Humanity's Past and Distant Future

The word “transhumanism” might sound strange at first. But transhumanism, properly understood, is deeply familiar to anyone raised in the Latter-day Saint tradition.

At its simplest, transhumanism is the idea that human beings can and should use technology to improve the human condition⁠—to overcome our limitations and enhance our well-being. It takes seriously the possibility that we are not finished products but beings in process, capable of becoming more than we currently are.

Sound familiar?

LDS president Wilford Woodruff put it this way:

“If there was a point where humanity in its progression could not proceed any further, the very idea would throw a gloom over every intelligent and reflecting mind. Our heavenly parents are increasing and progressing in knowledge, power, and dominion, and will do so, worlds without end. It is just so with us.”¹

This is the doctrine of eternal progression. Transhumanism, as we understand it, is simply the application of this principle to our present circumstances. The term comes from the Latin trans, meaning “across” or “beyond.” To be transhuman is not to be static; it is to be in transition. And isn’t that exactly what mortality is?

In the Book of Abraham, we find a remarkable account of the creation. Unlike Genesis, which emphasizes God speaking and things instantly appearing, Abraham’s vision shows us something different: the Gods counseling together, organizing materials, and then—here is the key phrase—“watching those things which they had ordered until they obeyed” (Abraham 4:18).

The Gods did not simply command and receive instant compliance. They established conditions and then waited as things unfolded. They gave space for obedience to emerge.

This tells us something profound. If the goal of the Gods is to create other gods⁠—beings capable of independent thought, moral agency, and eventually participation in creation itself⁠—then the method matters enormously. You cannot produce genuine autonomy through micromanagement. Gods who wish to create creators must step back enough to allow their creations space to develop, struggle, choose, and ultimately become.

Our universe is designed not primarily to minimize suffering, but to foster conditions in which ever-increasing complexity, intelligence, and moral agency can emerge naturally. This hints at a response to common complaints about God’s apparent non-intervention: if God readily prevented every hardship, the very goal of helping us achieve theosis would be thwarted. We would remain forever children.

And so we find ourselves here: the product of billions of years of cosmic evolution⁠—stars forming and exploding, planets coalescing, life emerging and growing ever more complex⁠—all of it part of the Gods’ patient work of creating the conditions in which beings like us could emerge and begin our journey toward becoming like them.

Here’s something that might surprise you: we’ve been transhuman from the beginning. Our wielding of controlled fire enabled us to cook our food, modifying our very anatomy and allowing us to develop larger brains. Fire literally changed our bodies and made us capable of greater intelligence. Our invention of clothing allowed us to spread throughout the globe. Our use of tools is a core characteristic separating us from other animals.

We think of technology as something futuristic⁠—smartphones, robots, artificial intelligence. But a stone knife is technology. Writing is technology. Agriculture, the printing press, antibiotics⁠—all technology.

And it extends beyond physical tools. Religion, arts, culture, law, governance⁠—these are social technologies that enable us to organize ourselves in new ways. The Church itself, with its wards and stakes, callings and councils, is a social technology for building Zion.

The most effective technologies fade into the background until we no longer notice them. They become extensions of ourselves. This has been happening for as long as there have been humans.

In Latter-day Saint theology, we have a unique understanding of the Fall. Unlike traditions that view Adam and Eve’s choice as purely tragic, we see it as a necessary step forward. “Adam fell that men might be,” Lehi taught, “and men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25).

Eve partook of the fruit so humanity could gain knowledge of good and evil⁠—and we honor her for that courageous choice. The Fall was, in an important sense, a rise⁠—an ascent into greater awareness and moral responsibility.

Whether we understand Eden as a literal place or as a profound symbol of humanity’s emergence into moral awareness, the pattern is the same: we began in innocence and transitioned into knowledge, choice, and accountability. With that knowledge came the capacity for greater harm as well as greater good⁠—but also everything we value most: love freely given, virtue genuinely chosen, and the capacity to become like our Heavenly Parents.

Many people yearn to return to a simpler past⁠—to undo the Fall and recover lost innocence. But scripture doesn’t promise us a return to Eden. It promises something better: the City of Zion, a celestial kingdom we build through our labors guided by divine grace. We are not meant to go backward to the garden; we are meant to go forward to the city.

Paleological evidence confirms there never was a golden age of innocence. Research shows that as soon as our ancestors developed the capability to impact their environment, they did so⁠—often devastatingly, driving megafauna to extinction across continents. The Fall brought with it the capacity for both great good and great harm. Cain slew Abel in the very first generation.

There is no Eden to return to⁠—only Zion to build.

This brings us to a teaching from Brigham Young that captures the essence of what we’re about:

“Allow me to inform you that you are in the midst of it all now, that you are in just as good a kingdom as you will ever attain to, from now to all eternity, unless you make it yourselves by the grace of God, by the will of God, by the eternal Priesthood of God, which is a code of laws perfectly calculated to govern and control eternal matter. If you and I do not by this means make that better kingdom which we anticipate, we shall never enjoy it. We can only enjoy the kingdom we have labored to make.”²

The celestial kingdom is not somewhere else, waiting for us to arrive. It must be made⁠—by us, through divine grace, according to eternal laws. Heaven is not merely a reward to be received; it is a project to be undertaken.

Think about how the early Saints built temples. They didn’t wait for angels to construct them. They quarried stone, fired bricks, carved wood⁠—using the best technology available. God revealed the design; the Saints built it with their hands. The same principle applies to building Zion.

We usually think of technology as helping with physical or intellectual tasks. But what if technology could also help us become more virtuous?

Recently, scientists developed medications for diabetes that unexpectedly helped people lose weight by reducing appetite. Then something surprising happened: patients reported reduced cravings for alcohol. People who had struggled for years with drinking found it easier to quit. Others reported less interest in gambling or other compulsive behaviors. Researchers also discovered these medications have rejuvenating effects on various organ systems.

What’s happening? Our ancestors developed in environments of scarcity. The drive to consume calorie-dense foods was adaptive⁠—those who stored fat survived famines. But in environments of abundance, these same drives work against us. We’re running outdated software.

These medications help update that software, modulating the brain’s reward systems to reduce cravings. Users describe feeling more in control, more able to make choices aligned with their values.

Some might object: isn’t that cheating? But we don’t think eyeglasses are “cheating” at seeing. We accept that our bodies have limitations. Why treat the brain differently?

The scriptures teach that “the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Matthew 26:41). What if technology could strengthen the flesh so the willing spirit can prevail? This doesn’t replace spiritual development⁠—it creates conditions where it can happen more effectively.

Let me paint some pictures of what might be possible as we build heaven.

Cities for human flourishing. Urban planners are developing “15-minute cities” where all daily necessities are accessible within a 15-minute walk or bike ride. Instead of building around automobiles, these communities prioritize more efficient and humane forms of transport: walking, cycling, buses, and trains. This is how cities developed before the automobile age. Côte d’Ivoire and other African nations have the opportunity to leapfrog the mistakes of car-dependent societies⁠—to build cities for people rather than vehicles, creating communities that foster connection, health, and sustainability rather than isolation, pollution, and congestion.

Abundant clean energy. Solar power is becoming dramatically cheaper every year. Across Africa, blessed with abundant sunshine, solar is now often the cheapest electricity source. On the horizon, nuclear fusion may eventually provide virtually limitless clean energy. The Doctrine and Covenants declares: “For the earth is full, and there is enough and to spare” (D&C 104:17). Abundant clean energy could be how this divine promise becomes reality for all God’s children.

Food without scarcity. Vertical farming grows food using 70–95% less water, without pests or pesticides. Precision fermentation may soon create proteins and nutrients far more efficiently than traditional agriculture⁠—up to 100 times more land efficient. For regions where climate change threatens traditional farming, these technologies offer hope.

Health and longer life. Researchers are targeting fundamental mechanisms of aging. Some predict age-reversing therapies within decades. For Latter-day Saints, this resonates with scriptural promises of patriarchs living centuries and millennial people living to the age of a tree.

Resurrection as cooperative work. Latter-day Saint theology affirms the literal resurrection of the body. But here is something remarkable: Brigham Young taught that we ourselves would participate in resurrecting our deceased loved ones. Joseph Smith said we must learn to be gods “by going from one small degree to another… until you attain to the resurrection of the dead.”³ Not until you receive it⁠—until you attain it. As if resurrection is something we learn to do, not just something done to us.

I call this vision “celestial forensics.” We are already becoming gatherers of sacred evidence⁠—preserving photos, digitizing letters, recording stories, saving the patterns of our loved ones’ lives. The same spirit of Elijah that sends us to dusty archives and cemetery records may someday send us to quantum computers and DNA synthesizers. Information persists. Patterns leave traces. The universe remembers. And we are learning, degree by degree, to participate with God in the defeat of death itself.

The Mormon Transhumanist Association is a community that takes seriously both the restored gospel and the possibilities of science and technology. We believe God expects us to use every tool available to build the kingdom. We believe heaven is not elsewhere but here, waiting to be made real by our labor, guided by divine grace.

We don’t worship technology. We recognize every powerful tool can be used for good or ill. But we refuse to be afraid of progress. We refuse to retreat into nostalgia for a golden age that never existed.

The Gods watched and waited as their creations learned to obey. The Fall was not a tragic mistake⁠—it was the beginning of our journey toward godhood. That journey continues today as we learn, grow, create, and build. We cannot return to Eden; but we can, with God’s help, build Zion.

As Brigham Young taught: “We can only enjoy the kingdom we have labored to make.”

Let us labor, then. Let us learn. Let us build. Heaven is not somewhere else. It is here, in Abidjan, in every place where God’s children dwell, waiting to emerge from our faithful work.