The 52-year-old is far, far out there when it comes to envisioning where computing is headed. The nerve cells of a spiny lobster, he points out, can be hooked up to artificial neurons, as demonstrated in a recent experiment at the San Diego Institute for Nonlinear Science. "The biological neurons accepted their electronic peers," he says, smiling with the confidence of a visionary who is sure that one day we will all become one with our computers. In fact, if all goes according to Kurzweil's plan, in 2050 a copy of his brain - or "mindfile" - will give interviews like this one from a server.

The research community keeps coming up with tangible results to support his outlandish claims, from respected labs at MIT and Yale to startups like Molecular Electronics in Chicago and the nano-adventures at Texas-based Zyvex. News stories about DNA-based computing, next-generation chips grown in petri dishes and molecule-size nanorobots built from carbon atoms are in the headlines just as the race to decipher the human genome is drawing to a close. As high-tech angst spreads, Kurzweil welcomes these advances in his 1999 book, The Age of Spiritual Machines.

Is he disappointed that he received the United States' highest technology and science honor for research and development dating back to the 1970s and '80s - plain-old useful stuff running on people's desks, not in secret labs? Sitting in his pink- and cream-colored office on the outskirts of Boston, Kurzweil shakes his head. "First, I see myself as an inventor," he says over the hiss of two oversize air purifiers. "I enjoy seeing the positive impact technology has on people. My future work is an extension of that. It gives me the opportunity to think 20, 30 years out and not be limited. What I describe is not science fiction, but disciplined science futurism."

To the casual reader, Kurzweil's visioneering is at times hard to grasp. Berkeley philosopher John Searle has dismissed his writing as "preposterous science." Kurzweil contends he has it all figured out. By 2023, humanity will be able to replicate the capacity of the brain in a $1,000 machine. By 2037, the same apparatus will cost a penny. The gray matter of the entire human race will be available for $1,000 by 2049 and so forth.

The point is that next-generation computers will not only be intelligent, but also have a conscience that makes them indistinguishable from and even superior to their creators. Sometime around the middle of this century, Kurzweil predicts, the boundaries will blur between DNA-based intelligence and smart nonbiological entities, between life in the physical world and life as software.

At a recent symposium at Stanford University (dossier) he squared off with Sun's technology guru, Bill Joy, and other cutting-edge luminaries over the advent of spiritual robots. "I'm sometimes portrayed as the optimist, while Bill is considered the pessimist," says Kurzweil about the debate over emerging new technologies that flared up after Joy published a gloomy essay in Wired. [See "Re-engineering the Future," April 24.] While Joy warned of garage-grown pathogens and miniature robots that could wipe out civilization, Kurzweil's view on faster, smaller and more complex technology borders on theology.

"Evolution is the purpose of life," argues the MIT-trained scientist and entrepreneur. "It moves inexorably toward our conception of God." Kurzweil whips out a four-page response to Joy's treatise and elaborates. "I believe it's possible to design those technologies so they are safe. We have one to two decades before the threats [Joy warns against] are feasible, so there's a lot of time to develop countermeasures."

Adventurous execs at Net companies might salivate over the new world Kurzweil sees over the horizon. He says computational power has grown at a double-exponential rate since the late 19th century and won't slow down, even after Moore's Law is maxed out. The next paradigm - computing in three dimensions - will take over and speed up things even more.

By 2030, microscopic nanobots might be cruising our capillaries. Hooked up to a wireless local network, they could map your brain and make a downloadable copy of your "mindfile." Or they could take positions at all neuron connections of the five senses, shut off reality and provide a virtual experience jacked into the Web. Kurzweil sweeps his hand in front of his face and explains what sounds like a scene from The Matrix: "Am I really moving my hand or is it just a sensation created by virtual reality while I'm sitting still?"