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Probability comes first Bostrom 02 (Professor in the Faculty of Philosophy at Oxford, Existential Risks: Analyzing Human Extinction
Scenarios and Related Hazards, Journal of Evolution and Technology, Volume 9, Number 1, Available Online at http://www.nickbostrom.com/existential/risks.html, Accessed 07-04-2011, JG) We can distinguish six qualitatively distinct types of risks based on their scope and intensity (figure 1). The third dimension, probability, can be superimposed on the two dimensions plotted in the figure. Other things equal, a risk is more serious if it has a substantial probability and if our actions can make that probability significantly greater or smaller.
Rapid turnover is nature's way of making sure that a species can keep up with changing circumstances and survive the long haul. But since humans have gone beyond basic biology, why not re-engineer ourselves for a lifetime without an end point? Or at
least for one where we outlast the Roman Empire? Well, it turns out there are problems... even beyond the tedium of boorish men. Let me first state that if we can pull this off -- cure death -- it's self-evident that we'll also obliterate the debilities of aging. You'll be healthy to the end. Nonetheless, there are countless gotchas for any descendants that have made themselves as indestructible as zombies. First off, they'll need to engineer a major societal revamp. You can't have kids every two years forever: we don't have the real estate. And of course, marriages would have an expiration date. A myriad of other social structures would also have to be rejiggered: Imagine the frustration of waiting for a tenure slot at the local college which, even after millennia, is still stuffed with its original faculty. Other difficulties are neither obvious nor tractable. For example, today more than 30,000 Americans die annually on the roads. That means you have a 50 percent chance of being taken out in an auto accident if you live for 3,600 years. So if we extend our lifetimes to thirty or forty centuries, using a car becomes an existential threat. You won't do it. That may make you a permanent homebody, sitting at your desk playing video games as the eons tick by. Not a pretty picture, and probably not a fragrant one either. Over the course of 3,600 years, you'd have a 4 percent
chance of dying in the tub, so bathing will be rare. And if you get hungry, you won't drive to the grocery store -you'll walk. Regrettably, you might not find any groceries. Farming is one of the most dangerous jobs around, and any farmer who lives long enough to fear riding in a car has had a more-than-even chance of being killed in the back forty. Incidentally, that's about the same death rate as mining coal, so we'll need to get those wind turbines built if you want electricity at home. Here's the problem in a nutshell: if we extend human lifetimes a lot -- to millennia, rather than centuries -- all the small risks you heedlessly take every day will have a devastating cumulative impact. Most jobs will become unattractive, because just about any occupation becomes, eventually, a deadly occupation. We'll automate nearly everything we can, and stay at home immersed in a virtual world. To accommodate this new lifestyle, software for our amusement will become more and more compelling. I mean, for how many centuries can you remain jazzed by "Grand Theft Auto"? I figure that "Roman Orgy III" would quickly be available for Xbox. Humans might become nothing more than protoplasmic containers for their nerve endings, since virtual experience will be the only kind of experience we'll have. Sure, this is an over-the-top scenario, but there's
society is made possible by the relatively short timescale of our lives. Extending our life spans a little is merely problematic. Extending them a lot demands a whole new paradigm. Otherwise, our future will be ugly and tedious, punctuated only by video games, dental appointments, and the occasional boorish lout.
Hodder and Martin 9 (Patrick, Bachelor of Arts HonoursBrian, professor of Social Sciences at the
University of WollongongClimate crisis? The politics of emergency framing Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 44, No. 36, 5 September 2009, pp. 53-60. http://www.bmartin.cc/pubs/09epw.html) MFR
In the early 1980s, a massive protest movement against nuclear war developed in Western Europe and the United States (Wittner 19932003). For many in this movement, stopping nuclear war was an emergency. But was framing the issue as paramount and urgent the best way to deal with the problem? on Hiroshima and Nagasaki on 6 and 9 August 1945, the governments of the United States and the Soviet Union rushed to develop massive nuclear arsenals. Many other governments considered obtaining nuclear weapons, and by 1964 the governments of Britain, France and China had exploded them. to nuclear arms from the very beginning, including among scientists. A major popular mobilisation occurred in the late 1950s, with a primary focus being fallout from nuclear tests being carried out by major powers. This movement led to the partial test ban treaty in 1963, but after that popular concern faded.
Opposition
popular . It was especially strong in Western Europe, the United States and a few other countries. Japan, in the aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, had long had a strong peace movement. In these countries in
nuclear war was by far the most prominent issue in terms of social movement mobilisation and media attention. For many, nuclear war was a matter of life and death: it was a make-or-break issue for humanity. In mid 1980, Helen Caldicott, a prominent antinuclear campaigner, told audiences "We have six months to save the world." The US election was in November that year, and she believed nuclear war was on the cards if Ronald Reagan was elected, so "saving the world" meant stopping Reagan from being elected. Caldicott successfully used scare tactics over many years to attract many people into the movement, but her style and exaggerations alienated others. At the time, many people believed that nuclear war meant the destruction of human civilisation or the end of human life on earth (Martin 1982a). Therefore, it might seem, stopping nuclear war from occurring should have been overwhelmingly important. What about the evidence? Strangely enough, there was little scientific backing for the belief that global nuclear war would kill everyone on earth (Martin, 1982b). Blast, heat and fallout would be devastating, but mainly in the areas targeted and downwind, with the likelihood of killing tens or hundreds of millions of people, mainly in western Europe, the Soviet Union and the United States. The majority of the world's population - in places such as Africa, South America and South Asia - would be unscathed. Writer Jonathan Schell in his book The Fate of the Earth argued that nuclear war could indeed lead to human extinction, something he called "the second death" - the first death being one's own death - and therefore the issue was of paramount importance (Schell, 1982). Schell's argument relied on the effects of ozone depletion and was not supported by scientific work at the time. In
the early 1980s,
scientists reported on new studies of the effect of dust and smoke lofted into the upper atmosphere by nuclear explosions and subsequent fires, blocking the sun and leading to lowered temperatures, a consequence called "nuclear winter." Although once again the spectre of extinction was hinted at, it was never likely that cold weather and darkness could kill everyone; it would affect countries in the northern hemisphere most severely (Pittock, 1987). Atmospheric scientist Carl Sagan used the prospect of nuclear winter to argue that immediate drastic cuts in nuclear arsenals were imperative (Sagan 1983-84). However, this seemed to have little effect on nuclear weapons states. While debates over the effects of nuclear war continued, this seemed to have little effect on popular opinion. After all, prior to nuclear winter studies, people already thought nuclear war was devastating. But this belief did not translate into popular action. With the end of the cold war in 1989, the international movement against nuclear war faded into virtual invisibility. Whereas in 1982 millions of people had marched against nuclear war, less than a decade later most peace organisations had shrunk to a few core campaigners.
1983,