21st Century Dreams of Electric Sheep

Philip Dick made a profound impression on me. I was introduced to his work, not through the avenue of science fiction but the closest that he came to writing mainstream fiction in the form of 'Confessions of a Crap Artist'. There is no one quite like Dick in any genre or in any century. Slightly bemused, I sought more and found the treasure trove of his science fiction outpourings.

Philip Dick was an extremely prolific writer, brilliant, undisciplined, 'uneven' in his prose, even self-indulgent where his pet theories were concerned. He was driven to write as a sort of spiritual exploration of his own soul and the collective unconscious. He was neither happy nor content with life. He attempted suicide many times and was incarcerated in mental hospitals more than once. He experimented with drugs in a very dedicated fashion, one of those who felt a compulsion to strip away the veils of multiple realities. His autobiographical 'Valis' trilogy is his ultimate dissertation, embodied in the curious mixture of religious and philosophical theory and science fiction that distinguishes most of his work.

Philip Dick wrote many brilliant novels and short stories but it is an aspect of 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep' that continues to haunt me to this day. In a post-apolcalyptic world where natural animals have become almost extinct due to poisons in the atmosphere, electronic animals have taken their place to some extent, both as a social status symbol and as surrogate pets on which to lavish affection.

The story was written in 1968, long before the concept of Gigapets or Furbies were even a gleam in the eyes of their creators. Philip Dick's prophetic visions were more astounding for their time even than those of William Gibson. In the 21st century, when virtual realities are commonplace and people think nothing of creating 'avatars' of themselves, Philip Dick's visions of Perky Pat and virtual pets have proven themselves uncanny.

It is not so much the concept of electronic pets, however, but the religion of Mercerism that continues to haunt me. Mercerism was a cult that appeared in the world of 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep'. William Mercer lived before the last World War that essentially destroyed the natural environment of the Earth. A saint-like figure to his followers, he allegedly had the power to revive dead animals. Rather than seeing this as a gift, however, the government used chemicals to nullify the section of his brain that controlled this amazing ability. This was to prove extremely ironic, in view of the subsequent semi-extinction of natural animal life but governments, according to Philip Dick, seldom are as concerned with the true welfare of the earth or their constituents than they are with protection of their own power at any price.

Mercer's powers having been eradicated, he nonetheless became a cult figure and the 'Black Box' is the means for 'Communion' of his followers with one another and with the object of their devotion. When the handles of the Black Box are gripped, the user becomes fused with Mercer himself on a mythic journey as well as with any one else who happens to be in contact with a Black Box at the same time.

In union, then, Mercer (and all the users of the Box) undertake a difficult and agonising journey up a steep hill. Each step is a struggle and as Mercer ascends, sharp rocks and missiles are thrown at him. The pain is felt acutely by any one in contact with the Black Box. Rather like the Christian Stations of the Cross and empathy with Christ as he stumbles, falls and takes up his cross anew, bleeding from the Crown of Thorns and the wounds of his scourging, the participants in the mystery rite of Mercer are one with him in suffering as well as their determination to reach the top of the mountain.

The ultimate cosmic cruelty in the Mercer rite, however, is that Mercer never reaches the top of the hill. Like Sisyphus who is condemned to push a boulder uphill only to have it roll down again and again, Mercer must continue to climb forever. The power of the rite and the experience in the journey not in the goal.

Sometimes, when I explore a new Harvest Moon game, I am reminded of the Black Box and Wilbur Mercer. The experience with the Black Box was an exercise in empathy, a means by which human beings remained in contact with that essential wellspring of humanity. In a world where nothing but the lack of empathy distinguished the true human from the android, the religion of Mercer represented a means by which empathy was validated as the ultimate spiritual experience.

In Harvest Moon, it is not wealth that determines success but the player's relationships with others, whether other villagers, prospective spouses, magiccal creatures, ranch animals or pets. Some players complain that it is tedious to meet and greet villagers or to care for animals daily. Others complain about the repetitive quality of farming. To me, all of these activities are a spiritual exercise, akin to the journey of Wilbur Mercer up the mountain. Typhoons may destroy crops in Harvest Moon but your ultimate success is measured not in monetary totals but in Heart/Friendship Levels and in 'staying the course'. The player who picks up a new Harvest Moon game and plays through a season or two or even a single year will not reap the best rewards. Often there are events that cannot be experienced before the fifth year but these events usually have friendship requirements as well.

You can spend hours tilling your field, planting your crops and watering them regularly only to have a Typhoon wipe out a good portion of them in a single day. You can explore a mine for hours in one journey and reach a floor only to discover that you can go no further as it has neither stairs nor a pitfall... If you are defeated by setbacks like these, you have no business playing the game. The lesson teaches determination and patience. You have to clear your field of the debris that the storm has caused and rebuild any collapsed buildings. You have to make a new journey to the mine and again strive to go lower...

As with Mercer's journey up the mountain, there usually is no final point in Harvest Moon where you can state that you have 'won' the game any more than real life has any definitive moment, apart from death, where you can pronounce your struggle finished.

Another point of similarity between Harvest Moon and the universe of 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?' is the emotional investment that we make in virtual realities. The crops you grow and the animals you raise in Rune Factory or Harvest Moon ask for a real investment in time and emotion. Is it a form of weakness or delusion to weep for the death of an animal or character in a game, or does it represent an enlightened sense of empathy? There are those who kill off characters and animals in games and find it amusing to do so, believing that it is a 'safe' way to vent frustrations in life. Perhaps that is so, but I feel there is spiritual value in caring for characters and creatures in virtual realities as well. It is no substitute for THIS world and its creatures but perhaps it keeps us in touch with the divine wellspring of love and compassion in some way.

Is it Mourning or an Antidote to Grief?

The combination of illness and the death of Lionheart somehow made me less than enthusiastic about Second Life for awhile. One has a finite amount of time to spend in ANY world, after all. When I mourn, I do so alone. Somehow, Second Life no longer seemed to be any sort of haven of peace... part of this is the natural guilt one feels when any loved one dies. One wonders if one could have spent more time with the loved one, if one cheated the loved one and oneself as well by diverting attention elsewhere. Yes, Lionheart was a cat and moreover, one who was fairly independent for the most part, but grief has its own ways and its own calendar.

A misadventure in Second Life then 'lost' my virtual cat and destroyed a little garden I had created for him. This made me even less inclined to visit Second Life...

Then I realised that all the reasons I had been drawn to Second Life in the first place surely remained valid, and many of them were aspects of 'healing' and 'meditation'.

I visited my chapel again. Having received a notice about some new cygnets created by a favourite artist, I acquired one and set it with the adults. The female immediately 'adopted' it, and I received a statement to this effect! I was thrilled by the creative mind that conceived of this and made it a reality. It reminded me that Second Life is a mirror of the imagination of every sort of human, including those who are filled with love of all creatures, compassion and a childlike sense of wonder and magic.

The artists who had created my original virtual cat now have created a 'cuddle cat' that you can hold in your arms, pet and kiss. The original virtual cat was a brown tabby but these are of all different colours and breeds. I chose a Siamese...

Standing on the shore of a virtual sea, watching the tiny cygnet and the pair of black swans, holding my little Siamese in my arms as a virtual sun set and threw a shimmering path across the waters, my heart awakened anew to life...

Another artist with considerable talent in animation has created a sandcastle with animations that allow the avatar actually to 'build' the castle in the sand. It reminds me of a Zen rock garden in a way. The act of watching my avatar build a sandcastle is a form of meditation. My heartbeat slows gradually and I am lulled into peace and quietude. I almost can feel the grit of the sand beneath my fingernails, taste the tang of salt on my lips, hear the lullaby of the waves...

It is not real, but it is not false either. It is a moment of the imagination, a means by which we can touch the best or the worst within ourselves if we choose to do so. I once perceived Second Life as a means by which to draw closer to the Divine. Nothing has changed. It is all a matter of motivation.

Experiencing Reality for non-Humans

(Pictures show Erin Hunter, writer of the 'Warrior' series and some of her books.)




A writer named Erin Hunter has written a marvelous fantasy series entitled 'Warriors'. It deals with reality for felines, if felines were to have sentience akin to that of humans, while keeping all their feline habits and desires. As one who always loved cats of any kind, I have spent much of my life attempting to understand THEIR thoughts and actions, rather than enforcing my own human thoughts and experiences upon them. It is difficult to do, as we always tend to have our own perceptions of other species and we imprint our own desires and responses upon them. To some measure, however, I believe I have succeeded in entering the feline reality from time to time, whether in interactions with my own cats or simply watching their interactions with other cats. Erin Hunter, I believe, understands and depicts feline realities better than most. Her books are fantasies, but the feline experience in our world definitely is part of the underlying reality in her series.

For those who may consider a writer like Erin Hunter to be appropriate for 'children' only, I would retort instantly that all great classics embrace ALL ages. Erin Hunter certainly is appropriate for all children but can be enjoyed fully by any adult who has kept his/her imagination intact as an adult.

This post was not prompted entirely by 'Warriors', however. Again, Second Life must be mentioned here as a world in which humans can experience other realities. In this instance, it is the 'non-human' experience of which I speak.

Yesterday, when I met a friend of mine in Second Life, she had become a faun. She was a rather glorious faun, I must say, but it was her transformation that made me realise that the old mythological concepts of creatures who combined human and animal personae into one actually could be realised in a virtual reality like Second Life.

At the same time, I recognised the fact that our technological advancements and venues such as Second Life have not given us an 'edge' where imagination is concerned. After all, fauns and centaurs were conceived and born in cultures without ANY technological aids. The ancient Greeks and Romans were able not only to conceptualise such creatures but were able to incorporate them into their own realities to some extent as creatures either from a distant past or from their own spiritual landscapes.

In fact, ancient cultures in general had a powerful ability to fuse reality and fantasy. One need only look at the incredible cave paintings of Neolithic artists to be convinced of the sophisticated and potent imaginations of the ancients.

Certainly, virtual realities such as Second Life allow us to experience ancient myth almost effortlessly in a visual way, but without the spiritual component, I have found that avatars who insert themselves into mythological 'skins' are not only empowered if they possess the necessary imagination and spiritual kinship with myth themselves. One can lead a horse to water, as it were, but one cannot make him drink of the magical potion unless the will and potential are there. Or, as Baudelaire wryly remarked in a different context, 'The man with an ox on hashish will have the dreams of an ox.'

Oddly enough, he used the animal reference to denigrate the experience, but a poet who wrote passionately and vividly of the mind of a feline should not have equated an animal's perception and imagination with stupidity!

Male gods in ancient cultures often took on the appearance and nature of a bull and their female counterparts as often were bovine. Isis as Hathor had the head of a cow. The Apis Bull and Dionysius were bulls at certain stages in their lives (and deaths). Animal nature never was perceived as inferior to human nature in ancient mystery religions.

It is not uncommon to come face to face with creatures who are either half-human and half-beast or entirely beast in their physical appearance in Second Life. To me, it promises an extraordinary opportunity to fuse human and animal natures if only one has sufficient imagination and creative potential to do so.

In this manner as in others, a virtual reality could allow a human to have a brief experience of godhood. Certainly, when I lift a castle into the sky or give myself the ears and tail of a cat, I know that I have entered another state of being, however tenuous its hold on me ultimately may be. Is it possible to take this one step further, to actually experience the touch of the Divine? I do not know, but I would like to find out...