Empathetic Androids? part 2

“What is it in our behavior that we can call specifically human?”

In his science fiction novel, Blade Runner (Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?), Dick sends the reader in a circular psychological and emotional journey of conflict and confusion in an attempt to sift out and resolve this question. Dick doesn’t make it easy to figure out who’s who (human versus nonhuman) in this novel populated by androids masquerading as humans and humans seemingly devolving into machine-like states. He blends and blurs the boundary of the human and the android and pulls and pushes the reader’s brain until a break is needed for mulling over the character’s dialogues and scenarios in an investigation of the truth—what is real.

In the story’s plot, Dick presents his view that humans are seduced by a religion outside of themselves. They follow it and are led by it, but they do not understand it—perhaps because they don’t question it. For example, in Blade Runner it is brought out that the salient characteristic that separates the human from the android is the ability to empathize. Well, the reader discovers that the humans do not do this on their own. They “tune in” to an empathetic mood by the use of what’s termed an empathy box. This box connects them to some sort of god called “Mercerism.” The box has a dial with various settings that transmit the appropriate feeling scheduled on the individual’s calendar for that day. Dick shows here a departure of free will being numbed out and led by an outside construct. The inner questioning—the duties of the soul—have been abdicated. This theme is amplified as the story develops. The circular questioning weaves in and out amidst the actions and dialogues between the humans and the androids.

Blade Runner takes place in the year 2021 in the San Francisco Bay Area where World War Terminus has left the area contaminated with radioactive dust particles, killing many and altering the genetics of some humans who have chosen to stay on Earth. The United States Government at this time has created colonies on Mars, and is encouraging the inhabitants of Earth to emigrate to the colonies. The incentive to lure emigration is the promise of an android companion (slave) manufactured by a government-sanctioned corporation in the City of San Francisco. The factory is not prohibited in continuing to produce and improve upon their products’ intellectual and empathetic capabilities, i.e., striving to create (at some point) an android so close to the more evolved human attributes as to be undifferentiated from the human. So, here is a government-sanctioned android factory serving government interests—attempting to manipulate the Earth’s population to emigrate to another planet. They are produced for a selfish agenda by the government and then hunted down by the same when they attempt escape to be free—the unforeseen problem that ensues as some groups of “andys” secretly flee Mars to come back to live a free life on Earth.

Employed by the San Francisco Police Department to “retire” the escaped androids (the term killing is not used because an android is not considered to be alive) is a bounty hunter by the name of Rick Deckard. Ferreting out the androids proves difficult because they look and act in many ways like humans. Once captured, an android is submitted to a test called the empathy test. The test discovers the non-empathetic responses of androids to questions of an emotional nature. Deckard administers the incriminating tests and, subsequently, retires several “andys.” He becomes confused and disoriented when he discovers his own growing lack of empathy for his human accomplice, but feels compassion for the loss of one of his retirees. This scares him because he knows somewhere inside that he couldn’t do his job as a bounty hunter if this feeling persists, and the monetary loss would be $1,000 for each retiree. He is shaken.

This psychological conflict penetrates throughout the novel. Rick Deckard is a human being, yet it’s apparent that he is also reduced to an instrument of “mere use.” He carries out his job of retiring androids for the San Francisco Police Department; yet, who is the enemy Dick asks throughout his book. All of the human attributes, such as empathy, sexuality, protection within the group, and lack of predictability that Dick brings up in his essay and book can be found in some of the androids. These are either absent or severely diminished within the humans because of their self-abandonment to some outside construct that contributes to their and their society’s entropy.

This vacuum allows the unseen veil of domination, oppression, and appropriation to blind Deckard. Dick is not only alluding to government as deceptor, but to politics, economics, and the media which all masquerade as benevolent entities. Ultimately, he targets ourselves—we allow ourselves to be deceived and duped. We follow the dictates of the mass media “friendly” advertisements just as Barbara Ehrenreich parodies in her essay, The Economics of Cloning. When we turn on the dials too many times we shut off our life force. We willingly create a vacuum to be filled up by something out there because we have become too lazy to question, to do the work of a high-functioning human being which combines using the head, the heart, and listening for that pressing intuition within us.

to be continued…

the Frankenstein Syndrome

The Frankenstein syndrome has been portrayed in all types of film genres. These  films depict the economical, political, and psychological aspects of Mary Shelley’s novel. The films disturb in another, less literal, aspect as the aberrants of nature or morality aren’t depicted as the mad scientist or a Frankenstein-type created monster killing innocent people in search for revenge for his maker’s abandonment. The aberrant, the horrible thing of fear has transformed from the literal, tangible persona or construct, to some thing more abstract and lurking—some thing not readily recognizable by some movie viewers. Perhaps this is because the aberrration, or flaw, is existent in—gasp—ourselves.

The birthing of the dark, interior human forces is artfully and successfully accomplished in Tim Burton’s 1990 film, Edward Scissorhands. The feared monster in this film is not that of a diabolical creator, nor that of his creation. The subtle horror Tim Burton artfully presses upon us is the abandonment of the self, which creates a lazy and sterile society—a breed of bored, untrusting, and dishonest people who have lost a sense of their specialness or individuality. This is beautifully depicted by the plastic and seemingly harmless personalities that inhabit the cookie-cutter flat homes surrounded by flowerless and sterile yards. The homes, painted in fingernail-polish colors of orange, lime, and pink and back-dropped against the blue sky and perfect lawns have a doubling effect. At first, they dazzle; but as the camera pulls back to reveal many square miles of a two-dimensional cotton-candy colored suburbia, one feels a simultaneous urge to laugh and throw up at the same time. This theme continues throughout the film. One sees humor in the ludicrous lives of people who are empty and attempt to appropriate the different or the specialness of another (Edward). There comes a point, however, where this isn’t funny, but insidious and evil as some of the characters turn their own unconscious personal disgust and dishonesty onto Edward. The absolute evil of this is that they do so without realizing what they are doing—sensa thoughts of injustice or the healthy shame of conscience. They seem to have cast out their own innocence and faith onto an external entity, Edward; then they want to destroy and kill him. They are not aware of their projections onto Edward nor are they aware of how they manipulate and abuse his goodness.

Johny Depp as Edward Scissorhands (1990)

Edward is the creation of a kindly scientist who lives in a castle upon a hill outside a suburban neighborhood. Although the mountain castle looks scary and ominous, the grounds are lush green with sensitively sculpted topiaries and various colored flowers. The beautiful and whimsical grounds are obviously cared for by Edward’s creator. The creator (Vincent Price) is not selfish nor evil, but kind and benevolent. Intentional abandonment was not his intent after creating  Edward. After presenting Edward with a gift of prosthetic hands, Edward’s creator dies. Edward cannot benefit from his creator’s final, compassionate gift.

He is brought back to “colorful” suburbia by an empathetic and compassionate mother, who also happens to be the ever-positive Avon Lady of the neighborhood. It’s noted right away in the onset of the film that the Avon Lady is different. As the film proceeds, one sees how she differs from her neighbors. She is willing to risk for the good— to “silence the familiar to welcome the strange.” She has a compassionate heart without an agenda, other than to do good and help out. In contrast, her nosy  neighbors—who kibitz behind her back and don’t want to be otherwise bothered with the woman—soon force themselves upon her life an an attempt to find out about her new house guest.

Tim Burton conveys humor and pain in this sensitive and artistic film. From the opening credits, the music juxtaposes pathos and beauty. The visual contrasts of the castle and the California neighborhood are an artful lead into the emotional and  psychological contrasts between the castle’s inventor, his creation, and the neighborhood’s inhabitants. One neighbor depicts the bored, manipulative woman who seeks to seduce Edward because she is drawn by his specialness while the protective goodness of another (the Avon Lady) nurtures him and only wishes to help him grow and find his talents and his way into society. Here is a scenario of good versus evil as the seductress in her actions attempts to take over or destroy while the Avon Lady treats Edward with respect and dignity.

Edward Scissorhands captures the beauty and innocence of the different or marginal and the subconscious acts of evil enacted by a seemingly innocent society. Tim Burton has created a film with a crucial message for us. He shocks the viewer into asking “why?” Where and what are these destructive and angry forces within that allow us to abdicate our morals, denounce our will, and do evil acts against one another? Why could Edward’s neighbors not see that this “other,” (Edward) could not have and did not commit the deeds that were being done by their own? These questions raised by the film are the crux of looking at the monster within.

It seems hopeless and engulfing to even try to hold onto this thought because it explains the far-reaching spread of this disease found in each and every one of us. There exists a choice every minute of the day. This hopeful choice is shown in Edward Scissorhands through the Avon Lady—a one-woman grass roots endeavor. Her compassion won over her family. Her willingness to risk and not be swallowed by the attitudes of her neighbors allowed love and understanding and acceptance to take root. Her burden? She was made fun of. She had to question if she had done the right thing for Edward by bringing him home. She thrust her family to confront issues of right and wrong; but not to do the right and just thing creates a deeper hell—an alienation from the self.

This film depicts so well the dark forces within humanity. It was imaginative, artistic, and the haunting music hit home the depth of pain suffered by victim and humanity in trying to hold onto our souls.

Empathetic Androids?

The Android and the Human was written by Philip K. Dick in 1972. His concern in this essay is with human beings “casting out our innate living quality to inert things surrounding us.” He predicts that, as we give our inner selves up to animating the world outside of ourselves, we, at one point, will discover that we, ourselves, have become

inanimate, dead in the sense that we are being led by outside constructs. He sees and fears the evolution of the human being and computer meeting each other half way—”artificial constructs maquerading as humans” and “the reduction of humans to mere use—the greatest imaginable evil.” This leads him to ask the question—what is life?

“What is it in our behavior that we can call specifically human?”

to be continued…