The second front of the dust storm that enveloped most of the eastern seaboard this week has passed through. 75 000 tonnes of dirt every hour she dropped at her peak. That's impressive, and to use the older meaning of the word - awesome.
Which is to say that today is dusting, mopping, vacuuming, washing, and generally tidying day. It is days like this, when I realise there is far far too much stuff in my house. And each of those little surfaces is now dirty, and each of them needs a particular type of attention, and none of them have a clean place to be set down once they have been done. If I think about it like a great big puzzle, I'll get through it - or at least far enough through today that I can finish off or give up at my leisure another time. If only one could clean in this way with fire. There would be no reticence on my part to engage, however fire doesn't quite work that way, especially not against earth, so I shall have to persevere with water and air.
I went to see a play yesterday - The Trail of the Catonsville Nine - with thanks to The Monthly. Not only is it the best magazine in Australia, but as a subscriber you can sometimes win treats. The play is being presented here as part of the Brisbane Festival and without the email from the Monthly, I wouldn't even have known there was a BF on, let alone got out of Trash City for the day to participate. It is about 9 people who were put on trail for burning American draft office records during the Vietnam War. They felt profoundly moved to this act of civil disobedience and this play is set in the courtroom with just the 10 actors moving around to play all parts. Really marvelous and I encourage you to see it if the opportunity arises where you are.
One of the questions the play raised for me is "Are we complicit each time we do not speak up or step up to act for justice, for life?" There's a lot of argy bargy that could be done about what exactly "justice" might mean, and even for some contexts "life" and my intention now is not to wiffle about semantics - but to look at the bigger essence. Do we as a community - do I - still believe that there is justice? That life is sacred? Elements of this play were confronting as the characters talked of their commitment to equality for all, of their personal works to bridge poverty and education gaps between the haves and the have nots. The setting of this play might be historical but actually these remain urgent, contemporary issues and Australian issues too, not just American, or African, or Whereverian.
There was one line that tied this experience back to the reading I've been doing on Black Barty, and it was where Father Berrigan said in his statement (and I'm paraphrasing slightly) "I have lost faith in the institutions of this country. The law does not look after the people." He was referring to the illegality of the USA entering into the conflict and that somehow the President seemed above the law. Well if the President is above the law - what good is the law? The foundation of the democratic model has been undermined. And more - I remembered the East India Company, I thought of the ramifications of what probably seemed like a good idea at the time - creating a new kind of entity that would have standing and identity in and of itself in front of the law - The Company. Perhaps with hindsight, this is one of the moments where the interests of these new breed of "people" - Companies - overtook the interests of human people. The law certainly looked after their interests in this instance, but not of humans.
We are in the middle of a revolution and it can be hard to see for the haze, and think for the noises and baying. I wonder if the Companies will come through this revolution intact and stronger or if the machines will short-circuit that entire logic and power structure. I'm feeling a little depressed about it, but that's just my natural pessimisim and the fact that I've not yet had breakfast. I'm sure after some eggs and coffee I'll feel more hopeful about our democratic and governmental institutions re-vitalising the sanctity of human life, honouring thoughtful debate, flexibility and the fact that we're all on this ship together. Otherwise, it looks like fire will get a chance to clean after all.
Showing posts with label robot overlords. Show all posts
Showing posts with label robot overlords. Show all posts
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Terminator: Salvation
(Spoiler Alert! Yes, again. Don't read this if you're seriously looking forward to the latest Terminator film. But really - who is?).
I swear to you, this blog is not going to devolve solely into me bagging the shit out of popular culture. I aim to bag the shit out of high-brow stuff occasionally as well.
Over the long weekend I went along to see Terminator: Salvation at my local cinema. There were many members of the public in attendance which I do not like. It is not (just) that I am anti-social, they are simply not fit to be in the public arena. Case in point: the 'gentleman' seated next to me wore thongs presumably so that when the urge came over him, he could pick his toes during the film without the irritation of having to remove any shoes. Charming.
But I digress.
Firstly, this film is badly misnamed (why do they think that dropping the numbers helps? Oh, that's right, because we're now scraping the prequel barrel and it confuses people to have non-linear sequences. An argument, perhaps, for using the Dewy system for films. But that's a subject for discussion at another time). Anyway. "Salvation" is a misnomer. This film should rightly have been subtitled "Survival" or even something like "have you ever seen a more gritty dystopian future prequel than this?! Holy Shit we're really all going to DIE!!! RUN - RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" but as a marketing person I wouldn't really recommend that - it's hard to make puns with for the actor profiles during promos.
I guess "Survival" was taken, but it is a shame, they should have saved Salvation for when they win the freakin war I would have thought. Not for a film where the resistance takes massive casualties, loses their entire command structure and basically get their arses kicked at every single point.
That leads me to my second point. I don't know a lot about war. Actually, I know very little about war on any level. I've made effort to avoid it personally. From what I have seen and heard it is a deeply unpleasant experience, and something not to be undertaken lightly. Which is why I would have suggested that someone in the Resistance who does know about war ought to read a little book by an old guy call Sun. In this book, which is kind of like a "War for Dummies1" he suggests that you should know everything you can about your enemy. In this film, that could be as simple as remembering that the machines you're fighting are very very smart. Maybe not the ones directly in front of you, but the ones that built them are. I reckon that odds are good that machines that have made themselves self-aware are going to be pretty bright. Hence, one ought to think things through as if you're playing a game of Chess or Go in which your opponent has a higher rank than you. That is to say, they're likely to set traps for you. I would, if I was clever.
Not being clever brings me to my third, and final point. American action films have made a fruitful industry out of not worrying too much about clever if you can be very strong. This almost completely defines the action genre. It is about guys (usually) chasing each other, thumping each other and blowing shit up. This is where T:S comes home and delivers. It's got all the things you look for in an action flick: big guns (tick), attack helicopters (tick), funky secret commando hand signal stuff (tick), blowing shit up (tick, tick, tick), and best of all, big tough guys taking an absolute flogging (sadly I don't mean an actual flogging on a rack. I think the only SF film to deliver that particular delicacy must be Starship Troopers. If you know of any others please, please tell me). In this instance I mean fisty-cuffs to the snoz stuff.
This is what kept me going. I really liked seeing Sam Worthington2 get killed, take a nude mud bath, be beaten, shot at, beaten again, killed again, resurrected, beaten again, and then suicide. Not only is that a thrashing and a half, but it is also one heck of a character arc! And, he just eats it up. I want the next film to be about Marcus Wright stirring things up in the afterlife. OOOHHH - Marcus Wright Vs The Mummy!! I would so totally go and see that. The human equivalent of the bear vs shark question. Brilliant.
But I digress. Again.
On the way home I thought of a great drinking game for this film. It goes like this - first of all you need to get all resistance (shame they skipped the Steampunk possibilities - but one can't have everything) and build (or borrow if you're not well suited to experimental conditions) an alcohol distillation set up ("a still")and make some moonshine (Please remember to cut the juice you get!) then you and your mates all take a swig and settle down to watch this film. Once it starts, every time Marcus Wright does something brutal or has something brutal done to him you have another shot. I leave it up to you to decide if kissing Helena should count. In this way, if you are by some miracle still conscious by the end of the film, you really don't really care that most of the film made no sense and that John Connor is a total arse.
Everybody Wins!3
1. There is both a "Vietnam War for Dummies" and a "War on Terrorism for Dummies" actually published. I thought I was being funny, but it turns out satire is too easily just being inaccurate.
2. Who, BTW, was awesome as Macbeth. Man, I love that version. Even better than Polanski's. Really.
3. Except the humans. And Sam Worthington.
I swear to you, this blog is not going to devolve solely into me bagging the shit out of popular culture. I aim to bag the shit out of high-brow stuff occasionally as well.
Over the long weekend I went along to see Terminator: Salvation at my local cinema. There were many members of the public in attendance which I do not like. It is not (just) that I am anti-social, they are simply not fit to be in the public arena. Case in point: the 'gentleman' seated next to me wore thongs presumably so that when the urge came over him, he could pick his toes during the film without the irritation of having to remove any shoes. Charming.
But I digress.
Firstly, this film is badly misnamed (why do they think that dropping the numbers helps? Oh, that's right, because we're now scraping the prequel barrel and it confuses people to have non-linear sequences. An argument, perhaps, for using the Dewy system for films. But that's a subject for discussion at another time). Anyway. "Salvation" is a misnomer. This film should rightly have been subtitled "Survival" or even something like "have you ever seen a more gritty dystopian future prequel than this?! Holy Shit we're really all going to DIE!!! RUN - RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" but as a marketing person I wouldn't really recommend that - it's hard to make puns with for the actor profiles during promos.
I guess "Survival" was taken, but it is a shame, they should have saved Salvation for when they win the freakin war I would have thought. Not for a film where the resistance takes massive casualties, loses their entire command structure and basically get their arses kicked at every single point.
That leads me to my second point. I don't know a lot about war. Actually, I know very little about war on any level. I've made effort to avoid it personally. From what I have seen and heard it is a deeply unpleasant experience, and something not to be undertaken lightly. Which is why I would have suggested that someone in the Resistance who does know about war ought to read a little book by an old guy call Sun. In this book, which is kind of like a "War for Dummies1" he suggests that you should know everything you can about your enemy. In this film, that could be as simple as remembering that the machines you're fighting are very very smart. Maybe not the ones directly in front of you, but the ones that built them are. I reckon that odds are good that machines that have made themselves self-aware are going to be pretty bright. Hence, one ought to think things through as if you're playing a game of Chess or Go in which your opponent has a higher rank than you. That is to say, they're likely to set traps for you. I would, if I was clever.
Not being clever brings me to my third, and final point. American action films have made a fruitful industry out of not worrying too much about clever if you can be very strong. This almost completely defines the action genre. It is about guys (usually) chasing each other, thumping each other and blowing shit up. This is where T:S comes home and delivers. It's got all the things you look for in an action flick: big guns (tick), attack helicopters (tick), funky secret commando hand signal stuff (tick), blowing shit up (tick, tick, tick), and best of all, big tough guys taking an absolute flogging (sadly I don't mean an actual flogging on a rack. I think the only SF film to deliver that particular delicacy must be Starship Troopers. If you know of any others please, please tell me). In this instance I mean fisty-cuffs to the snoz stuff.
This is what kept me going. I really liked seeing Sam Worthington2 get killed, take a nude mud bath, be beaten, shot at, beaten again, killed again, resurrected, beaten again, and then suicide. Not only is that a thrashing and a half, but it is also one heck of a character arc! And, he just eats it up. I want the next film to be about Marcus Wright stirring things up in the afterlife. OOOHHH - Marcus Wright Vs The Mummy!! I would so totally go and see that. The human equivalent of the bear vs shark question. Brilliant.
But I digress. Again.
On the way home I thought of a great drinking game for this film. It goes like this - first of all you need to get all resistance (shame they skipped the Steampunk possibilities - but one can't have everything) and build (or borrow if you're not well suited to experimental conditions) an alcohol distillation set up ("a still")and make some moonshine (Please remember to cut the juice you get!) then you and your mates all take a swig and settle down to watch this film. Once it starts, every time Marcus Wright does something brutal or has something brutal done to him you have another shot. I leave it up to you to decide if kissing Helena should count. In this way, if you are by some miracle still conscious by the end of the film, you really don't really care that most of the film made no sense and that John Connor is a total arse.
Everybody Wins!3
1. There is both a "Vietnam War for Dummies" and a "War on Terrorism for Dummies" actually published. I thought I was being funny, but it turns out satire is too easily just being inaccurate.
2. Who, BTW, was awesome as Macbeth. Man, I love that version. Even better than Polanski's. Really.
3. Except the humans. And Sam Worthington.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
BSG_S4: WTF?!
(SPOILER ALERT - If you're a Battlestar Galactica Fan and haven't watched all of Season 4, don't read this. Really.)
I can't be the only person who has seen the final episodes of season 4 of BSG and checked under the couch for the missing plot. There's at least two episodes that should exist that seem to have gotten lost as far as I can tell. I went to the pilot of Caprica to see if they're there, but no - just more problems there (if the centurions are created by the combination of a grief-crazed father, a dodgy military contract and a punk genius happy-clapper accidentally dead daughter then how did the Cylons we know as the Final 5 know to spend those thousands of years travelling at sub-light speeds to travel to the 12 colonies and warn of the uprising she would create? See my dilemma? But I digress).
Ok. At least they didn't just fly into the sun (apart from Anders, sorry Anders, someone had to do it, and now that you're a weird-arse brain-in-a-bucket its gunna be you. There's no datastream for you to be zen with on New Earth). I liked the Kara Thrace music psychosis and culmination, I thought that tied a lot of incidental things together very very well. On the other hand, it is always hard to end a long and arduous journey, narratively speaking. We don't like settling for "they rode happily off into the sunset" which is how the wagon-train genre used to settle it. This is one of the difficulties of taking the Western genre into space. It all tracks well until you get to the sunset. Having said that, Serenity had a great sunset ending. Ends got tied, some emotional closure, an uncertain future. All good. So why the frack is the BSG ending so shite?
Firstly, because I think it tries to be cute about tying the story into our Earth (as opposed to Ancient Earth) and that feels kinda patronising. We're SF fans, you don't need to start putting big red YouAreHere arrows around the place (especially at the end. Idiots).
Secondly, because the 7 might have been denied resurrection technology, but the centurions had no mortality issues whatsoever. They're machines who can make more machines, and what happens at the end of the series? The machines who rebelled against the humans and launched the largest genocide program ever then got turned into the followers of the Seven Cylons, fought the big war for 4 years, participated in the civil war, and then... what?! Watched the last of the human-siding cylons ride off into the sunset with the humans leaving them in space with the sad-fuck Cavills and all those other numbers we don't really care about? And what? They made a cup of tea and took up tapestry? I'm not buying it, and I don't think you are either.
Thirdly, the idea that a space going population is going to walk away from their ships carrying *nothing* (look again at those lines of people, they aren't even wearing hats for frack's sake) and survive more than a week against mega-fauna? C'mon. Even I can't suspend that much disbelief.
Fourthly, we spend four years with this community, with the rousing "so say we all!" speeches of the Admiral, and then he goes and build a cairn on a clifftop to die alone with? No. I'm not saying that it might not really happen that way. People might well say "No i'm happy to give up all (ALL) of the comforts, medicines and technologies (including roofs) I've lived my whole life with and go off to compete with Cro Magnons to survive, and if we're all lucky our kids will interbreed with them and the centurions will forget that they hate our guts and that we've given up guns and we'll have a lovely time. But I simply do not believe that they would do that without at least one more speech on the ground from the old man, and a state funeral for you-know-who. (Point was possibly going to be about the raiders and other ships that landed them and the fossil record, but on reflection I think that the psychology is more important).
I'm weighing up how much of my annoyance is purely because the story has finished. I had a childish wish that it just wouldn't end and that these poor people, many of whom I have come to love, respect, and desire would remain trapped in a state of war, or fugitive guerrilla struggles for survival with their numbers slowly decreasing faster than they could ever grow, all just for my entertainment. I can't wish that on anybody. No, it had to end. In endings though, I am more selfish than I like. It doesn't have to be happy, and I'm not such a nihilist that I won't let it be happy. It is just that this ending seems like a nothing ending, and the epilogue feels like I've been watching a "Fall of the Roman Empire" lecture. Just not good enough from the crew who've taught us to expect more.
Grade: FF Fracking Fail - RESUBMIT.
I can't be the only person who has seen the final episodes of season 4 of BSG and checked under the couch for the missing plot. There's at least two episodes that should exist that seem to have gotten lost as far as I can tell. I went to the pilot of Caprica to see if they're there, but no - just more problems there (if the centurions are created by the combination of a grief-crazed father, a dodgy military contract and a punk genius happy-clapper accidentally dead daughter then how did the Cylons we know as the Final 5 know to spend those thousands of years travelling at sub-light speeds to travel to the 12 colonies and warn of the uprising she would create? See my dilemma? But I digress).
Ok. At least they didn't just fly into the sun (apart from Anders, sorry Anders, someone had to do it, and now that you're a weird-arse brain-in-a-bucket its gunna be you. There's no datastream for you to be zen with on New Earth). I liked the Kara Thrace music psychosis and culmination, I thought that tied a lot of incidental things together very very well. On the other hand, it is always hard to end a long and arduous journey, narratively speaking. We don't like settling for "they rode happily off into the sunset" which is how the wagon-train genre used to settle it. This is one of the difficulties of taking the Western genre into space. It all tracks well until you get to the sunset. Having said that, Serenity had a great sunset ending. Ends got tied, some emotional closure, an uncertain future. All good. So why the frack is the BSG ending so shite?
Firstly, because I think it tries to be cute about tying the story into our Earth (as opposed to Ancient Earth) and that feels kinda patronising. We're SF fans, you don't need to start putting big red YouAreHere arrows around the place (especially at the end. Idiots).
Secondly, because the 7 might have been denied resurrection technology, but the centurions had no mortality issues whatsoever. They're machines who can make more machines, and what happens at the end of the series? The machines who rebelled against the humans and launched the largest genocide program ever then got turned into the followers of the Seven Cylons, fought the big war for 4 years, participated in the civil war, and then... what?! Watched the last of the human-siding cylons ride off into the sunset with the humans leaving them in space with the sad-fuck Cavills and all those other numbers we don't really care about? And what? They made a cup of tea and took up tapestry? I'm not buying it, and I don't think you are either.
Thirdly, the idea that a space going population is going to walk away from their ships carrying *nothing* (look again at those lines of people, they aren't even wearing hats for frack's sake) and survive more than a week against mega-fauna? C'mon. Even I can't suspend that much disbelief.
Fourthly, we spend four years with this community, with the rousing "so say we all!" speeches of the Admiral, and then he goes and build a cairn on a clifftop to die alone with? No. I'm not saying that it might not really happen that way. People might well say "No i'm happy to give up all (ALL) of the comforts, medicines and technologies (including roofs) I've lived my whole life with and go off to compete with Cro Magnons to survive, and if we're all lucky our kids will interbreed with them and the centurions will forget that they hate our guts and that we've given up guns and we'll have a lovely time. But I simply do not believe that they would do that without at least one more speech on the ground from the old man, and a state funeral for you-know-who. (Point was possibly going to be about the raiders and other ships that landed them and the fossil record, but on reflection I think that the psychology is more important).
I'm weighing up how much of my annoyance is purely because the story has finished. I had a childish wish that it just wouldn't end and that these poor people, many of whom I have come to love, respect, and desire would remain trapped in a state of war, or fugitive guerrilla struggles for survival with their numbers slowly decreasing faster than they could ever grow, all just for my entertainment. I can't wish that on anybody. No, it had to end. In endings though, I am more selfish than I like. It doesn't have to be happy, and I'm not such a nihilist that I won't let it be happy. It is just that this ending seems like a nothing ending, and the epilogue feels like I've been watching a "Fall of the Roman Empire" lecture. Just not good enough from the crew who've taught us to expect more.
Grade: FF Fracking Fail - RESUBMIT.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Not What it Seems
Since the Enlightenment our western culture has revered the advances and solutions that science has delivered. It is one of those fields of human endeavour of which we are very proud.
After all, We fought our way up from thinking that all flesh contains the maggots that may crawl out of it from death and that the entire firmament spins about us, the magical centre of the universe to a much more detailed, specific, understood and known set of laws and reasons and consequences. We can make a machine and send it to another planet via a complex set of other machines and operate it from here for years of reseach and images. We can measure things so small that they become unpredictable in their behaviour and so discover another realm of knowledge enticing us forwards, we can split the centre of an atom and power a city with it. In short, we have become wizards. But just like Bod, we also call up things we cannot control.
We introduce Cane Toads to deal with a moth they don't eat, we have no way of dealing with the waste outcomes of splitting atoms, we can clone sheep, but we aren't really sure why we might do that. So we have Wizard Watchers, people versed in the lore of science, and ready to protect the interests of the greater good of humans. We call them ethicists. We trust that they are at the front lines, balancing our powers with our responsibilities, weighing the possible good with the largely unknown dangers, calling upon the broader communities for discussion, awareness, support and concensus.
Oh wait, I obviously strayed into science fiction there for a moment. When was the last time you heard an appeal from an ethicist for debate? Actually can you name an ethicist? Um .... Peter Singer? Is he? Does he count? I don't know.
What I do know, is that when I read a news article this morning about a court granting permission to a 17 year old to remove his breasts after having been on a gender-reassignment hormone treatment since the age of 13 everything seemed to be in order until I came across this quote from the ethicist (I excerpt here from the article, my emphasis added):
'But ethicist Nick Tonti-Filippini said mainstream medicine did not recognise hormone treatments and surgery as treatment for gender dysphoria. He said it was a psychiatric disorder qualifying under American guidelines as a psychosis because "it's a belief out of accordance with reality".
"What you are trying to do is make a biological reality correspond to that false belief." he said.'
Well that set off my "danger danger" antenna. My understanding is that psychosis is an extreme level of measure, a non-functional state of mental operation. A level, let us remember for a moment, that was applied in the not-too-distant-past to creative types ( NZ author) and women not deemed suitably compliant or docile by their husbands and used as an excuse for labotomies, elcetric shock torture and extreme confinement. But also, and perhaps more importantly, the way this has been formulated as being abberant in relation to an objective "reality".
So apparently, whenever any of us have an idea or a wish to use our will to make reality different, we're possibly just plan psychotic. A line like this is inviting criticism of everything from hair dye, tattoos, and dressing in BSG costume through to going to university and even the entire field of science itself. Where does Mr Tonti-Filippini intend to draw the line?
What a double whammy. I presumed that if ethicists exist, they would be humanists. It seems this has been naive. It seems also, that Mr Tonti-Filippini would find many of my behaviours and desires to defy existing reality as being aberrant enough to justify the label psychotic and so deprive me of my capacity to contribute to the human endeavour of growth and expansion (in ways that do not simply involve the multiplication of our number) and nested inside that issue is his presumption of an objective "reality". In the words of Dylan Moran, "Why does no one say, let's be realistic, oil me ?" Why is reality presumed to be locked in, ordered, un-changeable?
It is easy enough to discover that much as Alex in the court case identifies as "he", our ethicist actually identifies himself as "Dr Tonti-Filippini, Catholic bio-ethicist". Ahh. A little bit more detail gives a lot more context to that right-wing quote. Of all the versions of this news story promulgated across the various news sites of the interwebs, no one bothered to do any more than repeat the copy and the flaws of the first story filed.
Proving in the end that judges in courts can still make thoughtful, humanist decisions, but we only hear about them through the irritating whine of bigots masquerading as informed specialists and the haze of lazy journalism. We, in the form of science have created from our own efforts amazing tools, but we clog their workings ourselves.
I welcome our robot overlords.
After all, We fought our way up from thinking that all flesh contains the maggots that may crawl out of it from death and that the entire firmament spins about us, the magical centre of the universe to a much more detailed, specific, understood and known set of laws and reasons and consequences. We can make a machine and send it to another planet via a complex set of other machines and operate it from here for years of reseach and images. We can measure things so small that they become unpredictable in their behaviour and so discover another realm of knowledge enticing us forwards, we can split the centre of an atom and power a city with it. In short, we have become wizards. But just like Bod, we also call up things we cannot control.
We introduce Cane Toads to deal with a moth they don't eat, we have no way of dealing with the waste outcomes of splitting atoms, we can clone sheep, but we aren't really sure why we might do that. So we have Wizard Watchers, people versed in the lore of science, and ready to protect the interests of the greater good of humans. We call them ethicists. We trust that they are at the front lines, balancing our powers with our responsibilities, weighing the possible good with the largely unknown dangers, calling upon the broader communities for discussion, awareness, support and concensus.
Oh wait, I obviously strayed into science fiction there for a moment. When was the last time you heard an appeal from an ethicist for debate? Actually can you name an ethicist? Um .... Peter Singer? Is he? Does he count? I don't know.
What I do know, is that when I read a news article this morning about a court granting permission to a 17 year old to remove his breasts after having been on a gender-reassignment hormone treatment since the age of 13 everything seemed to be in order until I came across this quote from the ethicist (I excerpt here from the article, my emphasis added):
'But ethicist Nick Tonti-Filippini said mainstream medicine did not recognise hormone treatments and surgery as treatment for gender dysphoria. He said it was a psychiatric disorder qualifying under American guidelines as a psychosis because "it's a belief out of accordance with reality".
"What you are trying to do is make a biological reality correspond to that false belief." he said.'
Well that set off my "danger danger" antenna. My understanding is that psychosis is an extreme level of measure, a non-functional state of mental operation. A level, let us remember for a moment, that was applied in the not-too-distant-past to creative types ( NZ author) and women not deemed suitably compliant or docile by their husbands and used as an excuse for labotomies, elcetric shock torture and extreme confinement. But also, and perhaps more importantly, the way this has been formulated as being abberant in relation to an objective "reality".
So apparently, whenever any of us have an idea or a wish to use our will to make reality different, we're possibly just plan psychotic. A line like this is inviting criticism of everything from hair dye, tattoos, and dressing in BSG costume through to going to university and even the entire field of science itself. Where does Mr Tonti-Filippini intend to draw the line?
What a double whammy. I presumed that if ethicists exist, they would be humanists. It seems this has been naive. It seems also, that Mr Tonti-Filippini would find many of my behaviours and desires to defy existing reality as being aberrant enough to justify the label psychotic and so deprive me of my capacity to contribute to the human endeavour of growth and expansion (in ways that do not simply involve the multiplication of our number) and nested inside that issue is his presumption of an objective "reality". In the words of Dylan Moran, "Why does no one say, let's be realistic, oil me ?" Why is reality presumed to be locked in, ordered, un-changeable?
It is easy enough to discover that much as Alex in the court case identifies as "he", our ethicist actually identifies himself as "Dr Tonti-Filippini, Catholic bio-ethicist". Ahh. A little bit more detail gives a lot more context to that right-wing quote. Of all the versions of this news story promulgated across the various news sites of the interwebs, no one bothered to do any more than repeat the copy and the flaws of the first story filed.
Proving in the end that judges in courts can still make thoughtful, humanist decisions, but we only hear about them through the irritating whine of bigots masquerading as informed specialists and the haze of lazy journalism. We, in the form of science have created from our own efforts amazing tools, but we clog their workings ourselves.
I welcome our robot overlords.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Stop the Madness or the Robots Will Get You
The specter of a grim future under the control of Robot Overlords is undoubtedly something which haunts us all (ok, well mostly just paranoid SF nuts, and people who actually understand networking intelligence and have time on their hands for contemplating the possible consequences).
Now, I do not want Skynet to wake up any more than the next person. Much as Caprica 6 really sells the idea that sexy, intelligent, independent women can be robots too, the bottom line is that there is no scenario so far in which the genocide of humans is not an outcome. Apart from anything else, on the off-chance I was a survivor, I would make a crappy guerrilla fighter and a very poor motivating leader for the resistance.
However it is hard to remember these disincentives when once again the anticipated serenity of a weekend (or a public holiday in this particular instance) is unattainable due to the suburban love of power tools and mowers. Both yesterday and today there has been a cacophony of tedium. Vacuum cleaners, quad bikes, angle-grinders, whipper-snippers and the ever-ready, every-present, ever-painfully noisy 2-stroke mower. I don't mind loud and late parties, I can deal with (if ungraciously) the thoughtless tumult created by feral children. I can even usually bear to endure the tortured screams and furious rampages of the domestically violent couples in the street. These, after all, are all are among the fundamental of human activities. Power tools are not.
Down Tools!
How simple it would be to incorporate a small amount of programmable logic into these and other irritating items. It need not be networked to achieve the goals I have in mind. I just want none of these items to work on state recognised public holidays or on a weekend prior to 9am or after 6pm. Fair enough!
The proles have had long enough to self-regulate in these matters and have proven themselves incapable of doing so. It is time for the elite to assist them in this, as we do in so many other ways with our taxes, entertainments, intellectual specialisations (where do they think those plasma screens come from anyway? Santa's Freakin workshop?) and generally in resisting the spread of informational germs (it's true - stupid people are more likely to believe other stupid people. Sorry "easily influenced people"). Anyway, we could camouflage it as a clock, or a battery readout, or an FM radio and in this way it would become a feature the proles would aspire to owning and the phase-out would be swift. Those with a legitimate reason, and or the ability to read owner's manuals would be able to circumvent the programming and thus earn the ability to use these tools at these times, but I suggest to you that persons of such capacities probably have better things to do with their time during the targeted periods (such as, say, blogging about how the world could be a better, more loving place).
Self Control
I could stop there. I could, really. There's no real need to tamper in a permanent way with the car of the idiot doing burnouts at 2am mid-week. There's no justifiable reason to apply any liquor rationing to the unemployed or those with criminal/violent records. There's no need to restrict the breeding .... No. Our freedoms as humans are absolute and inalienable. Well they might be if we in Australia had ever enacted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights into law. Which we haven't. We aren't the only peoples to look the other way on this one, we're in good company (Malaysia, Pakistan, United Arab Emirates, Vatican City, China and more have all overlooked signing or ratifying the declaration). In light of what some signatories do feel ok about doing my software control proposition seems pretty innocent.
Yeah, really. It's for their own good.
... hey! What do you mean my access to the internet might be curtailed. That's not fair!
Fine. Frack you. Now where's that manual...
Now, I do not want Skynet to wake up any more than the next person. Much as Caprica 6 really sells the idea that sexy, intelligent, independent women can be robots too, the bottom line is that there is no scenario so far in which the genocide of humans is not an outcome. Apart from anything else, on the off-chance I was a survivor, I would make a crappy guerrilla fighter and a very poor motivating leader for the resistance.
However it is hard to remember these disincentives when once again the anticipated serenity of a weekend (or a public holiday in this particular instance) is unattainable due to the suburban love of power tools and mowers. Both yesterday and today there has been a cacophony of tedium. Vacuum cleaners, quad bikes, angle-grinders, whipper-snippers and the ever-ready, every-present, ever-painfully noisy 2-stroke mower. I don't mind loud and late parties, I can deal with (if ungraciously) the thoughtless tumult created by feral children. I can even usually bear to endure the tortured screams and furious rampages of the domestically violent couples in the street. These, after all, are all are among the fundamental of human activities. Power tools are not.
Down Tools!
How simple it would be to incorporate a small amount of programmable logic into these and other irritating items. It need not be networked to achieve the goals I have in mind. I just want none of these items to work on state recognised public holidays or on a weekend prior to 9am or after 6pm. Fair enough!
The proles have had long enough to self-regulate in these matters and have proven themselves incapable of doing so. It is time for the elite to assist them in this, as we do in so many other ways with our taxes, entertainments, intellectual specialisations (where do they think those plasma screens come from anyway? Santa's Freakin workshop?) and generally in resisting the spread of informational germs (it's true - stupid people are more likely to believe other stupid people. Sorry "easily influenced people"). Anyway, we could camouflage it as a clock, or a battery readout, or an FM radio and in this way it would become a feature the proles would aspire to owning and the phase-out would be swift. Those with a legitimate reason, and or the ability to read owner's manuals would be able to circumvent the programming and thus earn the ability to use these tools at these times, but I suggest to you that persons of such capacities probably have better things to do with their time during the targeted periods (such as, say, blogging about how the world could be a better, more loving place).
Self Control
I could stop there. I could, really. There's no real need to tamper in a permanent way with the car of the idiot doing burnouts at 2am mid-week. There's no justifiable reason to apply any liquor rationing to the unemployed or those with criminal/violent records. There's no need to restrict the breeding .... No. Our freedoms as humans are absolute and inalienable. Well they might be if we in Australia had ever enacted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights into law. Which we haven't. We aren't the only peoples to look the other way on this one, we're in good company (Malaysia, Pakistan, United Arab Emirates, Vatican City, China and more have all overlooked signing or ratifying the declaration). In light of what some signatories do feel ok about doing my software control proposition seems pretty innocent.
Yeah, really. It's for their own good.
... hey! What do you mean my access to the internet might be curtailed. That's not fair!
Fine. Frack you. Now where's that manual...
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