THE IMPERFECT POSTHUMAN:

Warren Ellis and an uncanny contempt for the future

Courtney Billadeau

Posthumanism can be defined as a person "whose basic capacities so radically exceed those of present humans as to be no longer unambiguously human by our standards" (Bostrom, Transhumanist FAQ 5). In addition, transhumanism is referred to as the "transitional stage" for humans before reaching the posthuman goal. Usually through focusing "on the relationship between medical technology and living longer and being more beautiful", as defined in the article The Cost of Looking a Million Dollars. In frank terms, the posthuman solves the problems forced upon humanity by its sheer morality alone.

The movement of posthumanism is driven by a machine-centric pleasure center. The current transhumanism movement is the science fiction of the modern era--the topic is usually accompanied by images of robotic humans and cybernetic hybrids. There is always talk of plastic surgery, new medical technology, and advances in computer science. It is not, however, focused on the accomplishments of today; it is driven toward the new, "better" tomorrow. For writers that borrow the transhumanism scene, the idea is often disassembled from a retrospective point of view--the view from the future. And, depending on the writer's keenness of the future, posthumanism comes with mixed reviews.

Warren Ellis's work is no exception. His work in Transmetropolitan is, arguably, his most direct discussion of a posthumanist future. Yet, instead of seeing the optimistic prefection that many posthumanists hold dear, Ellis focuses on the filth. He writes a word of caution to readers: beware the posthuman.

Ellis commonly borrows transhuman and posthuman ideas to voice his concerns for the sanctity of humanity. A solid chunk of his writing in comics revolves around the typical 'lone hero'--all outcasts in their societies with an itch to protect the people who abandoned them. However, they are struggling not because they need to prove themselves to these society or prove something to themselves; they are vehicles of pure justice. They fix what is 'wrong' and protect what is 'right'.

For example, in Fell, our protagonist is a detective named Richard Fell, recently transferred into the dying sprawl of Snowtown. The city's apathetic authority system, lacking in any strong social structures like child services (Fell 103) and police force, has allowed the city to turn into a festering pit of crime, violence, and decay. Those who live there have come to accept the state of the city as a fact. Despite the odds, Detective Fell is single-handedly devoted to changing the social landscape.

However, Ellis's main characters are not usually so straightforward in their motivations. Detective Fell is something of a burn-out, but he has a great passion for the protection of the people he deems worthwhile in his eyes. The Transmetropolitan and Desolation Jones series take place in extremely advanced societies, completely foreign to the average reader today. But the main heroes that Ellis writes into these transhumanist communities are alien to them--they're still human.

There is some influence of the posthuman way of thinking on all of them, however. The epic of Transmetropolitan revolves around one wayward journalist determined unearth justice in an apathetic society much like the one Detective Fell lives in. The major difference between the two, however, is their role--Detective Fell will always be unpopular as a part of the law system in Snowtown, no matter how much truth he speaks. Spider Jerusalem, however, is a celebrity in The City, whether or not he wants it. His people hear what he says, though they don't necessarily listen or react. Jerusalem must consider how his writing reaches the transhumanist audience that no longer cares about the human condition they've abandoned for 'greater' purposes. At least, in his case, it's about simply speaking from the bottom of his contempt-riddled gut.

Desolation Jones gives the reader one unique Michael Jones to consider. He is an experiment, a kept of the government in his later life, and has no other direction to consider than the one that he currently treads. However, he takes what abilities have been given to him and uses them for personal goals. Jones has more of a general apathy toward the human condition than the rest of Ellis's characters--he witnesses his one partner-in-crime Robina die and, yet, doesn't react. Not even with shock (Desolation Jones 135). Yet, given his mission from the head of his department, Jones finds ways to weave something personal into the mix to give it meaning to himself.

These characters are strong examples of concerned humanists in a posthuman society, though with a sharper edge than, perhaps, some modern-day posthumanists would portray. Full of personal contradictions in character and distinct ideals of morality, Ellis focuses his stories not on the strange worlds he creates, but on the main character--the struggle of the last human in the posthuman society.