In our modern world, we have come to be defined by machines--those metallic contraptions that are the sum product of humanity's collective ingenuity have become so deeply enmeshed in our lifestyles and consciousness as to be inextricable. Every day, we use machines, and every day, we ourselves function as machines on many different levels. From the biological machines which comprise our anatomy to the mechanical processes we perform as functional, productive members of society, we too have developed into machine-like creatures, blessed with perhaps the only remaining quality which separates us from our inanimate counterparts: a soul. Is that really all we are? Machines of flesh and bone? Furthermore, would that really be all that bad? Can we really say that a machine is an object without a soul, some sort of intrinsic quality which defines it at its essence? The answers to these questions are ambiguous at best. But, that such questions may be pondered in the first place is evidence to their importance. "Machines" is a very worthy topic of discussion. It is our hope that you may find the essays contained herein to be interesting and stimulating. Take pause from the machinations of your daily routine and peruse these pages.

Enjoy.

–Chris Dreyer

Charter Editor

1 . The Second Coming of Deus Ex Machina - by Adam Membrey^

I'm not sure where I'm heading with this. Every thought that enters my head seems to rattle around and then spin out at a completely random moment. There is no connection. I am not at a loss for words; instead, they are pouring out unstoppably from within me, like a dam broken on the eve of the Apocalypse.

 

And yet I cannot make sense of it all. Where is the world going? I look outside and see the sun suddenly hide away behind a cloud of depression before bawling its moody eyes out. Then I feel the hatred of giant hail smack me in the neck and remind me that I need to repent for my earthly sins. I look outside the window and I ask everyone and no one in particular: isn't global warming a concept to consider?

 

But then I hear a voice that crackles through the bible on my desk, roughly stating that no matter how bad everything gets, the believers will be saved. No matter how bad we screw up the world we have been blessed with, the Second Coming of Christ will save us all. God is in complete control, people; you shall have no fear. So go ahead, sit down, and watch the world fold in on itself.

 

And yet I feel that we're humans--an animalistic species--greatly wasting away our precious existence. We feel that we cannot control everything, so we do nothing at all. What happened to the battle cry that called for reform, the one that called for us all to care about those before us from the past, those next to us in the present, and those in front of us in the future?

 

Aristotle once said that every good tragedy must be plausible. If we indeed are living in history's greatest tragedy, we should not expect a miracle, a sudden stop to the madness we created with our own hands. What have our hands wrought? I can no longer breathe fully when there are the toxic fumes of discrimination and anxiety fueling the air. I can no longer drink freely from the water that replenishes my weary soul. I can no longer speak without feeling the weight of my words drop before they travel.

 

I cannot make sense of it all. But the clothes I have worn are no longer clean and the dishes of my gluttony must be washed. I must then turn to another machine.

2 . Tick-Tock: The Universe Made Me Do It! - by Chris Sparks^

We live in a mechanical age, an age in which there's a switch or a knob or a button for every situation, every problem. A gadget for cooking a gadget for cleaning, for breathing, for talking, for one hundred and one, one thousand and one other things.  

 

We're even managing to create mechanical abstractions. A computer operating system is nothing more than a machine made up of electricity, following rules and patterns carved into silicon--do this, push that, and out pops the response. One result of this manifestation of cause and effect in very visible and common physical objects is the increasing sensation, not really even noticed, that the universe as a whole is nothing more than one gigantic machine. Cause and effect rule the worlds. Someone threw the switch many ages ago (or did the switch just happen to fall?) and everything got going with a bang.

 

If we are merely small pieces in the workings of a clockwork world, a clanking and clicking reality, and that is all there is, then consider the consequences. All of a sudden, standards disappear. Why come up with and impose standards if human behavior is preconditioned? If we behave as we do because of a chain of events traceable straight back to the beginning, what on earth (or off it) are you doing telling me I'm wrong? How can you possibly justify demanding excellence if I was preconditioned to failure?  

 

A purely pragmatic and utilitarian response can be formulated: What passes in this world for moral standards are merely descriptions of the natural effect caused by your incompetence or disturbing proclivity to killing and eating humans. You behave in a certain way--humanity has been pushed, and will respond. You fail, and the mechanistic process of natural selection will weed you out of the company, the country, existence. In this clanking machine of a world, we have no room for mercy because every action causes an equal and opposite reaction-- hence the death penalty, hence failure=fired, hence an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. 

 

In a universe of levers and moved weights, there is a sort of purity--there is no room for the messy, or the muddled, or the in-between. If you do not react properly, if the machine doesn't quite work, parts rub against each other. Friction occurs, and eventually something breaks catastrophically. The piece that doesn't work properly, doesn't fit into the machine right, is shattered and discarded And all of this can be justified by the same excuse as before: who are you to judge my reaction? It was preordained, set in train by events stretching back to the world's beginning. I am merely a product of my environment, my genetics, my nurture, my everything but the exercise of my own free will … because in this mechanistic, physical universe, there is no room for any such thing as free will.  

 

On it goes, a bit of logic that chases its tail continuously. It explains nothing and excuses everything. Can an atheist have standards? Yes, but I don't think they can be considered to be anything other than culturally conditioned, pre-determined values that atheist was bound to hold, working from their worldview. All successes in following these are foreordained, just as all failures would be. Anyone who believes in a purely material universe will have to deal with the problem of the machine.

3 . Humanity's ‘New Flesh': The steadily blurring distinction between man and machine – by Chris Dreyer^

Humanity has had a rather peculiar relationship with the machine throughout history. We view machines with appreciation for their capabilities and yet see them with resentment, for the same reasons. There is a certain tension between man and industry centering around a simultaneous fetishism and hatred for the machine. Do we fear they may replace us? They have replaced us on the production line, and can process information infinitely faster than we can. Will humanity be the next casualty of the cutting edge? Is humanity's Frankenstein going to shoot us in the collective foot?

 

These fears operate on the assumption than man and machine are two separate entities, gearing up for a cataclysmic, dialectical clash. It seems to me, however, that these two supposedly separate parties are so thoroughly enmeshed in each other that to attempt to clearly delineate the two would be difficult, if not impossible at this point. Humanity and industry have entered into a state of symbiosis, and any and all fears and theories on the future of mankind at the hand of machines should be funneled through a more specific lens of perception: That of the Man-Machine.  

 

The idea of imbuing otherwise inanimate, yet anthropomorphic objects with the life of a human has been rattling around the collective unconscious for eons. Why, God himself animated a son from a lump of clay. This theme has mythical roots in The Story of Pygmalion and Galatea, where the unabashed fetishism of an ivory statue literally transforms the stone into living flesh.1 In the story of Pinocchio, a woodcarver so desires to have a son that he fashions one out of wood and paint, waking up to find it blessed with life via the gods. These characters function as prototypical robots of stone and wood--so in the industrial age, where it seemed all could become automated through engineering, the notion of a walking, talking robotic person made of cold steel became a realistic fantasy. 

 

And, over the years, technological ingenuity has turned this realistic fantasy into a fantastic reality. In Japan, the Bio-Mimetic Control Research Center Ri-Ken has developed a robot to care for the elderly, named Ri-Man. This friendly, foam-padded helper can carry its geriatric master, distribute medication and detect the odor of urine.2 NASA has developed numerous robots for space travel, allowing them to boldly go where no man had physically been able to go before, albeit by proxy. Countless machines have been invented for the sake of industrial production, performing dangerous or menial tasks with supreme accuracy and efficiency. It is quite clear that the machine has risen as a substitute for man in many situations. But the machine has also become an extension of man, in both biological and psychological terms.

 

The very common act of driving a car exhibits this extension. For the period in which a person is operating a vehicle, the person becomes a part of the car itself. Stimuli are processed through the brain and carried out not through the person's physical frame, but rather the mechanical components of the car. The driver sees a red light and reflexively steps on the brake pedal, and the Man-Machine of person/car grinds to a halt. Synapses of the brain are transferred instinctively to actions of the car: Turning the steering wheel, pushing the gas and brake pedals, flipping the blinkers and wipers on--even toying with the radio. This Man-Machine contains all the psychological impulses of a human, with the physical capacity of a car.

 

The act of using a computer exhibits a very similar trend as well. It's been years since most adults learned how to type on a keyboard, so it is difficult to remember those days in which pushing arbitrarily-placed buttons with letter signifiers on them seemed an arduous and confusing task. Like driving a car, the mental input necessary to produce adequate physical output is something which needs to be adapted to. But, after those first few years of punching keys with a single digit, typing skills become second nature. With enough practice, the skilled typist can type words on a computer screen as fast as he or she can think them. In this way, the computer functions as an extension of the human body; whereas the human utilizes his or her vocal cords to transform internal thoughts into external information, the Man-Machine of the computer/user utilizes the keyboard.

 

The machine as extension of the body has been interpreted literally in science fiction, a theme touched upon in many films by cinematic auteur David Cronenberg, particularly in Videodrome and Existenz. In Videodrome, James Woods' character experiences what is touted as the "New Flesh," a biological bonding of flesh and machinery. Woods' integration of the "New Flesh" into his body begins with the rectangular rupturing of his stomach, which grows into an opening into which VHS cassettes are inserted, making him susceptible to brain-programming. Woods picks up a gun later in the film which grows into his hand, and later a grenade grows into another character's hand-- both providing conceptual puns on "handgun" and "hand grenade." In Existenz, a powerful, new interactive video gaming device has been invented which requires users to plug into a "bio-port" located at the base of the spine. Control of the game is achieved by wiggling one's fingers atop the very organic-looking game console. Of course, this looks quite strange as the user appears as if he or she is merely arbitrarily moving fingers across the top of it, but then again, a typist would appear the same to one with no knowledge of a keyboard. The gaming console in Existenz offers an entirely interactive gaming experience with full immersion into the gaming environment, as well as full biological and psychological synthesis with the machine.

 

These cinematic examples are exaggerations of what machine technology is capable of, but they are adequate indicators of the fear we harbor toward the idea of humanity and machinery literally merging. They are also probably accurate predictions as to the first categories to which this type of technology will be used for: killing and entertainment. In addition to the theme of the machine as a physical extension of the body, pop culture has also touched upon that of the machine as a psychological projection of the body--namely, in regard to the favorite deadly sin of all pop culture: Lust. Cronenberg tackles the theme of mechanical fetishism in his film Crash, about a group of individuals with a sexual proclivity toward twisted metal.

 

Frank Zappa's rock opera Joe's Garage provides another fine example.The story follows the protagonist Joe, who seeks counsel from religious mentor L. Ron Hoover of the First Church of Appliantology. Hoover informs Joe that he is a "latent appliance fetishist." Joe finds this surprising, as he has "never craved a toaster or a color TV." Hoover goes on to tell Joe that such a person is "someone who refuses to admit to him or herself that sexual gratification can only be achieved through the use of machines." He then advises Joe to go to a robotic dance club, where he picks up a cute little machinery who looks like "a cross between an industrial vacuum cleaner and a chrome piggy bank," and the story degenerates from there. To those familiar with Zappa's oeuvre, it's clear that Zappa likely intended no deeper resonance that of a ridiculous storyline--but the mere existence of such a plot device is emblematic of the greater trend of machine fetishism. The sexualization of the machine is representative of lost faith in humanity; the idea that a machine can deliver what a human being can not. Sordid but practical, nonfictional examples which need not be mentioned here would further reiterate this idea. Machines can do everything in the world better than we can, so why can't they love us better? If machines were capable of love, then there truly would be no distinction between humanity and machinery, and the true Man-Machine would emerge.

 

While man has in many ways become an extension of the machine, modern technology has allowed the machine to function as an extension of the body. Prosthetics and body piercings exemplify this trend, providing a quite literal blending of flesh and metal. The idea of a mechanical extension of the body is an idea fully utilized in pop culture. In the recent film by Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez, Grindhouse, Rose McGowan plays a go-go dancer who loses her leg to zombies. Freddy Rodriguez creates a deadly new limb for her: a machine-gun. So, for the rest of the film the viewer sees McGowan strutting around with a gun for a leg, pirouetting on her rear while spraying hot lead from her leg. This is a positive if not somewhat exploitative take on machine prosthetics; most often machine prosthetics are portrayed negatively in pop culture, showing villains with mechanized arms, hands, or entire bodies. Animated villains such as Krang from The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget are seen as sinister because of their metal components. They embody all that is frightening about machines because they use their technology for evil.

 

The integration of humanity and machinery is a prevalent theme in industrial and electronic music. Bands such as Kraftwerk and Nine Inch Nails make extensive use of machines and computers to create and produce their music, while treating machinery as a central theme. Kraftwerk's Die Mensch-Maschine functions as a survey of many aspects of the machine age, from robots to industrial metropolises. Nine Inch Nails treats the theme with more subtlety, removing it from the forefront of discussion and instead taking it as an already-established fact, inserting it as an undertone. In "The Becoming," off The Downward Spiral, Reznor sings, I beat my machine it's a part of me it's inside of me / I'm stuck in this dream it's changing me I am becoming / … / all pain disappears it's the nature of my circuitry / drowns out all I hear there's no escape from this, my new consciousness. In a very roundabout way, Reznor is discussing the dissolution of the boundaries between men and machines, as if humanity had woken up one morning with Gregor Samsa's unfortunate realization that they had been transformed into something very unusual.

 

Shinya Tsukamoto's film Tetsuo:The Iron Man takes this Kafkaesque transformation of the Man-Machine a few steps further. The medium-length film follows a young Japanese salaryman who is gradually taking on the physical attributes of a machine, ultimately taking over his entire body, and then some. In the film's finale, the metallic salary man and his supposed antagonist merge into one giant Man-Machine, and determine to "mutate the whole world into metal," inferring Tsukamoto's vision of the future as one of "global destruction, one where society has imploded and merged with industry."3 This literal interpretation of the idea of the Man-Machine offers a dystopian view of the coalescence of metal and flesh.  

 

The tensions between man and machine undoubtedly arise from the fear that we may be replaced or usurped by them, or that we may lose our humanity in adapting. Already we have become machine-like in our lifestyles, with intricately-regimented routines and complications arising from a more efficient world. However, the conflict between man and machine should not be viewed in terms of two parties--rather, one homogenous entity. We are the Man-Machine; we become a part of their machinery, they become part of our bodies, in part or whole. We look to them for solace from human limitations and imperfections. The future of the world lies not in some great dialectical struggle between flesh and metal, but rather, a more organic transformation as both entities steadily bleed into one another, becoming a gradually more cohesive whole.

END NOTES:

1 Ovid's Metamorphoses; translated and with an introduction by Mary N. Innes; Penguin Books; 1955.

2 "RI-MAN," http://www.bmc.riken.jp/~RI-MAN/

3 Ian Conrich, "Metal-Morphosis: Post-industrial Crisis and the Tormented Body in the Tetsuo Films," from Japanese Horror Cinema