IN "2001: A Space Odyssey," writer Arthur C. Clarke depicted a long upward arc of knowledge. The chattering of apes gave way to a Space Age of interplanetary exploration. And then a higher consciousness emerged, as an astronaut passed through an alien portal and was reborn as the Star Child. In the 1968 novel, science came in elegant forms: big brains pondering ontological questions, humanity hurling metal vessels into space by collective will.
Yet when Clarke died Wednesday, humans had yet to rendezvous with Jupiter or Saturn. Instead, we carry cellphones capable of playing "Oops! . . . I Did It Again."
In some ways, Clarke was a prophet. In a famous 1945 memo, he described satellites that would orbit the Earth every 24 hours, remaining fixed above the same point on the ground.
But science has followed a path far different from what Clarke envisioned in the 1960s. He held out international scientific cooperation as an alternative to Cold War terror, and saw space travel as a common aspiration for all humanity. Instead, technology has advanced according to the desires (and spending habits) of individuals. Medical therapies proliferate, because people want to stay alive. Electronic devices allow people to work faster, communicate with loved ones, and be entertained at all times.
Technology can have a dark side. For Clarke, it came in the form of the willful, artificially intelligent computer HAL. But the real threat lies in what technology enables humans to do to one another. The year 2001 will be infamous not for a disastrous manned mission to the outer solar system, but for an attack, coordinated via cellphone, on office buildings by hijacked jets.
Despite Clarke's utopian ideals, the march of science has not turned us all into star children. When pop songs ring out in our pockets, our humanity is on display, for all the bad and good that this entails.
