A Collective Discussion at the Collective

Photo by Mar Cerdeira on Unsplash

“Bah, you’re fucked in the head.”

“Maybe,” Elliot said. “But not like you. You two come back from the VR suites all zombified, having fucked yourselves silly all day. All I’m saying is that our little paradise has no meaning.”

Mariana walked into the small kitchen where her brother, Elliot, had cornered Cameron and David. He had probably waited all day for someone to come home and was in full swing. The two boys sat at the table while Elliot stood behind his chair, leaning into the table, berating the boys like a disappointed father. Cameron, tall and skinny, sat straight up, arms folded in defensive resolve. He was always satisfied to indulge Elliot’s arguments. David had just added a third beer bottle to the group of empties in front of him and was cracking a fourth. It wouldn’t be long before he lost his ability to communicate beyond grunts and wails and the occasional fragmented inside joke.

“Look at my sister. She makes things. She doesn’t… oh, hey, how was your appointment at the Human Relations Office?“ Elliot walked over and gave his sister a sympathetic hug. “What stupid assignments did they give you?”

“It was actually sort of strange, and kind of interesting. Frau Wittmann asked me a lot about my experiences.”

“Oh God. Are they going to monitor you? What did they already know? Do they want you to stop making your experiences?”

“No, no. I think she was actually really interested?”

“Interested? They’re just mindless organic robots, just like their mindless robot bosses. They’re not interested in anything.”

“Oh Elliot.” Mariana hugged him back tightly. “It was fine. All I have to do is make a 20 percent referenda quota and do three hours a month of referenda research and feedback.”

“That’s not bad,” Cameron said. “How much are they giving you?”

Mariana looked over and said dismissively, “Oh, I declined any payments.”

Elliot’s eyes lit up. “See, that’s what I’m talking about.” He was back on his soapbox and back at the table. Mariana smiled to herself and peeled an orange over the sink. She grabbed the nearest dishtowel and dabbed at the ends of her wet hair. She turned around to observe the interaction and leaned against the countertop. It was your standard Berlin kitchen: long and thin. One long wall housed the sink, the stove and a small counter for preparing food. The small table stuck out lengthwise from the other wall, giving occupants almost no room to pass. The window at one end offered a view of the small common area four floors down, littered with beer bottles and the occasional city trash bin. The first floor of the building was covered with graffiti, unreadable smooth lines painted by the phantom artists that no one ever actually saw—only the evidence of their presence. A sliver of black sky could be seen above.

“We don’t need to take anything from those machines. People should deal with people. Politics is a messy business. It’s an actual job that requires work and knowledge and an understanding of what it is to be human. You can’t reduce it to software code and probabilities.”

Cameron interrupted. “That’s why we have Human Relations Consultants and the Committee of Advisors. We already thought of that.”

“Yeah!” David said, almost yelling in his gravelly, drunken voice. He almost tipped over in his chair from the effort.

“Robots, all of them,” Elliot said. “The HRCs and the Human Relations Office are just figureheads, like the fucking queen of England. They tell us we’re in control with all of our referenda, but do you even know of anyone that made a suggestion that made it past the Committee of Advisors?”

“I made one that said we should all get a free ice cream cone on Fridays!” David said, half slurring. “My H-R-C said I have to come up with one a week. 35,000 people signed it!” He laughed at that and took another deep swill from his beer bottle.

“Christ.” Elliot said to himself.

“Whatever you want,” Cameron said, “just fucking do it. The Office gives us whatever we want. Make a referendum; if it doesn’t get approved, make it again and campaign. We have the power here Elliot. My friend who works down at the VR suite has a buddy who was the one who suggested they repeal the ban on obscenity in the VR industry. It was approved, you know it.”

“I’ll make a referendum to bring back civil society,” Elliot said. “This bullshit direct democracy only results in legislation about VR and fucking ice cream cones. We need people who know what they’re doing, who take the psychological and spiritual needs of actual people into account.”

David growled, “Go to church!” and let out a loud, open-mouthed laugh.

“Society is in complete shambles,” Elliot went on, ignoring David. “We’ve basically eradicated half the core pillars that keep a society functioning.” He stuck out his hand and counted on his fingers. “Spirituality, politics, business… the only thing keeping this whole mess propped up is the fact that everyone is so numb from VR and beer to notice.”

Cameron objected to this. “Listen man, I barely drink and I spend maybe two days a week at the VR suite. I spend most of my free time programming for your sister, not because I’m some revolutionary, but because I believe in what she’s doing and I think it’s beautiful.

We got rid of those things because they were killing us. Business corrupted government, which was already corrupt all on its own. So, no more politicians, no more businessmen, problem solved. We got rid of religion because we were sick of people using it to kill each other. Besides, it’s not like we chose to get rid of it—people just got sick of it and gave it up on their own. Anyway, there’s a fucking priest on the Council of Advisors.”

“I don’t think people gave up on it Cameron,” Elliot said. “Have you heard about that temple thing that went up over on Uhlandstrasse?”

“No.”

Elliot’s voice softened, “I went there the other day and picked up some literature. There were maybe a hundred people there, totally normal people, no robes, no shaved heads, just people talking to each other. Just a second.” He jumped up and walked quickly out of the kitchen.

David reached behind and opened the window before lighting a cigarette. He took a drag and looked down at the table and mumbled something to himself.

Cameron turned to Mariana, who took David’s actions as a license to smoke her own. “Mariana, you really should’ve asked for some money. We could use a little extra around here.”

Mariana sighed as she blew out a cloud of smoke. “Cameron, you know how I feel about this. Plus, I would never hear the end of it…” She gestured toward the hallway with her head.

“That’s true.” Cameron gave it up. “Well, I’m hoping to finish those changes you wanted for the new program tonight. This one was so easy. Do you have anything in mind for the next project?”

She walked over and stood next to David and gave him a one-armed hug from the side and looked down at him the way someone looks at their young child who doesn’t know any better. “Something with music,” she said.

Elliot practically ran back into the kitchen and slapped a thick stack of pamphlets onto the table. “Take a look at this stuff,” he said to Cameron. “You too Mariana.”

They both picked up a pamphlet and began reading.

What has become of the human race?

Perhaps our society, so flush with machines, makes us feel that we are one of them. Perhaps it is only the natural philosophy of our time. But is the organic machine a fair comparison? Neural networks and circuit boards are close enough, but humans created circuit boards. In their own image, perhaps?

Who is the Great Programmer? Who or what wrote the code? Machines have no purposes. They are given purposes. We find ourselves in the same philosophical quandary as those who assert the existence of God.

If it is true that free will is an illusion, it is the grand illusion. All of our struggles, the movement of peoples and nations, toil and work, searching and discovery, ideas, hope, plans, love and hate, likes and dislikes, communication, justice, laws, values and all of human endeavor are for naught.

People are driven by purposes—composed of countless smaller purposes—which are driven by values that are decided upon by each person’s inner search for truth, fulfillment and their imaginings of what a good life might be. We come to these purposes by observing and judging the world and people around us. “Do they live the good life?” we ask. “How can I benefit?” we wonder. “What must I do to be who I want to be?” we muse. And if we are willing, we speak about what we want and it comes to life. We ask ourselves if it can be done and decide that it can. We transcend our current reality and begin to move through it, leaving waves and ripples o change in our wake. We find out how it can be done and we act to bring about actualization. It is that beautiful and mysterious creative process by which every human to have ever lived has generated his or her own personal reality.

We set our own agendas and we fight against social, financial and personal constraints. Yet we all achieve in our own way. We are the Great Programmer. We write the code.

Join us in a re-discovery of ourselves.

“Jesus, Elliot,” Cameron said after a moment. “It’s like you could have written this yourself.”

“I know! I’m going to try and find whoever is in charge over there and see what we can do together. I’m going tomorrow; do you want to come with me?” He looked around the table, posing the question to everyone present. No one said anything for a moment. Elliot kept looking at them.

“Ok.”

“Sure.”

Mariana and Cameron agreed. David let out a long, low, drunken “Nooooo” in a decrescendo that ended with him putting his now-empty beer bottle down precariously on the table, slowly getting up and stumbling out of the kitchen.