Greetings, reader!
James Hogg
As I am writing this from the year two-thousand and sixty, and it is intended to be read in twenty-one hundred, we can safely assume that I am statistically dead. Should we choose to perceive time as linear, then I am behind you, yet hopefully my words will still hold some value ahead.
We have long associated the passage of time with the accumulation of knowledge. In the Bible, time is not truly counted for humanity until the first sin was committed and knowledge was gained. Likewise, Dante’s hell is a destination for many of those that spend their lives learning and yearning for growth. In contrast, many Native stories revolve around humans gaining knowledge at the world’s creation, thus linking learning and time, although with less connotations of evil in the pursuit of knowledge. The Greeks treated Prometheus as a sinner for sharing knowledge in the beginning, then punished Daedalus for his lack of ethics in his creations. Clearly, morality and ethics are as entwined with time as learning, as if the passage of time inevitably leads to change and growth, for better or worse. Whether these stories serve as warnings or revelations is up to the reader, as morality and ethics are rarely universal.
Authors have long continued this tradition, often imposing their own morality upon the reader through literary devices. In Brave New World, we are greeted to a world in which monogamy is a sin and the entire population are druggies – a hellish future for a conservative traditionalist, while people have no rights and are treated as cogs in the societal machine – terrifying to a libertarian. To a more liberal minded thinker, such a world will still have horrors, but seems burdened by the writer’s personal morality. The bleak tyranny at play in 1984 is a clear mockery of totalitarianism, though whether an attack on communism or fascism would depend upon the personal creed of the reader. Dawn’s bleak portrayal of human nature as bestial and patriarchal demands we be fundamentally altered in order to succeed, as if our very nature is that which dooms us. In all of these stories, we see writers projecting their personal fears and ideologies onto society, simultaneously warning of a dark future while displaying their personal biases and mental processes. Like the mythical figures of old, the characters suffer for the pursuit of knowledge, as they oppose the doomed world into which they were born. Certainly, these tales borrow more from the Christian tradition, as if humanity is inherently flawed and possessing of irredeemable sin, damned to destroy itself in its hubris. If this is the dark path that Zeus feared when humans gained fire, or that Yahweh worried would lead to our consuming the fruit of life, then one must question the nature of divinity as well, as if our behaviour would lead to us rivalling them, then perhaps they are not so grand as we would believe. Perhaps Dawn actually illustrates this, as the “gods” at work in that rebirth of the world are of questionable ethics, forcing themselves into sexual relationships with unwilling partners and breaking into their minds to force enjoyment of the act, while telling us that we are flawed, broken beings that cannot live without them. That humans prove them correct in many ways is certainly not a comforting proposition. In all of these cases, the passage of time sees us hurtling towards death, with only a terrifying prospect of a painful rebirth as our salvation. Is this what Native stories mean by time being cyclical?
That so many stories depict dark futures for our world should not be ignored. Dystopia runs amok in fiction, warning us that our path is one of evil and damnation. Blade Runner shows a world in which we have justified slavery and murder of our own creations through a twisted morality. Electric Sheep presents humans as desperately seeking moral guidance from a charlatan, while the very beings they so hate toy with their emotions through media. Ghost in the Shell projects the realpolotik that so defines our world into a near future in which human identity itself becomes questionable and life is disposable to the state. The Machine Stops envisions a world in which we literally cannot survive without mechanical assistance. All of these futures imply a darkness to technology, or rather, to knowledge itself, furthering that ancient biblical implication that learning and progress will lead to damnation. Primitivism seems to flourish in concept, despite any evidence that the past was ever any better than the present. Warnings like these seem quaint in a way, as they are based upon the sensibilities and morality of the times in which they are written. Would a Victorian Englishman not be horrified by many things that we consider basic human rights? Why do we believe that the present is home to true righteousness of thought, despite the challenges we face? Perhaps our modern fears for the future are no different than those held one-hundred, two-hundred, or a thousand years ago. Did long-bowmen fear the crossbow would be the death of their cultures? After all, Chaplain himself feared that cartoons would be the death of his career, as they could perform stunts that a mere mortal like himself was incapable of. Perhaps we simply fear the unknown, with the future being the final frontier of knowledge – a truly unknowable fate.
All of these tales see us impose ourselves upon people we will never know, as if they can somehow be predicted. The Jetsons somehow expects American capitalism and nuclear identity to carry on-wards for centuries. Star Trek imagines a bright, paradise future, in which middle-Americans bravely lead humanity along its course to perfection. The Italian Futurists saw a fascist utopia, free of women and minorities, in which a hyper-masculine society would reign forever, clearly failing to grasp the continuing waves of feminists and globalists the future would present. In all of these cases, the grotesque arrogance of the present prevails. People of the present always believe that those in the past were inferior yet charming, while those in the future are just better versions of themselves, never accepting that their ideologies will ultimately be subsumed by something they never imagined. Perhaps the only true constant in time is that people refuse to accept their irrelevance in the face of progress, either projecting themselves into the future, or condemning any change as evil while being powerless to stop it. The fear of the machine in I, Robot or Robbie represent this, as humans fear even their own children when confronted by their differences, yet continue to produce them, unable to stop. Progress, whether viewed as positive or negative, is a train without brakes. Perhaps the future can be summarized thus: we are always living in someone else apocalypse. This is perhaps best portrayed currently in indigenous futurism, showing a people surviving after the fall of civilization as their ancestors knew it.
Solutions are sparse for this most human of problems. As we are incapable of thinking beyond ourselves, we can never truly create a world that future generations will love. Dawn’s solution is a cop-out, requiring divine intervention of sorts. Her simply implies that people should connect to one another. The warnings given by our fiction are as useless as the solutions they grant. Humanity will continue down whatever path it wills, such that it has a unified will. Implying that totalitarianism is a threat to us through fiction will no more prevent it than our history books already can. Instead, perhaps rather than worrying about fictive futures, we should improve our world today. Doing what we perceive as right now, for the problems we know exist today. Telling people climate change will kill their grandchildren seems to have had no effect. Futuristic boogeymen of the early twentieth century did not prevent the advent of nuclear arms, just as the Armenian genocide did not prevent the Holocaust. Humans have never shown a particular propensity to consider their past mistakes for any length of time. Just look at how often Russia has been invaded during the winter.
While dystopian fiction is certainly entertaining to read, the practical effects of such warnings, flawed and biased as they often are, rarely prove effective in preventing said dystopia. This being said, our doom is not certain. Personally, I believe that history performs loop-d-loops, moving forward slightly before looping back, making change gradual and difficult to perceive. Terrible things have happened and will happen again. Countries will fall, nations will be born and people will make up ridiculous claims as to the permanence and ancient legacy of their culture despite possessing no evidence to support these claims. Slowly, though, things will improve, even if it takes a thousand-thousand generations. Granted, this is my personal, blind bias at work, filled with all of my arrogance and hubris, but it is nonetheless the only hope I have for our species.
On the subject of societal change, you might be surprised, or rather not after reading this, to learn that society did not magically alter itself in any useful way due to the pandemic of twenty-twenty. For a time, people avoided handshaking en mass (some still do), but ultimately people forgot just how bad things were, or worse, could have been. Politically, the gears continued to turn as they always had. China rose into a true superpower, while the United States found itself increasingly isolated due to its disregard for its allies. Many of those allies formed new alliances, particularly those with an interest in the Pacific theatre, finding themselves squished between a hungry China and a cantankerous America. Politicians touted their success in saving society, while lining their pockets with the earnings and bribes they took along the way. Politics, at least, never change.
Canada today is a nation on the brink. The society itself is stable, but with the Americans no longer our sworn protectors, but rather the dangerous predator lurking next door, I cannot imagine it will remain so for long. This is not to sound bleak, however, as this is simply the cycle of ages. We enjoyed a golden era in the west for decades, but now the times will gradually shift. Eventually, I can only imagine new global powers will replace the current ones entirely, perhaps being composed of some of their parts. The silver lining in this is that life goes on, and whatever cultures grow from our bones will no doubt carry some small measure of our legacy, even if they are otherwise unrecognizable.
Sincerely,
James Hogg
Reflection
My project was intended as a parody of Genesis, with a sprinkling of Milton’s Paradise Lost. As stated in the intro, I do not intend it as an insult to those of the faith, but retain that I am justified to provide such criticisms as I desire due to my personal experience within the church. Personally, I have long struggled with the inconsistencies within the Bible and other religious texts, and having studied the history of their creation and the numerous edits and alterations that have been made over the centuries, mostly by celibate monks with highly misogynistic attitudes as displayed through their other writings, cannot help but conclude that the entire text must be questioned and taken with a grotesque quantity of salt. Once again though, the text is intended to target some of the issues themselves from a humorous standpoint, not to attack any real people. Personally, I believe I have achieved this, but cannot control the responses of others and wish to respect them as much as possible without limiting my own voice.
For background, Lucifer is a fascinating figure, as he is often conflated with Satan, although the two are technically different people, as Satan was among the Sons of God in the book of Job, while Lucifer is often associated with Genesis which chronologically predates it. The name Lucifer (Light Bringer) equates him to other mythical figures like Prometheus or the Raven, who also brought the light of knowledge to humans. Lucifer is special however, in that he was punished not only by God, but by the humans themselves through disdain. That the church encourages us to hate the being that made us what we are, including our ability to even question God, which is an essential facet of a strong faith, has always seemed comical to me. I have struggled to understand what exactly Lucifer did that was so wrong that we should hate him for eternity, when regardless of his motives, he more or less did us a favour. All this being said, Lucifer is described as the greatest of all angels, even more so than Michael. A being of such grandiose beauty and grace would plausibly seem arrogant to a mere human, thus his “I didn’t do anything wrong, ever” attitude in the story, or the way that he refuses to use the term “God” (with a capital G). This is also partially inspired by God’s answer to Job, which to me was essentially “I’m really smart and really busy, so it’s okay if bad things happen to you you little ant”.
The story was written in a first-person perspective both for ease of writing and to create a level of intimacy with the reader. I wanted it to feel like a rambling confession, perhaps the type you might hear from a man sitting at a bar who has had a few shots and wants to explain exactly why your opinion is less important than his. This “relatable Lucifer” is intended both to serve as a vessel for criticism, as well as a source of humour. His use of informal language and disregard for gender stereotypes hopefully makes him seem like a progressive liberal thinker, in contrast to God’s grouchy old conservative that wants the kids off of his lawn. The intent was to convey a being that wants to elevate us to divinity, with the unwavering belief that we would never actually surpass him. Basically, I don’t necessarily want him to be the hero of the story, but at least portray him as something other than pure evil. Naturally, as the story is from his perspective, he portrays himself as positively as possible.
The story itself wound up being four pages long, in part because I wanted to avoid touching on subjects like Jesus or the Jewish people’s history, although I maintain that both are chock full of black comedy. The Cathars were safe to mention because they are all dead and can’t exactly complain. I also wanted to avoid touching modern Christianity too much, again to avoid any direct insults. Had all of the ideas originally planned been included, I estimate the story would have clocked six to eight pages, but caution is the better part of valour.
As far as methodology goes, I sat down at my laptop and vomited sarcasm at it until I had a serviceable tale, then cleaned it up for public consumption.
