kind of getting away: 16

May I illustrate? I will illustrate.

The eye passes over you. This is what is terrifying. It does not look through you. It passes over. It passes over as if your outline is a blankness in the world, a silhouette cutout propped against the ether. The eye moves and at the exact moment it encounters you nothing changes in it, and as the gaze leaves you also nothing changes. It looks at you like it looks at everything else. Blankness, fullness, whatever.

Visitation: 2

Beneath the Wrecked Church there was a single Hasp. Its name was not known. The consensus among those in the SM faculty was that it was not of the usual order of Hasps; no. It was a Category I, expressed in Form II. And it was the last line of defence, for nothing could stand against a naked Haccieter, against the final idea of a basic force. Why The Defence was where it was no one knew. The Wrecked Church was around 12,000 years old, and as far back as records went it had always contained the Hasp. In that ancient past some deal must have been struck, a trade of some still-incomprehensible value. What was in it? Friendship? That surely was a heresy. It was impossible to imagine.

In any case the Hasp could not be moved. Of course it had been tried. But it could not be done. It was fixed relative to the gravitational centre of Stize. There was also the problem that anything that came within a metre of it (99.2 cm, said the notices at the entrance) would disintegrate as a result of absurd tidal forces. Outside that radius, however, those gravitational forces simply disappeared. They did not tail off; they simply did not extend there.

They could see the Wrecked Church now, the shattered spire of six metal plates, most of the top half entirely gone except for where two of the triangular sheets stretched skyward, nearly touching before cleanly cut off as if by some unnoticed catastrophe, some antiseptic violence that had come tumbling from above. Copper green with intimations of wisdom, flying buttresses broken and left clawing at vaulted notes the hearing of which was like a musical gesture in the middle of its enactment, like a sign paid out in instalments, the long spinal nave of stone and its interdenominate vertebrae locked in place, the high holy orifices of the windows agape, unprepared after all this time—

“It looks pretty good for a ruin,” Garf said, sweating a bit now. “I know it’s a stupid thing to say but it doesn’t look very – ruinlike – doesn’t it?”

They stopped to look.

Bizzo leaned back and shaded his eyes. He said nothing.

“It’s a bit like that Cubist stuff. Not really Cubist, I mean, but like that – who was it – Worthow, I think.”

“Ah,” Sal said.

Garfield drew a hand across her forehead. “I wonder why I never noticed before.” She took two steps back and stretched out her hands in the direction of the structure, moved them mechanically up and down as if measuring something. “You really get a sense of its size, hm? Standing here. I suppose that’s it.”

“In Canon II there is a section on the influence of prehistoric art,” Sal said. Canon was the vast university library.“I think Worthow is mentioned. There’s a book called The Lineage of Art from Before Time. Brewer and Fentiman. It’s good.”

“It isn’t really a church, is it?” Bizzo said. He coughed. “All the later ones that were copies of these two, those were churches. But we’ve not got any idea what this was for.”

“No,” Sal said. “Although there are many theories.”

“Why isn’t there anyone around?” Garf said.

Sal went up to the door and pushed it open.

Above the long darkness of the nave light seeped from the clerestory, touching nothing. At the end a great flood from broken spire.

“I spoke to QC,” Sal said. He grinned.

Garf took in a deep breath of cold air. “And it didn’t let anyone in today.”

“It re-arranged things,” Sal said. “So there would be an empty window.”

Bizzo stood just inside the door, his hands in his pockets. “There’s something, you know, oppressive about this. This place.”

Outside was the human noise, the human suffering.

The very thought.

Garf opened her mouth to say something but Sal said, mildly, “No. No. I understand.”

They walked over in silence to the crossing. The North Transept was ruined and from where they were they could look out at the sun pluming outside, the trees, the rolling air. In the middle of the crossing  there was a shallow bowl worn out of the basalt floor and at its bottom there was, incongruously, a lift, a large steel box.It looked like it could take ten or so people at once.

They got in and the doors hissed shut and they immediately began to descend.

Down hypodermically through rock. This is the song of an unassailable people.

They did not stop for a while.

“What the fuck?” Bizzo said when the doors opened.

They were at the edge of a vast rectangular chamber tiled entirely with what looked like white ceramic. The scene was a study in perspective; the dark lines of rock which showed between the tiles ran from where they stood to the opposite wall nearly a kilometre away, across the floor, walls, ceiling.

The light came from everywhere and nowhere and was painful.

Near the far end of the chamber there was a black square, so dark it looked nearly unreal, like something projected into vision: a perfect cube ten metres in height. Around it the neat lines formed by the tiles appeared to bend, to warp and wrap in on themselves again and again.  A space around where light congregated endlessly, fawned without end.

“So that’s the casket,” Garf said. “Trippy.”

“Is that lensing?” Bizzo said.

“Yes,” Sal said.

“Hmm,” Garf said.

“This shouldn’t be that surprising. What do you know about The Defence?” Sal said.

“It’s Type I,” Bizzo said.

“If you go to the SM faculty page you can find a list of well-defined Hasps and their properties. One standard way of classifying Hasps involves a Reissner-Nordström transform. You express properties about the Hasp by treating its derived properties as if it was a charged spinning black hole. Once you figure out a Hasp’s effective implied charge you can give it a certain mass. It’s not an actual mass, but you can treat it for certain calculations as if it has one. Basically you can figure out what Hasp in Form III would look like. The Defence is in Form II. But its inferred Form III mass – and it’s probably the only Hasp whose Form III mass has been precisely calculated, for obvious reasons – is approximately 4 billion solar masses.”

“Urk,” Bizzo said.

“That’s a big number,” Garf said.

“If you rank the well-defined Hasps by mass it’s pretty high up.”

“That is frightening,” Bizzo said.

Sal said nothing. He looked at the dark cube and said nothing.

The stuttered world made fiduciary to this.

“Is that number a limit?” Garf said. “What does it actually tell us about what this can do?”

“It’s not a limit,” Sal said. “That’s not what a Hasp contains. It’s an expression of actual gravitational potential, not potential gravitational potential.”

“I don’t –” Garf began.

“Garf,” Sal said, voice clear, cordial, knowing, “Don’t worry about it.”

Bizzo was staring. “We can’t go near that,” Bizzo said. “If the gravity is strong enough to bend light like that there’s no way we can go near that.”

“If it was a gravitational field, we’d be dead by now.”

“Terrorist!” Garf said, but put no heart into it.

“What is it? It not a gravitational field why’s the light fucked up like that?”

“I can’t get QC,” Garf said. She turned to Sal. “I just tried to make a query and got nothing.”

“There’s also no Composite Dust in the air,” Sal said.

“What is it?” Bizzo said.

“It’s a field,” Sal said. “It’s complicated.” He grinned like he had made a joke. “It only affects massless particles – photons – the way gravity does.”

“Okay.”

“It’s safe,” Sal said. “Let’s go.”

Garf looked hesitant. “Is The Defence doing that?”

“Of course.”

“And what’s that?” Garf pointed to the long gash in the floor where the tiles had been crushed in an arcing path that ended with the casket.

“Continental drift. The casket moves a tiny bit each year as Wassea drifts underearth it. Let’s go.”

As they walked the lines around the casket slipped and dilated like liquid. They came to the door in the side of the casket.

“We’re standing right here but I can see you just fine,” Bizzo said.

“Yes,” Sal said.

“I shouldn’t be able to,” Bizzo said. “Not if this was bending the light.”

“It’s strange that the door’s just like that,” Garf said. “I’d expected something more impressive.”

“Security?” Sal said.

“Yeah.”

“It would make no sense trying to keep the Hasp in. And it can’t be damaged or moved, so there’s no sense keeping anything out.”

The door was visible only as a faint outline in the smooth black surface. A handle was set into it; Sal took it and pulled and the door hinged open smoothly.

Inside the light was dimmer.

It was on a small plinth and it was black.

“There’s a smell” Bizzo said. “It’s like the smell you get when you get into the car in the morning and the air-conditioners come on. But it’s sweeter than that.”

Garf went up to it. There was a circle inscribed into the floor: come no closer. She stopped a metre away.

How to stare this cruelty away?

A monument like the word if and just as improbable.

“It’s sort of muscly,” she said, “Very lean, like you can see through the skin to the muscle underneath. Is it crouching?”

“It’s like you took a military jet and made it into an animal,” Bizzo said. “You know what I mean?”

“It’s crouching,” Sal said. “It has its head between its knees. It’s digitigrade – you can see how the legs fold beneath it. It looks like it has an extra joint there. If it stood up in this form it’d be well over two metres tall.”

Anatomy. How to embroider a wound.

Teeth do not rot in the grave.

Garf shook her head. “It’s black.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t make out the – the contours of the limbs. Those are the arms wrapped around its – knees –  that is the neck, the neck, going down between them. It doesn’t look alive.”

“It’s not alive,” Sal said.

“Why would anyone want to come so close to something like this?” Bizzo said.

“If you look inside the circle,” Sal said, “You can see – although it’s hard to make out since the floor is so dark – you can see human remains.”

Garf brought one hand to her face, rubbing, checking.

“Those smudges?” Bizzo said.

“Yes,” Sal said.

“Oh,” Garf said.

“This is such a strange place,” Bizzo said.

“I can’t get a feel of it,” Garf said. “It’s not – you know – threatening, now that we’re here. But it doesn’t have a present the way a sculpture has presence. It’s a gap. Do you know what I mean? I’m not sure if I’m putting this across. I feel sad for it. I know this makes no fucking sense at all but it looks sort of sad. Not to move after all this time. It’s so fantastic it’s beyond fascination. I can’t even describe it properly. Seriously. If I go back out and someone asks me, ‘What was it like,’ I’m pretty sure I’ll say ‘I don’t know,’ and it’ll be really honest. And if they person says ‘What did it look like?’ I’ll say, ‘It was dark and crouching and made the light funny and smelt strange,’ and that sounds ridiculous.”

Garf looked at Sal. Sal looked at the Hasp and did not say anything for some time. Then he said, “Look at this. After all this time this is what we rely on.” His hands had been pressed together but he spread them apart now, raised them. “Look at this.”

A child before the blackness, hands raised, wrists loose, lost already in ritual.

“Uhm,” Bizzo said. There was a look on Sal’s face that he had no seen before, the look of something caged and now finding its larger intention, the latch in its trammel. It was not a rapturous look. It was slightly sorrowful.

“Rely on?” Garf said. “We’ve never used it in any way.”

Sal turned to Garf.  Then he turned to Bizzo.

“I wouldn’t know,” Bizzo said.

“This is the basic threat.” Sal pointed at the Hasp. “This is under everything. Isn’t it absurd? Isn’t it obscene? It is a threat so powerful it cannot be used. It is the basic violence under our structure. Do you know how other nations see us? To them we are already a Kingdom of totems. Providence picked bare. They don’t even contemplate conflict with us. And then they see this, our Defence. And what do you think they think? And we use that. I use that. Its hint is in everything I do: you cannot overcome us. Even if I did not want to I would be forced to.” He stopped and looked thoughtful and nodded, or maybe that movement was only imagined. “Look at this thing. I am the same as it. Don’t you think?”

Bizzo and Garf stood and looked at him and did not say anything. There was a light in his eyes and a deadly calm.

“Don’t you think?” Sal said. He held out his wrists. He smiled and there was nothing in it that was not genuine and warm. “Come on. Do not believe that I am something else. Under my skin there is a violence. There is a violence. Don’t look at me that way, Garf. It’s the most basic eloquence and it’s all here, all inside me. Hm?”

A wild and profligate gesture.

Him receding now, just like this, taken by therapeutic quantities of darkness.

“That’s not – a problem,” Bizzo offered. “It’s not easy, being the Leviathan, but it’s not a bad thing, I guess.”

Sal looked up and titled his head and looked at them out of the corners of his eyes, as if puzzled, thinking. “Oh, Bizzo, I’m not complaining.” It was a terrifying look, alien, suddenly, maybe cold, haughty. “But this encroaches on me,” he said. “Come now. You must know this. This is easy to see.”

Garf said, “But the Defence has never done anything. It’s not doing anything now.”

“Garf,” Sal said, “I am not an alternative. Do you understand? What’s – I don’t know, choose what you want – what’s truth to violence? What’s violence to greater violence? What’s me to a God?”

“You are saying you can’t control this,” Bizzo said. Sal looked at him blankly.

“It’s The Defence, Sal,” Garf said. “It’s not doing anything bad. It’s just a defence.”

“Do you think that this must be a defence? Do you really think that?”

Bizzo said, “What else could it be?”

“Suicide.”

“Suicide.”

“Yes.”

“Something to kill everyone?”

“Well, think about it. This whole world is already impossible to attack. There are too many forces conspiring against it. QC. Gates. Gatekeepers. Compydust. College AIs, if necessary. Armouries. But if we were all to die it would be through this.”

Garf said, “So this is about controlling it.”

“I’m not complaining about anything,” Sal said, “I’m just saying this is the way things are. I’m pretty okay with it.”

“I’m pretty sure you could stop that from happening” Bizzo said. “I’m sure there are ways to do it.”

“Why would I prevent it?”

“What?”

“Why would it not be me making that order?”

“What is this about?” Garf said. She had her hands in her pockets, her body tight against itself.

In a different world trees stood shocked in the sun, canopies small spaces and worlds apart.

“Kasakadei has written little thing. A monograph. Have you heard about it?”

“The ethics majors in Hakon mentioned –” Bizzo said.

Evitable and Inevitable Duties of Non-Existence. It’s what you would expect from Kasakadei. A tight airless thing. The arguments in it are not new – they are clarifications of some very ancient claims. Dusted off, restated to avoid some obvious attacks.”

“What is this?” Garf said.

“If it is not a moral evil to fail to create a utility-positive life,” Sal said, “then it follows.”

“What follows?”

“That it might be good that we all die. Isn’t strange that such a small concession, something look inconsequential, almost, could lead to this? Small things have big consequences.”

“When you say we you mean, all, as in all of us?”

“You see now why a Hasp is useful for this purpose.”

“What is this argument? I don’t see how anything follows.”

“It’s about an asymmetry. We all agree that it is wrong to create a life if it would be one of suffering. To cause the existence of such a life would be a moral evil. We therefore have a duty not to create such a life. But it is not clear that we must think that the flipside is true – that we have a duty to create a happy life, given the chance. But if there is no positive duty to create a life where that life would be a happy one – if that is not a moral good, then we are left with a conclusion that the happiness that a non-existent life passes over is not a morally relevant loss, while the pain and suffering that is passed over is a morally relevant gain. Do you see? This asymmetry means that we have a duty to create not life at all. An inevitable duty of non-existence obtains. No matter how gloriously happy the life we create is, as long as that life contains some sort of suffering, no matter how slight, that pain could have been avoided by not creating that life in the first place. Yes, no happiness would have been experienced, but if you think that failing to bring a utility-positive life into existence is not a moral wrong, then all this follows. The Inevitable Duty of Non-Existence.”

Bizzo was quiet. Garf was thinking.

Horror could be thus held purely by its skin.

Garf said, “This is an argument about why it is wrong to cause life to come into existence. It does not say that once life is created we should end it.”

Sal laughed. “Yes! Yes. But one does rather imply the other. And if the killing is quick there is little harm done.”

Bizzo said, “You don’t believe any of this.” He ran his tongue over his front teeth like an animal. “You don’t believe any of this.”

“Bizzo, darling, why do you ask me? Think about it. Any answer I give to these sorts of questions will not be motivated by my desire to tell you the truth but by the necessities of my position.”

“We’re clearly not dead,” Bizzo said. “So you don’t believe that.”

“No,” Sal said. “There you go, I guess.” He laughed.

“Shall we head?” Garf said. “We’re having lunch at Porales.”

“No,” Sal said.

“Come on, let’s go,” Garf said. She started moving toward the doorway.

Sal looked at her. “No,” he said smoothly, without any gap between Garf’s exclamation and his denial.

Garf stood as if paralyzed.

“You should know about the other argument,” Sal said. “Don’t you think? Evitable duties of non-existence. You should find out.”

“Why are we discussing philosophy?” Garf said.

“We’re not discussing philosophy at all,” Sal said, sounding surprised. “We’re discussing why I should not be minded to kill everyone.”

“Okay,” Garf said. She grasped her face and ran her hand down it, pressing into her cheeks. “Must we do it here?”

“The arguments are made rather sharper here, aren’t they?”

“Go on, then. Explain.”

“It’s not complicated. It’s an old argument, an ancient argument, really, that Zapffe Ipcress articulated fully in Grief and Sublimation. It’s an argument for an evitable duty because this duty is sensitive to the value of existent life itself; it matters how that life is to be lived. The claim is that happiness is not real. That is to say, it does not exist independently. Suffering is what exists independently, as the groundnorm. There is nothing intrinsic about the satisfaction of fulfilling desire because desire multiplies – and desire is only a kind of pain evolution has forced us to clutch at, reflexively, a lie of value that we must hum to ourselves over and over again. Ipcress’ words. Do you know what Ipcress writes in the second annex to Four Meditations? I can recite it for you. It slips into the mind quite easily:

“‘Conscious life, although nothing on the scale of cosmic time, is laden with suffering. This suffering is directed towards no other end but its own perpetuation. This is to be expected. All suffering directed elsewhere, which is to say all honest suffering, has long since ended. It is lost to us. What exists is that suffering which, by making a terror of everything, threads the barren and yawning needle of mere survival. We feel, deeply but pointlessly, that life nonetheless has some meaning, or at least some pattern-of-value. We feel that because we hold in ourselves an argument that, even if unarticulated, is as powerful as it is false. What is this secret argument? (1) To say an interest is morally relevant is to say that it matters morally; (2) If it matters morally, it must matter to the entity whose interest it is; (3) For an entity’s interest to matter to it, there must be something that it is like – that it feels like – to be that entity; (4) That feeling-of-being this entity possesses must be indicative of the relation of its interest to its being; (5) The relevant part of this feeling-of-being is desire; and hence (6) Desire must, if not identify precisely, at least indicate those interests that are morally relevant, and thus stake out within each life a space for meaning to develop. At each stage this argument proposes an erasure of suffering and its replacement with meaning, or something like it. Call it truth. Call it light. Call it nobility. Call it honesty. Call it freedom. Call it dignity. But it never shows its true face. That true face is that it is correct in one place only, and it locates a truth. Life is morally relevant – that is to say, it matters, but only because it is an evil. It needs to end.’”

Bizzo coughed. Garf was staring at Sal.

“Well,” Garf said.

“Do you agree?” Sal asked.

Do I agree?

“No. No, I fucking love my life, Sal. I would never give it up.”

Sal laughed. He looked at Garf and then at Bizzo. He. shrugged apologetically. “I think people should know about that argument. It is eight centuries old. It shouldn’t have taken Kasakedei to resurrect it, to put it in so-called analytic terms. It is worth hearing.”

“Sometimes I am terrified of you,” Garf said. “I mean that. Sometimes I am.”

“Sorry,” Sal said. He turned his palms up and that hint of good-willed gangliness came back.

“You didn’t bring us here to do – that, did you?”

Sal made a face of pretend-woundedness. Then he laughed and shook his head. “No, no. I came because I thought it would be interesting to see The Defence.”

“You don’t believe in that argument.”

“What can I say?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, I don’t believe in it. Crane has some sharp things to say about it.” He looked at them, gauging if this was enough. “I told you it’s not useful, asking me these things. Let’s go.”

“Fuck me,” Garf said. “I am suddenly famished.”

Sal looked at The Defence. He spoke to it. “You’ll be here, won’t you?” Lightly again. “This luminous grave. It must be good. Oh well.” He turned to Bizzo and Garf. “Let’s go.”

The Dry Land: Excerpt

The Dry Land

The Dry Land is a Full Experience Heightened Reality Indefinite Utility-Positive Game, classed as a Massively Multiplayer Shareworld Direct Substitution Role-Playing Game in the Dark Fantasy genre. It is one of the 5 open-world games currently hosted on Bombe. It is generally accepted that Bombe created the game, although it has been suggested that Emprinten and Nocrus played a part in its development, given the complexity of The Dry Land’s world. More radical suggestions that Way-on-Hill or Messier advised in its development are now nearly universally rejected.

The Dry Land was released on December 11 2966 worldwide on Stizostedion and was released on Naze on July 34 2970. It is accessible via a TSD blacktile-64 nullport, freely provided by Quistclose and Petromyzon, with two upgrades available from the Bombe/Nocrus platform. No official world additions have ever been released, though users (mostly Inhabiters, but also some itinerant Players) have noted that some aspects of the gameworld appear to have been modified since The Dry Land was first released[1].

The Dry Land takes place in an alternate universe based closely on the Kingdom, centered on Stizostedion; many colleges are replicated in The Dry Land. As is typical of Bombe’s games, the backstory and mythology of the The Dry Land is extremely difficult to piece together, although it is generally accepted that a Decontextual Happening features heavily in the relatively recent past of The Dry Land[2]. The physical laws of The Dry Land generally follow the Canon Set, although there are certain marked divergences which have not been properly catalogued.  The most well-understood divergence is the The Dry Land’s setting in a Weakless universe[3]. Ingame observations from the EMpScI observatory on Naze confirm that the universe of The Dry Land is also relatively young, being about 6 billion years old[4]. Many other divergences have been observed, although these are poorly understood. For example, users have reported that in certain situations angular momentum appears to operate according to a left-hand rule[5], which would imply a fundamental asymmetry in Neurath’s laws. Bombe has refused to comment on the game’s G-set. Certain commentators have also classed The Dry Land’s (apparent) portrayal of naked Haccieters as a modification of the Canon Set.

The Dry Land does not contain, as the Kingdom does, Allocative AIs, and the allocation of resources operates on basic anarchic-capitalist principles. Users are thus given an unusual degree of freedom in the game .The Dry Land has been of considerable interest to academics as a model for both capitalist markets and for the spread of diseases in primitive societies [see: FEHR modelling].

There is no mission-set specified for users in The Dry Land: they are free to act, subject only to ingame physics and the actions of other users. Consistent with other games Bombe has created, users cannot extend the gameworld.

The release of The Dry Land was met with both critical acclaim and, over time, increasing controversy. Game reviewers praised the extreme difficulty of the game, in particular its unforgiving attitude towards pain, and noted that despite having no mission-sets, “…The Dry Land feels entirely if menacingly purposeful. Staying alive is no easy task. But it is impossible to enter The Dry Land and want to only survive. The thrill comes from the need, invariably and keenly felt, to explore – and that is where the vastest and strangest encounters lie. It’s ur-surreal, and, as my partner pointed out, ur-real. ”[6] A particularly glowing review in the New Journal for Massive Games noted that “while The Dry Land makes you suffer, and there were moments where the sheer what-the-fuckery of it made me regret ever having entered, it brings you into contact with beings so awe-inspiring and so strange that when the payoffs arrive you genuinely feel like you are taking part in the making of a myth. The number of impossible missions you can construct for yourself in The Dry Land is quite remarkable. I joined the Assault on Messier on my second day in. I could not help it. It’s is hard to imagine a spontaneous coordination of frankly sick aggression developing in any other gameworld. For six hours I watched people pour atomic fire onto the Lock until, of course, the thing-that-is-not-a-Hasp came out and killed us all…”[7]

In what proved to be a prophetic review, IGV wrote in its one-month report that “… it is hard to believe this game is utility-positive. The play is deep, the atmosphere unrelentingly dark, the mythopoeia haunting, and the moments of rest utterly sublime. But the rest? Who knows. Who knows indeed. There is a lot of suffering to go through. There is a lot of it and this game might not turn out to be utility-positive but here’s the kicker: now that I’ve stopped, I keep thinking about it. And I can’t remind myself of anything but the fact that I want to enter The Dry Land, again and again. Bombe has another disturbing masterpiece. But whisper that fact.”[8]

Controversy

The Dry Land proved to be the most controversial Bombe release. It was noted from the moment Inhabitation was allowed that a surprisingly large number of individuals requested this option, despite the harsh nature of The Dry Land. The vast majority were denied by Quistclose, which expressed alarm at the number of Inhabitation requests[9]. It was also noted by Quistclose that even Players who had spent a short amount of time in The Dry Land suffered from Expanded Personality Syndrome, although it took no rectificatory action, continuing in its longstanding policy of not interfering in FEHR games. Quistclose has also noted marked suicidal tendencies in Players who are barred from entering The Dry Land, although these are considered easily treatable and at best a trivial harm.

The Dry Land also contains a high number of Experience Gutters, most of which pertain to situations where a user is dying or in pain. Users at first complained about the fact that when wounded they did not have the ability to log out, but rapidly developed aversion tactics  or purchased ingame painkilling equipment. Most experienced users of The Dry Land aggressively defend this aspect of the game, pointing out that much of the attraction of playing in The Dry Land comes from being forced to avoid Experience Gutters[10].

The Dry Land is also controversial for its depiction of Haccieters, which many users have criticised as unnecessary, confusing, and “even by TDR standards, needlessly horrific”[11], as well as its modification of important sites on Stizostedion and Naze. The latter has occasionally led to frustrating gameplay – Messier, for instance, is completely inaccessible, and users who attempt to enter are immediately killed. Since the complete death of 7 Inhabiters (and many more Players) in the ill-fated Operation Doppler [see: Operation Doppler], few players now attempt to enter Messier. Similarly, any user entering the Blueshore area on Naze is confronted by (apparently) the Lama Sabachthani and immediately killed. Nonetheless, not all modifications are extreme (e.g., the Ambassador), and some areas, most notably the Memorial for the Nameless Dead, have been left substantially unchanged.

The Dry Land also broke the longstanding tradition that Descendants and the two unclassified were not portrayed directly in art. A general feature of The Dry Land is the corruption of AIs. College AIs, for example, are rarely benevolent. However, the extension of this theme to ingame Descendants was viewed by some commentators as “crossing the line that separates punishing from hair-tearingly unfair.”[12]

The most controversial feature of The Dry Land is its MDEs. While mass death is not unheard of in other FEHR games, it is exceptionally rare, and is either non-guttered or relatively quick and painless. A minor MDE occurred in the very first week of The Dry Land’s release, during the First Siege of Messier. However, there were no permanent deaths, and the deaths that did occur were relatively painless.

November 3rd 2971 – the “Temper-Being IMDE”: “… watching us fizz.”

On November 3rd 2971, the first controversial MDE occurred when the Temper-Being ventured beyond its usual territory and burnt to death 700,000 users of whom 114 were Inhabiters, all of whom were – unusually –deemed unretrievable. This MDE combined had several strange features, each of which would have been shocking to users on its own. Firstly, the entire sequence was guttered, and users had the experience being burnt to death. Secondly, unlike all previous MDEs, this MDE was completely unpredictable and apparently not linked to user action. Thirdly, this MDE was non-discriminatory: hunkers (users who had invested huge quantities of money into protective equipment) were killed just as easily as fleeters (completely unprotected users). The Temper-Being was the tongue-in-cheek name given to the ingame guard of the Wrecked and Full Churches. Until 2971 both Churches were inaccessible to users as the guard would stop all attempts to enter, prompting joking speculation that Bombe had not completed the Churches (they were being “Tempered”). Since logspeak for “temper” often used the flame symbol, the guard was called the “Temper-Being” due to its similarity to an open flame when viewed from a distance. The actions of the Temper-Being are not currently well-understood: Players gave fragmentary and “extravagant”[13] accounts of what happened. Jonze’s description of the first MDE is now famous: “What happened is that Bombe made a monster. Then it sent the monster after us and the monster put Big Bangs inside each of us and watched us fizz.”[14] The event of November 3rd 2971was classed as an Inordinate MDE or IMDE, although they are usually referred to as “burnings”, in reference to the Temper-Being event.

The causes of the 1st IMDE are not well-understood; Bombe has, as always, remained completely silent on the issue. The Temper-Being has never again appeared after the November 3rd event, and both Churches are now open. The Full Church is unaltered, but The Defence is missing from the Wrecked Church[15] [see: The Wrecked Church (representations)]. It has been suggested[16] that the 1st IMDE was a result of an attempt to model Alle, the second Haccieter although this suggestion has not been widely accepted[17]. In the aftermath of the IMDE, intense scepticism of the utility-positivity of The Dry Land forced Quistclose to divulge for the first time its EUF (estimated utility function) for the game [see: The 2972 Bombe Revelation], which itself led to a sudden explosion of activity in the study of Deep Law [see: the Bezoar Mechanism or: the Double-Counting Dispute]. Close scrutiny of the EUF has led to a tentative consensus  that Quistclose’s assessment of The Dry Land as utility-positive is correct, although challenges to this consensus are frequent[18].

April 24th 2979 – the “Dusty IMDE”

The 2nd IMDE occurred on April 24th 2979, when many users had come to believe that the 1st IMDE was a freak one-off experiment that Bombe was unlikely to repeat. User numbers, after dipping after the first IMDE, had more than recovered by this time; indeed, participation rates had nearly doubled.

[end excerpt]

[1] P. Ampiere and D. Green, “Bombe Does Not Lie, But…”, Northern Link Herald, January 20 2983.

[2] J. Fuern, “Imagining The Dry Land: A New Way In”, Journal of Alternate History 2993, vol.2, p.404.

[3] T. Hasegawa, H. Lemmerl, J. Tulkser, R. Dove, “The G-Set of The Dry Land”, World Studies 2969 vol.1 p.78.

[4] Above.

[5] F. Katye, “Problematic Observations”, General Exploration in Hypothetical Models, Issue 82

[6] D. Bromley, “Review: The Dry Land”, New Gaming, Issue 347, p.3

[7] Anon., “Something Altogether Different”, New Journal for Massive Games, Issue 99

[8] “One Month In: The Dry Land”, IGV 4288, p.25

[9] Log: D/D/TDR/InHb/2230

[10] The Dry Land Forum, threat: “Guttering and Glory”

[11] F. Kinn and R. Cope, “Gameworld Leakage: An Overview,” World Studies 2893 vol.3, p.11

[12] T. Andrew, “The Idea of Reward,” Play, Issue 230, p.4

[13] H. Hiber, “Memory Modification by Bombe”, Journal for Massive Games, Issue 141, p.30

[14] “Unstoppable” Inquirer, published November 5 2971

[15] A thorough discussion of the significance of this can be found in: R. Setzer, “The Defence”, Emblematicisms and Action 2972, vol.4, p. 183.

[16] See e.g.: P. Somas and R. Setzer, “Fear and Trembling in The Dry Land”, Player Investigations 2973 vol.1, p. 78, D. Hefstomerk, “How To Burn”, New Journal for Massive Games, Issue 150, pp. 2-8, and D. Tridimas, “Eyewitness Accounts of the 1st IMDE: A Systematic Review”, Journal for Massive Games, Issue 259, pp. 65-123.

[17] See among many others D. Seller, H. Turner and V. Kramnik (eds), “Explaining The Dry Land,” Full Patent and Fence of Inkper College, 2999, S. Drake, “Modelling the Temper-Being,” Investigations Into Rules 2977, vol. 5, p.1, V. Kramnik, “A Response to Somas: Removing H2”, The Standard Model 2973 vol.3, p. 44, E. Fry, “Records of Peculiar Electromagnetic Interactions in The Dry Land”, General Empirical Studies of Basic Forces 2984, vol.1, p.4

[18]See among many others F. Helfgott, “The Dry Land is Not Utility-Positive”, Welfare and Social Design 2974, vol.2, p.34, G. E. Itirades, “Double-Counting Yet Again,” Journal of Economic Studies 2975, vol.3, p.1, A. Lomer, “Unbalanced Weighting in The Dry Land’s Utility Counting Functions: Implications for Intermediate EUF Derivatives”, Making Utility Work Issue 21839, p.64, A. Pinker, C. Radosch, and P. Urdos (eds) “The Measure of The Dry Land”, Full Patent and Fence of the Faculty for Welfare Studies, 2984.

Menacce: Footnote

The minor 9th in the 1st Ballade: Structural Implications

  1. The semantic of the minor 9th
  2. Explicit minor 9ths in B1
  3. Implied minor 9ths in B1
  4. Ramifications for structure?
    1. Narrative form
    2. Sonata form: Type 2
    3. Sonata form: Type 3
    4. Sonata form: Type 4
    5. Cyclic form

Designed Dysfunction in Transitional Passages in the 1st/3rd Ballades

  1. Chromatic irritants
  2. Dominant-locks
  3. Interruptive modules
  4. Modal identity
  5. Diffusional passagework
  6. Medial caesuras
    1. Baylie’s “juggernaut-fill”
    2. Chromatic intransigence
    3. Perfect “suspend-fill”

Carcharodon

“You come in with this idea that you alone are inviolate. All of us are thinking it. We have to be or we would be living in permanent horror. Don’t look at me that way. It’s true. Is your head replete with the idea of sacrifice? No. There is nothing in the head. There is no passion or fear or even malice.  And after a while so many die that you don’t really feel it anymore. It’s the same as if they got transferred out or they took leave. I noticed it first with Sovas – I think it was Sovas – and Akari. I thought to myself, oh, that’s sad, they weren’t that bad, but that was it and you know what? That was all there could be.

It takes something to really make you feel it all over again. The thing that came for me – that was it. I don’t mean to say it terrified me. It was bigger than that. It was as if someone had taken an idea and given it flesh and teeth and it had run out of some  philosophical catalogue of essential objects. It was altogether whole and altogether perfect and there was nothing you could add to it. You know what I mean? It was undeniable.

The killing came from underneath. I think that was how it got the rest but I don’t know for sure.

And I swear as it came for me I knew it was not alive. It sounds mad but I knew it. It was the eyes. They were black and there was nothing else. I was like watching a big torpedo had come out of the silo and its nubby head had become teeth. The eyes were black like a rock and I knew it was not alive but the gaze was deep. Seriously, man, I tell you, I knew it was looking and me and looking right through me. And then right as it was coming for me the eyes disappeared, they rolled back and there was whiteness, all whiteness, and then even that was gone and there were two holes. It was like it was in a trance but it was violence, all of it.

There is one other thing I remember. This might not be helpful but I thought as the mouth opened that it was very pink and human. It was terrible and soft-looking, but there were those veins of teeth. The jaw was huge and flabby like a child’s. The skin was smooth like very fine sand. You can see along here where it took off my skin. I don’t know what I was thinking when I got out of the water. I had forgotten about where all the others were and I called my officer screaming like an idiot and you know what else happened.”

And The Days Are Not Full Enough: 2

Part 1

The corporal looked surprised.

“Hey,” he said, not unpleasantly. “Uhm.” Just above his breast pocket it read: A. R. Mance. Mance frowned. He looked as if he had something worn and practiced to say but was not sure if he should say it. What he said was:

“How old are you?”

And the boy said, “Fifteen.”

“No,” Mance said. “Too young. At least semimajor age.” He looked at the boy again. He said, “You’re tall for your age.”

“I’m sixteen,” the boy said.

“Okay. Give me your hand.” The boy stretched his arm out. Mance put a sticker on the back of his hand. “You can get it off after an hour. If it turns warm come back but otherwise that’s all there is to it. Now I need your name.” Mance passed a form over. “Write it down here, and then sign.”

“Sign?”

“Just write your name twice. Write it here, and then here.”

The boy looked uncertainly at the paper. It was a little slip. Mance felt sorry. A large number of undocumenteds had signed up at first for the partial amnesty but very few this young tried. “Do you have parents?”

The boy was silent.

“The best thing to do probably is just write down what they usually call you. It really does not matter. We’re not going to try to find your parents or anything like that.”

Mance thought that an undocumented child probably did not want to give anything away. Then he realised he was an idiot.

“Do you write? Can you read?”

The boy said, “It’s okay,” and wrote something down.

“Odd name,” Mance said. “Is that all there is?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. That’s all I’m supposed to do. Lieutenant Crane handles undocced applications if you’re below full majority age, so you should go over there now.” He pointed. “She’s probably in and she’ll probably be glad to have something to do.”

She was in, and she was glad to have something to do. She took a small bundle of papers out of the desk and adjusted them against the table. The cubicle was small; it could only hold two. The sound in the room was dry.

She said, “I’m going to ask you some things and you’re going to say yes or no. Some of these conditions you must agree to if you want to enlist; I’ll tell you which ones these are. Others you have a choice about but might affect pay. I’m authorised to advise you since you’re not yet full majority, which is why I look as if I’m stationed a bit below my rank. Just interrupt to ask. If you answer I will assume you have understood what I said. The full details are in here.” Crane waved the stack of paper. Then she looked at the boy and said, “What was it?”

“What? Oh. What made me enlist?”

“Yes.”

“It’s shit being undocced.”

“You know what the funny thing is? People say that, especially about the young ones, but no-one this young actually enlists. I’ve seen – what? – five, maybe, this month? What was it?”

“I thought it was the best thing to do.”

“They got your parents?” Crane said that very directly but she didn’t sound unkind about it.

And Crane was surprised when Ary said, “Yes. Well. No, they died.” And then he said immediately after, “I’m okay.”

Crane shook her head. “It’s a fucked-up world, kiddo. Anyway. Mandatory clause – do you know what mandatory means?”

“Yes.”

“Mandatory clause: Do you freely agree to join the Combined Military (CM) for a term of service not less than three years in length?”

“Yes.”

“Mandatory clause: Do you freely agree to carry out, to the best of your abilities and in good faith, all directives and commands issued by all superior officers, as specified the Codes and Protocols of Military Conduct?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it for the mandatory clauses. For all the technically mandatory clauses, at least. You get a pretty comfortable basic pay at this point. 4000 TUs monthly. All the percentages I will mention from now on are in reference to this amount. Do you understand?”

The pay was very good. Ary had always found it strange that the CM paid so much. But it took a lot too. And the CM had never conscripted people, so maybe it had to. “Yes.”

“Do you wish to waive a right to object to Class C missions? It gets you 20% more, which is quite a lot.”

“Class C –”

“Require or are very likely to involve the killing of self-aware AIs. If you object you exempt yourself.”

“Do I have a right to object anywhere else?”

“You have an overriding duty to report missions where you believe a commanding officer has ordered the deliberate targeting of civilians but that’s not a right to object. You’ve only got a right to object for Class C missions.”

“Should I?”

“Everyone waives it. It’s a big jump in pay and people don’t feel very much for the bastards. The Descendants, I mean.”

Ary paused. He looked as if he was about to say something, and then he stopped, and then he spoke. “What are the Descendants, really?”

“Small and stupidly lethal.”

“No, I mean –”

“Nobody knows.” Crane frowned. “I mean, really.”

“Okay. I’ll waive it.”

“Do you wish to waive your citizenship? Once you’ve got it, I mean. The little tab on your hand probably needs fifteen minutes to finish its job. Gets you 10% more.”

“What does this mean? Giving up citizenship.”

“It means that CM is not obliged to bring you back here once your term of service is up.”

This was difficult. Ary was not sure what he felt about Tyne. There were many things he was unsure about but this was a different kind of uncertainty. It wasn’t uncertainty that happened because he didn’t know things. That was true, but that was not important. The problem was that the more he thought about Tyne and what he had been through the more things became unparsable. It was not just that there were good things and bad things and that they were equal in number or intensity. It was that when he thought about what these things meant they unfolded, and unfolded again. It went all the way down. It was some time ago but he could remember that when he arrived back home he sometimes saw his mother, the person he called his mother and therefore was it, sitting at the table and she would be asleep in a chair and small bags of ice would lie melting on her arms as they were put on the table. There were patches of skin on the arms that were grey or blue and the ice helped to take away the pain. Its effectiveness was constant even though all the other stuff was not working as well anymore and soon would not work at all. Mother’s job, the day job, was difficult, and if she wanted to sleep the ice was sometimes important. She waited at the table for him to return and fell asleep among the bags of ice. You could tell how long she had been asleep by seeing how much of it had melted. The bags were small and clear, plain transparent plastic that bulged and sagged and was covered in condensation. If it was evening the light came in and the bags put folds of it all over the ceiling.

“What do you think?”

Crane noticed without really realising it that the boy had a habit of bringing his hands together when he was nervous. “It’s pretty shit being an undocced, you said.”

“Yes, but I’m not undocced anymore.”

“Legally.”

“I can pretend. People might not care. I don’t know.”

Crane looked at Ary. “You don’t talk like you’re sixteen.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“Okay meaning yes you’ll waive your citizenship?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t asked about where you’ll end up.”

“It can’t be so bad, with my pay.”

“Okay.  There’s some things now that don’t affect pay but which you’ll need to make a decision about. Cohabitation: yes or no?”

“Cohabitation?”

“Fucking. In effect.”

“I don’t know.”

“Everyone says yes.”

“Is it important?”

“Eventually, yes. It’s a war, darling. Sometimes there’s not a whole lot to do. And if you say no people look at you oddly. You’re undocced, mind. I don’t think you want to stick out more than you have to. We’re the niceish people, which is why we’re here doing recruitment. Not everyone up there has much truck with trying hard to be a nonshitty human being.”

“Okay. Yes, then.”

“You can record a sexual inclination if you want to.”

“I don’t know.”

“Thought so. And you don’t want to close down options at this age, really. Next: body modifications. I wouldn’t say no. I’ve actually not met anyone who has said no.”

“What do they involve?”

“I can’t say exactly since they keep adding things to the basic suite. You’ll get a bunch of them – the new stuff, usually stuff in the blood – when you’re offworld. But everyone gets the Interface and Implant. It is considered fairly important for communication and learning. You couldn’t do anything without them, really. Maybe you could become an admin in piloting. A slow one. No promotions. You but if you say yes I’ll take you round to the back and it takes all of ten minutes to get put in and there aren’t any real medical risks. Takes about a month to get properly used to if you’ve not had an Interface before. And it hurts  — I mean the putting-in in a non-trivial way. But it will keep you alive.”

“Do you have one?”

“Yeah, of course. Hard to imagine not having one now. So: yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. This next thing is quite tricky so listen. The Interface is basically a little computer that you use for communicating with people or machines. Usually that is all it does. But it can also be programmed to cause you to lose consciousness for an indefinite period. It’s a small function that Hynder sold to CM several years back. That idea is that if you are in extreme pain, you might want an Interface that, once you reach a certain point, knocks you out automatically. They’ve got the equipment onship to get you back out of it. I know it is a bit hard right now to see why this is such a useful function but if you’ve seen an onworld op you will know why it’s helpful. People get really fucked up.”

Mostly people became very quiet when Crane said this, but Ary said, “I think I understand.”

“The problem is that if you let this happen to you – if you lose consciousness in the middle of an op – you will almost certainly die, and almost certainly within an hour or so. You can’t defend yourself, you can’t get yourself to safety. There is an automatic signal the Interface sends out to indicate where you are, but we can only get you once the op is over and if you’re still alive.”

Crane paused because Ary looked like he wanted to say something. She knew what people said now. They said, I do not want to enlist.

Ary said, “Why do people say no to this? They would be dead anyway if they were in such pain.”

Crane was surprised again. She thought about this. The answer to the question was so obvious it was hard to articulate. “There’s two – no, three things. The first is that they want to have a higher chance of surviving. It’s not a much higher chance but it is higher. It’s quite difficult when you are in full gear to lose consciousness even if you lose a lot of blood. You can run around without an arm for a couple of hours before you collapse. You can seal up a punctured lung. That sort of stuff. The little Hynder protocol cuts out all that. The second is that it scares them. It’s automatic. Maybe you’ll die anyway if you manage to get to safety but you’ll manage to get that far at least, you’ll actually know you will get an operation. It won’t just be sudden blackness out of nowhere.

The third thing is the calibration. The Hynder protocol is suicide. I mean that seriously. If you say yes to it you are saying: there comes a point where I would say, I wouldn’t mind dying now. So we need to know what that point is.”

Ary realised what she was saying. “What’s the test?”

“They put a small filament up your arm into your brain and they make you hurt until you say stop. Then the Interface remembers that and if you feel that again – technically, if you go a little above that point – you lose consciousness.”

Now the boy was quite for a while. Crane knew what she had to do, which was to say nothing. Eventually: “Why — okay. Why does the CM let people kill themselves? It looks like a waste.”

“Because the war is awful beyond belief and because it takes a special kind of monstrosity not to let people find ways to let themselves out of it.”

Crane felt that she should not have said that, or that she should not have said that that way. She didn’t know even now if she actually wanted any undoccs to join CM and, if she didn’t, whether it was because she felt for them or because she could not feel for the war anymore. But the strange boy was thinking. He had a sort of wounded look to him when he was thinking. “Can I say yes without having the calibration?”

“Everyone asks this. No. It’s meaningless otherwise. We are asking you to tell us when you are happy to die. It’s not a numbers thing. You couldn’t possibly consent to having the Interface kill you unless you actually knew when the point came where you  would just want to fuck off into the great unknown. There’s no way you know it unless you actually go through it. And even if we developed some scale, a numbers thing, I suppose, it would be meaningless because it would be incommensurable – I mean the thing wouldn’t tell us a damn thing because point on this scale on it might make someone go: that’s it, no, more, press eject now no matter what and someone else might say: I can take this.”

“Did you get it?”

“Hynder? No. The idea that I would be made to sit and be forced to experience pain until the point where I would actually want to be dead horrified me.”

“How many others get it?”

“In Ebannen, where you get the most troop landings, nearly everyone has gotten it. When the troops got sent there the Hynder protocol had not been developed yet. But immediately after it got released, nearly everyone got it. It was very surprising then. Not so surprising now given what’s happening on Ebannen, or what we know is happening there. Most of the troops there had already seen combat when Hynder got released.”

“It must hurt a lot. Does it hurt a lot?”

“What – well, yes. It’s definitional. It goes to the point where you’d want to die. It’s a constant because that’s how it works. Everyone must go all the way to that point where, you know.” Crane looked at Ary with what might have been pity although it was hard to tell. “Look. There is no need to feel knotted up about this. You can just say no to Hynder. You don’t even have to answer now. Technically you have two days before you make a final decision on any of this. You could come back and say you don’t want to enlist.”

“If I say yes now when will the calibration be done?”

“The day after you get your Interface put in, which is tomorrow.”

“You said that –” And the boy stopped and looked down. He breathed. “Hynder works because the Interface remembers when it is during calibration that you say you want to lose consciousness. Can Hynder be used for other things?”

“Like what?”

“If you just wanted to die, and you weren’t feeling any pain. Could you just.”

Ary has had a dream. It is a stupid thing but it comes again and again. In the dream a person, maybe even a thing, some living thing, carries a light in a vast blackness.  It is carrying the light and walking in a straight line, just like this, sheltering it with a hand, maybe two hands or maybe not with hands at all, just like this, going from right to left, slowly, shuffling. Sometimes it stops to look at the light because it wavers and then it raises its head to look ahead at where it is going. Sometimes the thing stops moving altogether before it starts again. The small circle of light moves as the thing carrying the light moves. That is the problem. Anything outside the circle is invisible. There is no tracking. What moves outside that circle, if anything moves outside, it is unknown. There is no line.

“No.” Crane leaned back in her seat and looked at the ceiling and shook her head slowly. “Gosh, no.” She looked at Ary. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Part 3

The Thing About Religion

Sometimes when you read a really good book or watch a really good film you end up feeling empty inside. The reason is because you want to live in world of the film or book. Does this happen to you? It happens to me quite a lot, this kind of fantasy-bred withdrawal.

The reason why I’m try to describe that feeling is because I don’t really have a thesis. Or maybe I do. The point I’m trying to make is that religion is like that, and it’s okay. No. I think I have a thesis, and it goes either: This Is Why I Am Religious, or maybe – Why Believing in Religion Is Really Not That Special, If You Kind Of Think About It.

This kind of essaylet ought to begin with caveats, no? Have some caveats:

Caveat 1: There probably aren’t any arguments for God. There may be good reasons to believe that a God exists, but these aren’t arguments. Creationism has been properly fucked over by molecular biology and chirality and irreducible complexity is nonsense because jawless fish are missing a whole bunch of clotting factors and whales are missing factor VII and primitive molecular rotors do serve a function and we do know how the eye evolved (depressions; pinholes; closed chambers; closed chambers with convenient refractive indices & crystallin etc.) and more generally EXAPTATION woot – and the ontological argument is weird not because one can construct absurd analogies to it (which analogies really need not disturb the religious person at all) but because thinking of the existence of an object as a property of an object is super suspicious (Kant) and besides who let you define “great” that way and isn’t it internally incoherent, plus Godel was sloppy and never bothered to define what a “positive property” was (tsk) and if you want to talk about modal logic who actually, really, gives a shit about axiom S5 anyway? (Plantinga, possibly no other respiring being.)

Caveat 2: yes, I’m claiming to invest genuine belief in (some of) the multitudinous and very possibly contradictory claims emanating from the cobbled mythopoeia of a Yawhistic tribe whose beliefs liberally borrow from Mithraic traditions and pagan stuff and Babylonian myth etc., and yes of course some of this mythopoeia reads like a manual for genocide and slavery and the systemic fucking over of women and (possibly on some highly, highly, highly contentious readings of several scattered verses largely in the OT and then largely in Leviticus) sexual minorities. The relevant caveat is that I don’t believe this stuff i.e., I think it is wrong. On this more later.

Caveat 3: I’m not making normative claims. Hmm. Maybe I am, or will end up doing so inadvertently. If you see those treat them as purely incidental to the larger descriptive enterprise of this essaylet.

Caveat 4: I’m not claiming to be representative of religious people in general (because for a start I seriously am not), although I suspect the things I describe about religions are more widely applicable than religious people who might read this will claim.

[Aside: which exactly is the demographic that will find this essaylet in any way persuasive? Conservative Christians or literalists will have fucked off long before reaching this point, moderate Christians will find this entire thing far too self-aware and constructed, somehow, as if the entire argument is too mediated to be genuine, agnostic individuals might give the tiniest smear of a shit, which is only a smear of a shit, atheists of a Dawkinian disposition will be unpersuaded and indeed insulted by the bit on science below, and I suspect human beings in general will find this all too reductive or nihilistic or crude. But hey writing this is fun.]

Caveat 5: I’m not making a defense of organised religion (which I dislike), nor am I making the claim that religion that has made the world a better place. That’s a Big Empirical Question (BEQ) and I don’t like BEQs because they probably require a lifetime of dedicated research to begin to answer in any reasonable form plus what is the relevant counterfactual I’m supposed to access here, eh? and I’m lazy and seriously I’m just trying to write a nice little essay.

Hey those caveats were long. Hm.

Oh yeah obviously I’m talking about Christianity because it’s the thing I’m familiar with.

Let’s talk about fiction.

It’s nice, yes, enjoyable? Okay. Good. Now the reason I am religious is because the Bible is like fiction, except that it’s fiction that (1) is pretty good (2) is made better if you think of it as true.

That the Bible is a piece of pretty good fiction is pretty trivial. It’s a generally deeply fascinating anthology that mushes together wildly differing styles and themes (isn’t it strange how the tone changes so drastically between Nahum and Habakkuk?) and has a ton of fun symbolism whose power is not lost even on committed non-theists.

Probably all this is made better with examples. Have some examples.

This, from Ecclesiastes 12: 4-5:

When the doors to the street are closed and the sound of grinding fades; when people rise up at the sound of birds, but all their songs grow faint; when people are afraid of heights and of dangers in the streets; when the almond tree blossoms and the grasshopper drags itself along and desire no longer is stirred. Then people go to their eternal home and mourners go about the streets.

Now this is the NIV, which famously sacrifices a lot of poetic power for clarity in translation, and even then this passage evokes stunningly well the what-the-fuck-is-the-point-of-this-anyway ennui/despair that existentialists with dangerous hair later came to grapple with.  Replace all the colons with full stops and you can imagine Beckett writing this.

And if you want to talk about fantastic imagery, there’s the mad psychoanalytic free-for-all of Revelations. This is from Revelation 13:

The dragon stood on the shore of the sea. And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name. The beast I saw resembled a leopard, but had feet like those of a bear and a mouth like that of a lion. The dragon gave the beast his power and his throne and great authority. One of the heads of the beast seemed to have had a fatal wound, but the fatal wound had been healed. The whole world was filled with wonder and followed the beast. People worshiped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshiped the beast and asked, “Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against it?”

It’s so trippy I honestly wish I had written this because damn it would be intense.

But I suppose the Main Thing is that as a piece of fiction the Bible can be seriously unlifting and redemptive. Probably everyone alive in the Judaeo-Christian world has seen 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

Now: on one level this is very sappy and overblown and corny. It’s difficult to be a human being living in this generally cynical age and not think that to at least some extent. But on another level – and you get this if you actually read the passage wordwise (especially that second bit), this little thing from Corinthians is outrageously and underservedly beautiful. I suppose part of that is because it does not put itself forward as one person speaking to another in the sense of “Hey, don’t you think love is awesome?”; (I mean, okay yes Paul is writing to someone but you’re reading this without really thinking of that) instead it’s a sort of prophetic no-questions-asked-and-no-responses-solicited declaration, and hence achieves a kind of high poetic almost-but-not-quite aphoristic eloquence that isn’t really around in fiction nowadays. There’s a pulse, there’s some stark contrasts deployed, there’s a nice little (or big) message.

I say isn’t really around. But if you still don’t get what I’m trying to make emerge from these passages  read Cormac McCarthy because literally his entire body of work revolves around neo-Biblical rhetorics. Here are some short snatches from The Road, which is his most accessible thing:

“—the breath of God was his breath yet though it pass from man to man through all of time.”

“—looking back at him from some unimaginable future, glowing in that waste like a tabernacle.”

“The world shrinking down about a raw core of parsible entities. The names of things slowly following those things into oblivion. Colors. The names of birds. Things to eat. Finally the names of things one believed to be true. More fragile than he would have thought. How much was gone already? The sacred idiom shorn of its referents and so of its reality.”

You kind of get it now? While we’re on this bit about redemptive stuff in the Bible, here are a couple more passages that are Nice in the big-R Redemptive sense:

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”  “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Cor. 15)

Or this:

He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night – (Psalm 91:4)

Or this:

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, And a time to die;
A time to weep, And a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, And a time to dance;
A time to gain, And a time to lose… (Ecclesiastes 3:1-6)

Now that’s odd, isn’t it? I began by saying that the literary merit of the Bible was pretty trivial and then wasted a lot of time bamboozling you with quotes. The reason is because I sort of realised that getting a good feel of what some bits of the bible are like is important for part two of this argument, which is that as a piece of fiction the Bible becomes better if you don’t think of it as fiction and take it as true.

Because, obviously, if it says (some) nice things, and it is true, then those nice things are true, plus reading the Bible while actually believing that those things are true is a better experience than reading it just as fiction.

Part of this is because, firstly it is actually possible to believe that Bible is true. There’s a whole bunch of reasons for this, but there are probably only two big ones.

The First Big One  is that the Bible, unlike most good fiction (and in common with many other religious texts, probably) actually puts itself forward as true. Like actually does so. It does not begin by saying: “Look at all this stuff: it is true.” It begins on the assumption of its truth and manages to be really quite compelling about it – I mean compelling about its belief in its own truth, not compelling in the form of a logical argument it makes about its truth. So it begins in stark rhythmic minimalist form:

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

And John 1:1 (incidentally one of the few passages that reads nearly exactly the same in all the different translations) repeats this with a bit more metaphysical flourish:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

And that is a good beginning for a myth, conceptually unoriginal as it is.

Another thing I should mention under the First Big One is that the Bible is totally sincere about itself in a way that modern writing has become quite afraid of (obvious point but – important!) It is not cynical or recursive or iterative or ironic. It is sort of self-aware in that books make reference to each other, but it is not aware in the mediated, I know-I-Am-Putting-Myself-Between-The-Words-And-The-Reader way we have become quite used to with our Pynchons and Wallaces and DeLillos. This opens the Bible up to parody but also creates a odd naïve little space for totally sincere belief.

[Aside: this is actually the problem with the Flying Spaghetti Monster. As a deity there’s nothing really wrong about it, except for the fact that it’s such an unpersuasive deity because it’s doing the exact thing that religion cannot be, which is be parodic or self-aware. Now I’m sure atheists will say that’s the point, but – how’s this for recursion – that’s the point.]

So the First Big One really is that the Bible manages to (for some people at least) accomplish something that all good literature tries very hard to do but we rarely believe actually does, or in fact never actually genuinely believe does: which is to be capital-T True. Not just look-at-the-human-condition -wow!-isn’t-it-weird-true, but true in the: these-are-moral-truths-and-metaphysical-truths-and-there-is-meaning-immanent-in-things True.

The Second Big One is that it is easy to believe that the Bible is actually true because there’s lots of people who believe it is true and act on that premise. To be honest I don’t much like the majority of Christians because they seem to me to swing wildly between being platitudinous and incredibly close-minded, but it’s probably a lot easier to believe that a book is True because lots of other people do. Those Christians whom I find to interesting people (read: not literalists), at least, certainly do make it easier for me to believe that the Bible is (partially) true, possibly purely from a social-acceptance standpoint.

Okay: so it’s easy to believe that the Bible is True. The next step in the argument is to realise that this is a very attractive thing to do. This is not so complicated to understand. (1): the nice things the bible says are now true, and (2) reading the (nice bits of the) thing becomes a more-than-fictional-and-really-quite-moving experience.  The Main Thing here is that the Bible makes moral claims unlike most fiction, and does it effectively, and then just gives those claims to people. Look at all of Jesus’ stuff involving prostitutes, stones, slapping, etc.

And the thing is it’s all really simple. I mean we all know ethics is bunk, really, don’t we? I mean logically? A Very Clever Friend on facebook (it was a sprawling megathread involving in a non-tangential sense the value of liberty, the evil of coercion, and debaters, so this is quite understandable) referenced “the futile bashing together of incommensurable intuitions carried out via the wholly inadequate vehicle of language.” You can’t really derive moral truths from anywhere, really, and all Parfit does is sort of throw around a couple of examples that he thinks are problematic and then do lots of hand-wavy stuff. If I gave you the three classical laws of logic (identity; excluded middle; non-contradiction) and then gave you access to all the knowledge in the world you still couldn’t derive a moral theory for me because Hume Actually Really Did Fuck Us All Over. And even if you could create a moral theory perfectly consistent with all the moral intuitions of everyone in the universe you’d still need to tell me why moral intuitions are things we ought to give a shit about. Kant is nonsense (but seriously isn’t universalisability just an attempt to sneak in intuitionism and what makes something a means, exactly?), Bentham is nonsense, the Bible is nonsense. The main thing is that the Bible has a story which is quite compelling, and really nice language, isn’t stupidly overcomplex, and, unlike stuff philosophers write – manages to simply assume its truth, and therefore assure of its truth. Which is not to say the Bible is better – I evidently don’t think all of the Bible is correct, and I probably prefer the Kantian over than the Old Testementary approach to genocide – but which should make it obvious why opting for the Bible has easy benefits. It offers some serious moral security; there is a God; moral truths come from it; the God is good and cares for you.

[Aside: isn’t is a little strange that so many philosophers who genuinely believe that they have figured out What Morality Is spend so much time trying to convince other professional philosophers that they are right, rather than resigning their positions and dedicating their lives to trying to convince ordinary people that they ought to act or think in certain ways? Obviously this does not apply to all moral philosophers, but it’s still surprising how un-socially-active they are. Meta-ethical question: Can you see morality as an intellectual puzzle without actually being daily agonised by it and still claim that you are in any true sense interested in the morality of things?]

Now for the Big Problem. What about the nasty bits of the Bible? As it turns out, not a Big Problem at all: the Bible is big enough and contradictory enough to give me enough room to ditch all the nasty stuff on the basis of its being culturally bounded and plain wrong while retaining all the good stuff. In fact the thing about the Bible is that it’s got two halves, and the second half differs so wildly in outlook and tone from the first that the resulting morass of tensions allows for moral wiggling all the way up to the nth dimension. I – and most Protestant Christians, probably – prefer the second half over the first, and the second half thankfully is all about loving and respecting your fellow man and all that jazz which most people are pretty chill with.

What was my thesis again? This Is Why I Am Religious, or maybe – Why Believing in Religion Is Really Not That Special, If You Kind Of Think About It. Ah yes.

Actually further to all that stuff about why believing the Bible to be True has benefits, there is also a thing – and it’s a very me thing, sorry – about music. Which is to say that aside from just the reading of the Bible, being religious opens up a biggish repository of valuable musical experience.

Listen to this. Well, not all of it. The first 9:47, by which I mean seriously waste 10 minutes of your life listening all the way, or at least please don’t stop before the high voices come in.

Now: Bach designed the whole thing to be a religious experience. It was meant for a religious audience. The subject is Matthew 27-28. Actually believing that these things really happened, and knowing the metaphysical significance of these things, makes the entire musical experience so deeply and extraordinary intense it becomes in one good sense quite noumenal. Now obviously a non-religious person can get this music too. But it’s always a comparative appreciative edge to be religious.

I think this is true because before I knew the subject of this music I liked it; after I knew the subject of the music I became positively obsessed with it. It wasn’t even that I was listening in a pensive or prayerful manner – it’s just that knowing what the words meant and being religious meant that they plugged into something that I believed to be true and that made the experience pretty special plus of course the music was fucking unbelievable.  And and and Bach’s writing is seriously just fucking replete with religious symbolism. Jesus’ words in the St Matthew, for instance, are given special treatment in the recitatives, you get diminished sevenths for prophecies and the worlds “kill” and “crucify” are highlighted with chromatic melodies. Listen to this chorale (you’ll recognise the tune). Look up the words: Know me, my keeper, My shepherd, take me to thee. By thee, source of all good things, Much good has befallen me. Imagine someone actually believed those words and was listening to this thing – you can imagine what the difference in the experience means.

You see what happened there? I came this close to saying that my belief in Christianity was a aesthetic belief. It’s not, because of all the moral claims that hang on it. It’s a lot more than that – it’s a convenient belief, is what I am saying.

Let’s talk about science.

Science, like ethics, is bunk. As in: induction is rubbish and admits of no non-circular justification and falsificationism does no better. Why should we only care about falsifiable things? Should it matter that we can’t prove some things untrue? How is this inconvenient? Religion cannot be definitively proven to be true. Neither, the falsificationist says, can any scientific theory. The difference is that while a religious claim can never be proven to be definitively false, a scientific theory can. But how is this an advantage? Why can’t we be falsity-avoiding and just punt for God while accepting science on non-falsificationist grounds? The only argument a falsificationist can make is one based on Bayesian-probabilistic grounds, but Bayesian approaches to probabilities themselves presume a consistency in the universe that is totally unjustified. If you ask a sciencey person what their objection to miracles is they will say: they  violate well-established scientific theories. But this does not follow. All the scientific method tells us is that at certain points in space and time experiments were carried out that verified certain claims about what those experiments would achieve. That tells us absolutely nothing (but only logically, mind) about every other point in space and time. What is the magic that blows up experimental results into universal-and-presumed-to-be-true-until-proven-otherwise-laws? Why laws rather than just coincidences? Why the assumption of constancy over space and time that fuels the outrage of our Dawkinian types when someone mentions people rising from the dead or walking on water? Theories don’t say anything. They can’t, logically speaking, predict anything either. If that does not make sense I suppose the more blunt way of putting it is: there are no theories.

[Aside: I think some mathematicians actually do kind of get it. It’s all a game, we have no reason to prefer these axioms over those other premises apart from the results they generate, and we are mostly trying to make things either interesting or convenient.]

But all this really misses the point of science. It does not explain the fact that I don’t give a shit about science being logically bunk or the fact that I steadfastly refuse to jump from windows (because gravity) and will bet gazillions on experiments in the future being consistent with, I don’t know, QCD. I believe in science – by which I mean I really seriously in-my-gut think it works despite its logical nothingness – because it’s very convenient, and because the results it generates are things I really really want to believe are true because they’re mindblowing and elegant and are so good at explaining nearly everything (dark matter/energy, turbulence, GUTs, why matter, why time, but otherwise.) I mean yes maybe God made the earth with all its fossils already there and the CMBR is just a deceptive superbig superfaint cosmic lightshow that was put out there to test our faith but that’s stupid not because it’s stupid but it’s stupid because it’s so boring.

Doesn’t everyone more of less treat science this way? No-one can prove it actually works but we don’t really care.

That was an analogy, by the way. With religion.

Which I suppose is the response to people who will observe that my belief in religion can’t be genuine because it’s too self-aware. I’m not sure what that means. I do pray, indeed there are many points when I feel seriously compelled to pray, and I think there is a God. I feel about my beliefs about God the same way I feel about say gluons. They’re all real. One mediates colour charge and one generates moral truth. Well yes all right of course the feelings I have re prayer/reading the Bible are a conditioned construct of the way I was brought up, etc., and I’m happy to recognise that as an entirely accurate diagnosis. But that’s like diagnosing any belief in anything in general. We’re all conditioned, and that’s okay.

[Postscript: I was going to write something alone the lines of how there are no truths out there and it’s all internally generated anyway but that opened up a disgusting can of worms viz. internalism and reliabilism that to be honest I’m nowhere near as familiar with as I ought to be, so I’m running away from this now.]