. This new concept challenged the views of history and nature, raising troubling questions about purpose, meaning, and human exceptionalism.
These historical concerns about evolution find similarities in today's bioethical debates. The development of CRISPR gene-editing technology, for example, has generated discussions about "playing God" and altering the natural order. The prospect of making heritable changes to human DNA raises fears about consequences for future generations, for a new genetic enhancement, and for the creation of "designer babies." These concerns mirror the 19th-century worries about interfering with divine plans or the sanctity of the human form. Similarly, the field of synthetic biology, which aims to design and construct new biological parts, devices, and systems, evokes fears of creating artificial life and the overreach of human ambition, causing the same unease that accompanied the realization of humanity's own evolved, rather than created, nature. The debate around human enhancement, using biotechnology to treat disease and augment human capabilities, raises the same concerns as Social Darwinism and inequalities created by new biological rankings.
If Darwinism reshaped humanity's understanding of its origins and place in nature, splitting the atom and the subsequent development of nuclear weapons in the mid-20th century altered our relationship with power and our capacity for self-destruction. The scientific breakthroughs in nuclear physics, culminating in the Manhattan Project and the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, ushered in the Atomic Age, an era defined by both technological promise and dread.
The immediate impact was awe at the immense power unleashed, quickly followed by a moral reckoning and terror. The destructive capability of nuclear weapons, capable of annihilating entire cities in an instant, forced a global confrontation with the possibility of human-induced apocalypse. This fear became the psychological backdrop of the Cold War, shaping international relations, domestic policy, and popular culture for decades. The "duck and cover" drills and the anxiety about nuclear war left a mark on generations.
This era also brought ethical dilemmas for the scientists involved. Figures like J. Robert Oppenheimer, the scientific director of the Los Alamos Laboratory, famously quoted the Bhagavad Gita upon witnessing the first atomic test: "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." This "burden of knowledge," the realization that their pursuit of scientific truth had yielded a technology with catastrophic potential, weighed on its developers and policymakers in Washington D.C. The debate over the moral responsibility of scientists for the applications of their discoveries became a central theme, influencing discussions about scientific ethics and governance.
The Atomic Age fueled a fear of runaway technology and loss of control. The power of the atom seemed too great for humanity to manage responsibly. Concerns about nuclear accidents (later realized at Three Mile Island and Chernobyl), radioactive fallout, and the proliferation of atomic weapons to unstable regimes highlighted the risks of a technology whose consequences could be globally irreversible. These grave concerns led to public debate and activism regarding the governance and control of nuclear technology, resulting in international treaties like the Non-Proliferation Treaty and present-day efforts to manage nuclear materials and prevent their misuse.
The apprehensions of the Atomic Age are similar to debates surrounding Artificial Intelligence, particularly the prospect of Artificial General Intelligence (AGI) or superintelligence. The fear of an AI far surpassing human cognitive abilities and acting in ways misaligned with human values creates risk scenarios akin to nuclear annihilation. The "control problem" or "alignment problem" in AI research, ensuring that brilliant AI systems remain beneficial to humanity and do not pursue unintended or harmful goals, is the same as the historical challenge of controlling the power of nuclear weapons.
The development of autonomous weapons systems raises ethical concerns directly parallel to the moral weight of deploying devastating new weapons like the atomic bomb. The prospect of machines making life-or-death decisions on the battlefield without direct human intervention has raised concerns about accountability, moral responsibility, and escalating conflict. The "black box" nature of some advanced AI systems, where their decision-making processes are not fully transparent or understandable even to their creators, is like the mysterious and somewhat terrifying power attributed to the atom, fostering a fear of powerful technologies operating beyond human comprehension and control. The calls for AI safety research, ethical guidelines, and international governance for AI development are like the historical efforts to manage and regulate nuclear technology.
Across these historical and modern-day scientific transformations, several common threads of fear and response emerge. First, there is a human reaction to technologies that radically alter our understanding of the world or our capabilities. The inability to fully predict the long-term impacts of evolutionary theory, atomic power, gene editing, or AGI breeds fear. Next, a concern arises when scientific advancements allow humanity to commandeer roles or powers traditionally attributed to nature or a deity. These same public concerns are evident in reactions to Darwinism, in vitro fertilization, genetic engineering, and the pursuit of artificial general intelligence. Transformative science inevitably challenges moral beliefs, society, and economic systems. This disruption leads to resistance from those whose authority, livelihoods, or cherished beliefs are threatened. Consequently, each era grapples with the moral obligations of the scientists and innovators who bring new technologies into the world. The "Oppenheimer moment" resurfaces in the ethical soul-searching within the AI and biotech communities. Powerful scientific breakthroughs possess the capacity for both good and harm. Atomic energy can power cities or destroy them. Gene editing can cure disease or create new forms of inequality. AI can revolutionize healthcare and science or enable autonomous warfare and mass surveillance. Navigating this duality is a constant challenge. The pace of these changes is a problem in itself.
Recognizing these historical parallels does not suggest that current advancements are doomed to repeat past mistakes. Instead, it equips us with a better understanding of the dynamics that accompany transformative science. History teaches us that initial fears can sometimes be overblown or misdirected (like some early fears about Darwinism leading to complete moral collapse). However, they often point to genuine ethical considerations and downsides that require careful attention and visionary governance.
Today's challenge, as in Darwin's time and Oppenheimer's, is to navigate the path forward with wisdom, foresight, and strong ethical stewardship. This ethical stewardship requires facilitating complete and informed public debate about the implications of biotechnologies and AI, moving beyond sensationalism and fear to understand the complex trade-offs. It necessitates the development of adaptive governance structures, nationally and internationally, that can guide research and deployment responsibly before crises emerge. It demands a renewed emphasis on scientific literacy and critical thinking across society, enabling citizens to distinguish credible information from misinformation and to participate meaningfully in debates about our technological future. It also requires an acknowledgment of the dual-use nature of these powerful new tools, with a concerted effort to maximize their potential for human benefit while diligently working to mitigate their risks.
The consequences of past scientific upheavals are guideposts, and they cast a familiar light on our current bio-digital frontier. By understanding the anxieties and ethical reckonings accompanying evolution's discovery and the atom's splitting, we can better anticipate, understand, and wisely manage the transformations brought by our growing power over life and intelligence. The journey of scientific discovery is continuous, and each major advance forces us to confront the nature of the universe and humanity itself.
Darrell Lee is the founder and editor of The Long Views, he has written two science fiction novels exploring themes of technological influence, science and religion, historical patterns, and the future of society. His essays draw on these long-standing interests and apply a similar analytical lens to politics, literature, artistic, societal, and historical events. He splits his time between rural east Texas and Florida’s west coast, where he spends his days performing variable star photometry, dabbling in astrophotography, thinking, napping, fishing, and writing, not necessarily in that order.