Resident Evil: the final chapter (paul w.s. anderson, 2016)
"Sometimes it feels like I've been doing this my whole life."
We talked a little briefly about the simulacrum theory the other day, but let's look at it in more detail here. As the story goes... Elon Musk was sitting in a hot tub talking about the game Pong. For those who don't know, Pong was the first computer game. A kind of 'tennis' game where you controlled a 2D 'stick,' moving it up and down to hit a 2D square, which is the 'ball' in the game. The core of the conversation was 'Pong was only X years ago, and computer graphics have improved so much in the X years since then, and because technological advances are both teleological, and accelerating, we can expect that games will be indistinguishable from real life in X years.' This point is extrapolated to the idea that we have already reached that point, and in fact our understanding of 'the now' *is* a simulacrum. A computer simulation that is so real we don't know it isn't real. Added to that is the possibility that we're just computer game characters: sentient, but part of a programme. And if it's not that, then we're something else, something that has no memory of its 'otherness' and is only aware of this 'reality' that we're in. Pretty heady, right?
Now you might find all kinds of issues with this conclusion. Such as 'If this development is inevitable then why does that necessarily mean it's already happened?,' etc, etc, etc? But let's go nuts and imagine that all of this stuff going on around us *is* a simulation. You're born in a computer game, you 'grow up,' and then you 'die.' What difference does it really make if you're doing this in a flesh suit, or if you're doing this as a line of code? The answer can vary between 'none at all' and 'a whole bunch' with a sliding scale between those two points. We're still seeking answers as to what we're doing here. We still obsess over what is the right way to spend our time here. Whether this ends with oblivion or with a reawakening that has no memory of the existence you just lived is all much of a muchness. This life ends. This existence is finite.
Jonathan Safran Foer recently (I say recently, it was a few years ago) wrote a piece on our existence with technology, and made the observation that we're using technology to replace particular 'face to face' interactions. Not just that, but as we continued, exploring voice messages, text messages, and email (and their subsequent evolutionary forms), we began to prefer the use of a diminished substitute for human interaction. Not only that, but as our use of language has become increasingly about the message itself, rather than the human interaction of the people communicating the messages, we've become people who are used to saying little, and subsequently people who are used to feeling little.
You might disagree with this, but recently I watched a room full of teenagers tell their parents how they really felt about themselves and their family. Not in a negative way. Not in an accusatory way. But in a way that was filled with love and compassion and feeling. I watched a tall girl tell her father that she would no longer be intimidated by her height, would no longer slouch and be afraid of who she was, but would stand tall and proud, and that she loved her father for everything he had given her. While my internal policeman was leaning close to me and whispering 'flow my tears' I turned to look at the father. Eyes as dry as the dust to which we all return. "But this is just one example, Ben" yes, yes it is, but the example repeated itself several times. I'm witnessing the ultimate outpouring of emotion, and people either don't know what to do with that feeling, or are resisting the human response. Neither conclusion is particularly delightful.
Now no one really knows why we cry, or why some people don't cry, and there's too much to go into in detail this time. But one element to focus on is that crying opens you up. It shows you as vulnerable, and displaying that vulnerability subsequently opens up the possibility of connection with other human beings. You know, those pieces of code that walk around you all the time and 'appear' to be people. Cord Benecke ran a study of people who cry versus people who don't and came to the conclusion that those who don't have less connection to the world around them, and are more likely to withdraw, and describe their relationships negatively. They also experienced far more negative feelings, such as rage, hatred, and distrust. The lesson here? Far better to cry.
Elon Musk gets out of the hot tub, he says his fingers are pruning up, and I'm just about to leave when there's a voice that invites me to play a game of chess. I look over, surprised because I was completely unaware that anyone else was in the tub - maybe they got in when I wasn't looking? That's kind of hard to believe, but then I'm finding it difficult to gauge the dimensions of this hot tub anyway, let alone the room we're in. How big is this place? Not a clue. Anyway - the voice. I look up and see that the speaker is Ukrainian born model turned actress Milla Jovovich. She has a chess board set up in front of her, one where the pieces are different colours to the norm, not white and black. I figure that it would be rude to turn down her offer of a game of chess and so we play, but there's something weird. It starts early, with the movement of a pawn. She moves the pawn in a way that I'm not familiar with. We all know that pawns move one square forward at a time, apart from that opening move where they can move two squares if you like, and that they take on the diagonal, and that they have the 'en passant' move if you're set up for it and choose to make it. But Milla makes another move. One I haven't seen before. And that's only for the pawn. As the game goes on she continues doing this with the other pieces, all making moves that I'm unfamiliar with and which makes the game extremely difficult. I can't predict the next move. I can't find a safe space. And before I know it, the game is over. At this point I'm about to suggest a second game, and look back up at Milla Jovovich, right into her eyes, and it's at this point that I realise that we are married, have been married for many years, and it is with her eyes filled with tears, and to the strains of a piece of music by Max Richter, that Milla reads me a letter which she has memorised, a letter which I know I've heard before, and had hoped to never hear again:
"Dearest,
I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will, I know. You see I can’t even say this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. M."
We talked a little briefly about the simulacrum theory the other day, but let's look at it in more detail here. As the story goes... Elon Musk was sitting in a hot tub talking about the game Pong. For those who don't know, Pong was the first computer game. A kind of 'tennis' game where you controlled a 2D 'stick,' moving it up and down to hit a 2D square, which is the 'ball' in the game. The core of the conversation was 'Pong was only X years ago, and computer graphics have improved so much in the X years since then, and because technological advances are both teleological, and accelerating, we can expect that games will be indistinguishable from real life in X years.' This point is extrapolated to the idea that we have already reached that point, and in fact our understanding of 'the now' *is* a simulacrum. A computer simulation that is so real we don't know it isn't real. Added to that is the possibility that we're just computer game characters: sentient, but part of a programme. And if it's not that, then we're something else, something that has no memory of its 'otherness' and is only aware of this 'reality' that we're in. Pretty heady, right?
Now you might find all kinds of issues with this conclusion. Such as 'If this development is inevitable then why does that necessarily mean it's already happened?,' etc, etc, etc? But let's go nuts and imagine that all of this stuff going on around us *is* a simulation. You're born in a computer game, you 'grow up,' and then you 'die.' What difference does it really make if you're doing this in a flesh suit, or if you're doing this as a line of code? The answer can vary between 'none at all' and 'a whole bunch' with a sliding scale between those two points. We're still seeking answers as to what we're doing here. We still obsess over what is the right way to spend our time here. Whether this ends with oblivion or with a reawakening that has no memory of the existence you just lived is all much of a muchness. This life ends. This existence is finite.
Jonathan Safran Foer recently (I say recently, it was a few years ago) wrote a piece on our existence with technology, and made the observation that we're using technology to replace particular 'face to face' interactions. Not just that, but as we continued, exploring voice messages, text messages, and email (and their subsequent evolutionary forms), we began to prefer the use of a diminished substitute for human interaction. Not only that, but as our use of language has become increasingly about the message itself, rather than the human interaction of the people communicating the messages, we've become people who are used to saying little, and subsequently people who are used to feeling little.
You might disagree with this, but recently I watched a room full of teenagers tell their parents how they really felt about themselves and their family. Not in a negative way. Not in an accusatory way. But in a way that was filled with love and compassion and feeling. I watched a tall girl tell her father that she would no longer be intimidated by her height, would no longer slouch and be afraid of who she was, but would stand tall and proud, and that she loved her father for everything he had given her. While my internal policeman was leaning close to me and whispering 'flow my tears' I turned to look at the father. Eyes as dry as the dust to which we all return. "But this is just one example, Ben" yes, yes it is, but the example repeated itself several times. I'm witnessing the ultimate outpouring of emotion, and people either don't know what to do with that feeling, or are resisting the human response. Neither conclusion is particularly delightful.
Now no one really knows why we cry, or why some people don't cry, and there's too much to go into in detail this time. But one element to focus on is that crying opens you up. It shows you as vulnerable, and displaying that vulnerability subsequently opens up the possibility of connection with other human beings. You know, those pieces of code that walk around you all the time and 'appear' to be people. Cord Benecke ran a study of people who cry versus people who don't and came to the conclusion that those who don't have less connection to the world around them, and are more likely to withdraw, and describe their relationships negatively. They also experienced far more negative feelings, such as rage, hatred, and distrust. The lesson here? Far better to cry.
Elon Musk gets out of the hot tub, he says his fingers are pruning up, and I'm just about to leave when there's a voice that invites me to play a game of chess. I look over, surprised because I was completely unaware that anyone else was in the tub - maybe they got in when I wasn't looking? That's kind of hard to believe, but then I'm finding it difficult to gauge the dimensions of this hot tub anyway, let alone the room we're in. How big is this place? Not a clue. Anyway - the voice. I look up and see that the speaker is Ukrainian born model turned actress Milla Jovovich. She has a chess board set up in front of her, one where the pieces are different colours to the norm, not white and black. I figure that it would be rude to turn down her offer of a game of chess and so we play, but there's something weird. It starts early, with the movement of a pawn. She moves the pawn in a way that I'm not familiar with. We all know that pawns move one square forward at a time, apart from that opening move where they can move two squares if you like, and that they take on the diagonal, and that they have the 'en passant' move if you're set up for it and choose to make it. But Milla makes another move. One I haven't seen before. And that's only for the pawn. As the game goes on she continues doing this with the other pieces, all making moves that I'm unfamiliar with and which makes the game extremely difficult. I can't predict the next move. I can't find a safe space. And before I know it, the game is over. At this point I'm about to suggest a second game, and look back up at Milla Jovovich, right into her eyes, and it's at this point that I realise that we are married, have been married for many years, and it is with her eyes filled with tears, and to the strains of a piece of music by Max Richter, that Milla reads me a letter which she has memorised, a letter which I know I've heard before, and had hoped to never hear again:
"Dearest,
I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will, I know. You see I can’t even say this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. M."