The Problem of Humanity

So, 3S10: The Saving Remnant (my book)


has 'The Ageing Crisis' as one of its main themes. Sample:

CRAIG – MAIDA’S DAD


Craig was out having a puff around the back. Maida would bollock him if he did it in the flat. Puff. Ah. He rolled the fag around between his thumb and index finger.
Keep schtum, Craigie, he advised himself. Schtums the Word, Craigie. Just make sure you, Craigie, come out the other end more-or-less whole, I mean, it’s not going to help anyone, including the family, if you go AWOL, like the fag-ends in this here rose-bush, is it? Fag ends – stub ‘em out and discard. May be better for all in the long run, hey, Craigie? We get the ones we all know are basket cases, but  you’re not allowed to write on their notes, “basket case, dump at earliest opportunity”. All very well for them up there to pontificate at length about “human dignity” and shit – but they’re not dealing with lack of human dignity, they’re not dealing with the shit, literally shit, on the ground, every sodding day of the sodding week for a barely fucking living wage. Must get out, Craigie, must get out.
‘You getting ready or what?’ came Maida’s voice from within.
‘Coming,’ he said. He dumped the fag end on the crumbled concrete path which cut the “garden” into two equal halves, ground it out with his heel and kicked the remains under the rose-bush. Which flowered every year, regardless. Must like nicotine, Craig thought. Do rose-bushes get lung cancer? Nah – they ain’t got any lungs, dumbo. Still. Wonder if the roses will turn out nicotine brown next year?
Maida was sitting in front of her make-up table, doing her face.
‘You know what?’ said Craig
‘What?’ asked Maida.
‘It ain’t right.’
‘What’s not right now?’ she asked.
‘These people – and your Dad. He’s not dead.’
‘Did I leave my lipstick on the dining room table?’
‘You’re not listening, are you?’ said Craig.
‘What did you say? Can you get me my lipstick – I’ll be ready quicker, then we won’t be late for the film.’
Craig went and got the lipstick. Of course they were going to be late. They were always late. For everything. They should invent a special clock for women, he thought. One which always ran 10 minutes ahead of itself. 
‘20 years ago he’d be as dead as a doorknob,’ he said, coming back into the bedroom.
‘Who’d be as dead as a door – you mean doornail, not doorknob, ‘said Maida. She stood up and pirouetted in the way women do, squinting at herself with one eye at the mirror at the same time.
‘Are you ready to go?’
‘Your father,’ said Craig.
‘What? My father? He seemed quite lively when I saw him yesterday.’
‘Been ready for hours,’ said Craig. ‘That’s it. 20 years ago he’d have been dead as a whatever as they didn’t have the treatments – and drugs – we have nowadays. But is that a good thing?’
‘What, that he would be dead or is dead or is alive or what? What exactly are you getting at, Craig? You wishing my dad was dead?’
‘I’m not wishing anything on anyone. I’m just … thinking.’

‘You gonna go and tell him to his face he ought to be dead, then, huh?’

 ............................................................................................................................................................

This theme winds thru' the book, whose central pretext may be enunciated as:

‘Never before in history have you had to consciously decide when to die, or to be allowed to die, or made to die (bluntly, to be killed off). Nature used to take care of all of that. No more. Now you have to consciously decide. And you can’t, can you? Morally, ethically, medically, emotionally, socially – you cannot decide. It’s simple, then, isn’t it? We decide for you. Problem solved.’ (AMI - Advanced Machine Intelligence) 

 The 'solution' to 'the problem of humanity' is AI-takeover, in other words.

Are other people talking about this? Margaret Drabble, for one, seems to be: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/nov/13/dark-flood-rises-margaret-drabble-review


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