Stephen King’s “The End of All This” is a vivid dystopia that warns us about the classic trap of good intentions paving the road to, well, you know where. But let’s look deeper and soberly assess the main mistakes of the characters and how they could have been avoided.
The main character, Robert, discovered that the water in the town of La Plata possesses unique chemical properties that suppress aggression and the propensity for violence. Driven by a sincere and understandable dream to rid humanity of violence, he decides to disperse a similar substance across the entire world, using a volcanic eruption as a delivery mechanism. The experiment initially seems successful—the level of violence in the world drops to zero. However, a terrible side effect soon emerges: the substance causes an irreversible decline in intelligence, gradually turning people into helpless beings incapable of taking care of themselves or maintaining civilization.
As we can see, Robert messed up big time. Instead of reasonably and cautiously testing his idea, he simply sprayed a poorly studied drug on all of humanity at once, “flooding” the planet with unknown chemistry via a volcano. This is roughly like finding an old canister in the garage and pouring it straight into a new Mercedes without any checks. Naturally, the consequences were disastrous: aggression vanished, but brains melted right along with it.
Robert’s main mistake was not the desire to change “human nature,” but the absence of elementary caution and common sense. In a developed society, no one would apply radical methods without long-term research; moreover, “forced therapy” for all of humanity contradicts the very spirit of libertarianism. Coercion is only permissible toward those who have already violated the NAP by committing violence. It is with such people that cautious, gradual, and carefully controlled experiments should have begun.
How might this have looked in practice? Instead of turning the entire planet into guinea pigs, he could have started with small groups of particularly dangerous criminals. If society in some countries allows execution for heinous crimes, why not first try a much more humane and promising alternative—drugs to enhance violence inhibition? One could gradually observe the effects of the drug over years, record side effects, improve the formula, and only expand its application after full certainty. And even then, as a mandatory requirement without the right of choice, it should apply exclusively to those who have already initiated violence.
There is a whole set of tools for reducing catastrophic risks that our hero completely ignored. First and foremost is staging and gradualism—start small, observe, and correct. “Measure seven times, cut once,” not the other way around. Next is targeted application—limit use exclusively to aggressors rather than spraying “happiness” on everyone indiscriminately. This is simply more ethical and effective. Then comes independent oversight and transparency—scientists, ethicists, and supervisory boards acting as a system of checks and balances to eliminate the errors of a single genius (no matter how much he wanted everyone’s well-being). And finally, reversibility—the ability to roll back changes or minimize damage at the first signs of a problem. After all, transhumanism is not about playing Russian roulette with brains, but about controlling biology for the sake of expanding freedom.
Robert’s problem was not that he tried to hack human nature, but that he did it sloppily and hastily. When dealing with powerful tools like biohacking or biotech, responsibility and awareness of the consequences are vital. Here, the “do no harm” principle applies with an adjustment for progress: change whatever you like, but don’t break the whole planet in the process. The conclusion here is simple: hacking “human nature” is possible and even necessary, especially if it brings more freedom and less suffering, but it must be done intelligently so that instead of a brave new world, we don’t end up trapped by our own overconfidence.
