by Arnold East
So there we have it. An achievable utopia based on practicality, efficiency and control. A utopia that makes use of modern day technologies to maximise these virtues, while allowing for universal and persistent happiness. But even still, I am able to pre-empt some further complaint, which will be refuted herein. The most likely argument that would be raised would be the possibility that those scientific theories of indeterminism that had the implication of a lack of free will may be later disproven. While this argument is a logical possibility, it is quite implausible and even if it were true, it would not mean that my proposition for utopia should be in any way tarnished. I only discussed the lack of free will in order to evince a greater agreement from those who have a deeply held belief that control, especially that of the state is bad, but the viability of my proposition does not rest on this fact. The mere fact of the existence of free will does not make it good; instead freedom is conducive to chaos, a destructive force that shatters the possibility of any sort of world free of pain, misery and suffering. It is only control that can allow any sort of structure that would precipitate a world free of the aforesaid evils and allow universal happiness. Then there is the argument that control is inherently bad. Those who subscribe to this belief point to those countries such as North Korea and Gambia as examples. But this is fundamentally wrong. Though the running of those countries were based around strict control, this control was ultimately corrupted. Instead of being designed to serve the people, control was manipulated by the ruling leaders for the sole purpose of their own personal gain. While my proposition also involves strict control, this control is not designed for a minority to have power, but for the happiness of everyone. It features a totally separate type of control to that of those dictatorships mentioned, and while leaders still exist in some form, these leaders are the unlucky ones. It is a necessity of their roles that the same technologies utilised to maximise happiness in the other citizens are not utilised on them. They are the ones burdened with relative unhappiness.
I've mentioned various figures throughout this pamphlet. I've said that 60 years is the optimal age for death, and that a commune should have 10,000 citizens. But of course, these are not exact figures. I've not done hundreds of years of research; I'm pursuing generalisations and estimations. Cleverer minds will figure out the exact numbers. Those who critique me on the basis of these figures need a healthy dose of common sense. It is the ideas, not the specifics that is the goal of this examination. And the ideas themselves are flawless. Then there are those that reject new technologies outright. They argue that since we intuitively feel uncomfortable with new technologies, they therefore must be bad. Their ethical arguments are murky, (and I have already refuted a few of these in regards to genetic modification, which can largely be applied onto other propositions as well), so this argument seems strong for them. I admit that a dislike of new technologies exists in many people, but I contend this is really fear of loss. An inherent dislike of the new would not make evolutionary sense; in fact, it is the opposite. Evolution itself is change. So it can't be a disinclination towards change that drives a dislike of technology. It has to be a disinclination toward potential losses. And of course, my proposition will mean many things are lost. Useless things that have negative overall effects. We'll lose capitalism and freedom and all the evils those entail. But what we'll gain is much more important, and since we will certainly gain utopia, any potential losses are trivial.
Another argument that I will pre-emptively refute is that a loss of individuality will occur which would be inherently bad. The fallacy of the goodness of individuality has been a tremendously destructive force for too long and has spawned countless misleading aphorisms. Individuality contributes to conflict. Our great individual world is filled with ideological clashes and differences in culture that have caused countless wars and untold destruction. Individuality is also seen as an expression of our "true selves", and a fight against conformity. What is our true self but a manifestation of the interactions between our body, pre-determined through genetics, and the environment, which we have no control of? And even if there was something of ourselves that could tangibly be labelled our individual selves, what makes it good? What makes conformity bad? The fact is there are no good answers to these questions. Those who decry a loss of individuality are not grounding their arguments in any form of logic. In fact, individualism has continuously negatively impacted our society. It is all our selfish, power mongering, critiquing, jealous and deceitful inclinations combined. It is only a belief in the importance of the self above the common good that causes these traits. Collectivism, in bringing everyone together for the work of a common goal is almost objectively better. Collectivism is when we help one another, when we do work not just for our benefit but for the benefit of society.
The potential for a perfect society is right in front of us. We just have to recognise the failures of our current world and that, in living within this limited world, we have been indoctrinated with some illogical and irrational beliefs. These beliefs include our dislike of control and our propensity toward individualism. If we only viewed these beliefs objectively and critically, and thus destroyed them, we would quickly find a path toward utopia.
In concluding, it behoves me to mention one final hypothesis. Through all the time, money and effort spent on the quest to find alien life, we have found exactly nothing. Even though it is highly probable that billions of other planets strewn across our own galaxy are habitable, we have not heard even a whimper from any of these planets. But that shouldn't automatically lead us to suspect that there is no alien life within communicable range; almost all calculated probabilities suggest that there are millions of worlds with intelligent life within our galaxy, and trillions throughout the universe. Thus, there must be a reason that we have been unable to communicate. Many solutions have already been posited for this paradox. Some believe that it is the nature of intelligent life to destroy itself; some believe in a general periodic destruction of life; some believe that earth is just deliberately ignored and uncontacted, while others believe that aliens are too alien, psychologically or physiologically unable to communicate with humans. My own theory is distinctly different. While the interactions of material concerns may be the major factor of societal change in any early civilisation, once that civilisation becomes sufficiently technologically advanced, a point our own civilisation has reached, that civilisation can effectively transition itself into a self-contained utopia such as that which has been described. This is the reason that we have not found any alien civilisations. All of them, having reached a particular point in technological prowess; the means to genetically modify themselves, a working knowledge of conditioning, and competent logistical skills, as well as a particular point in pure intellectual capacity, in being able to recognise growth to be not intrinsically good and discovering the ideals of hedonism and utilitarianism, would have transformed their society into utopia. Previously, a similar solution to the paradox had been proposed, in which societies would eventually have the technology to harness the energy of their sun, and upload their consciousness onto a super computer run by this energy and thus cease any interaction with the outside world. The difference between this solution and mine is that this solution predicts this point of singularity to exist deep into the future of our own civilisation, and requires technology millennia away. My proposition can happen with our current technology. This is good, but also somewhat concerning. Why has this sort of utopia only been conceived now? Why haven't we been able to conceptualise a perfect world unless it occurs thousands of years in the future? Our own society is the greatest prison of our minds. While we are still young and impressionable, our education system proselytizes useless garbage into us and our media continues this trend during adulthood. We focus on personal achievement and personal gain as the ultimate good. And thus, we have lost our way, our perception limited. We still intuit that happiness is the superior good to wealth or popularity, yet, thanks to society, our act
ions don't reflect this. We still work longer hours, sacrificing our health and sanity, in order in order to claim that bonus at the end of the year. We still scoff at monks, living in bliss, while our obligations of work, maintenance of a social life and our health weigh us down till the very ends of our lives. This is the nature of the society we are living in. We remain brainwashed cogs of a larger machine that doesn't care for us. We still live in false freedom. However, this is not a critique of those ruling our worlds, or of rulers past, for they too have been a victim of a flawed system. But, if they don't accept the new world, and fail to set the wheels change in motion, then they would be worthy of the most savage of criticism; in jeopardising happiness, and perpetuating all the evils that burden the lives of those in this world, they would thoroughly deserve anything they get. Instead they ought to help us break free into eternal utopia. With luck, this world will be realised within a hundred years. With luck, perfection will be realised within a hundred years. Perfection forevermore.
Chapter Four
So that was it. It was informative, answering many of the questions I had harboured about the world. But that was the extent of the positives. As I read through the pamphlet, I became more and more concerned as I saw that the world was based on the awful ideas of this one person. The writing was confused, the arguments, plain wrong. It wrote that freedom was unnecessary, control to be good, happiness to be relative. I live its world first hand and though I'm controlled and equal with everyone else I hate it and I hate it for those reasons. I'm unhappy. I want freedom. I want variety. The author doesn't understand and hasn't experienced anything of what I feel now. It doesn't have the right to tell me what's good. It was so arrogant, so certain of its own correctness that it could not even conceive that it itself was the cause of total anger, boredom, sadness and agitation. I sat for a moment, resolving to commit my feelings at this point to memory. Now that I had realised that this world was the result of unintelligent and illogical musings, I knew that from now on, everything had to change. There would be no more waiting, no more patient endurance. I would have to begin a rebellion at whatever cost. I would create a brotherhood, a successful one. I would banish this world from existence. And if ever my will weakened, I would take my mind back into this moment, this moment of undiluted passion. I would remember how this world was conceived and my will to fight would flare again.
Eventually, the anger subsided and as it did, the facts of my current situation presented itself. I was woefully alone and deep in the territory of my new enemy. I needed to return to my apartment. I replaced the book into the case, found the glass piece I had removed and pushed it down on top. Then, I began to creep out of the library towards the door. My new role as an enemy of the state left me on edge, and so, when I was nearly outside, I managed to hear a quiet thud that seemed to come from back in the library. What was that? I was frozen in a moment of fear and uncertainty, ready to sprint away but also eager to see what it was. It felt like a long time before my head stopped spinning in panic and my hesitation ended. It was curiosity that won out. I turned and headed back toward the library. I soon saw the source of the noise; a book lying awkwardly on the ground that was not there before. Who had knocked it to the ground? Was it dangerous? Was it a trap? Hesitation again. But this time, my thoughts came through clearly and simply. It couldn't have been a trap. If they wanted to take me they would've done so already. There was no need for any deception. I approached the book, picked it up, turned it over and read the title: The Art of War. It was, by coincidence or design, startlingly relevant. I looked around, heard nothing, saw no-one. Someone had definitely dropped it there and I wanted to find them. Then again, they chose to hide themselves for a reason, and it was approaching morning. I was tired. I needed to return to my apartment. With book in hand, I crept to the door and pushed it open.
The sun was low in the sky, casting fantastical orange and pink among the clouds. The silhouette buildings were ensconced by a warm glow and trailed by shadows that were stretched to their limits. It was a sublime sight, and I stood watching it for far longer than I should have. I needed to return to my apartment. I started on the way, but I only made it as far as the steps before I sat down and continued to watch. I was too tired. I knew I needed to get up. I knew I needed to return. It was mesmerising, the way the shades of the buildings changed, the clouds whitened, the sky cooled, as the world faded into normalcy and the beautiful sight I had witnessed earlier disappeared into a memory. It was time to get up and go back. I needed to go back.
Chapter Five
They were right in front of me. The two of them sitting on the bed, talking quietly to each other. I implicitly knew that they were Winston and Julia. We were in my apartment for some reason but I didn't question it. There was noise down the hallway, loud, boisterous, incomprehensible shouting. They were coming toward us and I knew that they were trouble. Then they crowded through the open doorway, six or seven of them. I told Winston and Julia to run, then stepped aside as the invaders approached, but they remained unresponsive, still as the world collapsed around them. My room was trashed. They flipped the bed, broke the shower head, opened my drawer and ripped apart my clothes. Then they surrounded the pair, who continued to stand still as they were hit; kicked in the shins and punched in the jowl. With shouts over the din, I questioned them from my side of the room, asking why they didn't fight back. They did not respond. I then pushed through the throng who seemed to be apathetic to my existence to drag them out of their mess myself. With one hand on each of their shirts, I attempted to pull them away. But they were like rocks; heavy and uncompromisingly still. It was hopeless. Then, as soon as they were seized by the throng, they became easily moveable, and were marched out of the room. I was left alone, angry, distraught, the room a picture of destruction. Almost as an afterthought, a few of the assailants returned, lifting the bed and putting it back as it was, screwing the showerhead back onto the wall, depositing new clothes in my drawers, ignoring me as I stood there. Eventually, one of them dragged me onto the bed and lay me down. Then they were gone again, and it was like nothing had ever happened.
And then I was somewhere else. A different room, a place I didn't recognise. Joseph K, out of nowhere, next to me. A knock from a door. And from the open door two people came into the room. I felt like I needed to be outside, and so I moved passed them and exited. Suddenly, I was in a dark open field. K and the two of them were there as well. One of them stripped K while another found a spot next to a boulder and led K there. I had a knife in my hand, and I felt that I would have only one opportunity to use it. I swung at the one who was closest to K. the knife hit its side, and bounced right off. After this failure, I was pushed to the side, and though I tried to move, I couldn't. I could only watch as they began their work on K. They had a knife as well. One of them reached into their pocket and awkwardly fumbled it out. It dropped it. Grab it, I thought, pleading with K in my mind. Grab it and stab them and run and run and run! But no. They picked it up. They put K down on the boulder. They even held out the knife for K to kill itself. It could've easily snatched the knife. But it did nothing. And so, they lunged and plunged the knife into its chest, and I was already fleeing even though I didn't need to. The whole world was hateful to me. There was something miserable, something wrong, and K had done nothing and died.
I woke up. It was bright and I couldn't see for a while, but I could hear voices nearby, and snatches of conversation. "?doesn't have the implant?" "?the leader's orders?" My eyes adjusted, and I turned to see a group of four of them at the bottom of the stairs. My eyes met a pair of one of theirs, and it announced to the group, "It's awake." The four of them raced up the stairs. They had rope, and despite my struggling they efficiently bound my arms and legs. I remembered K and Winston and Julia and I tried to fight. My mind wanted desperately to move but my body was immovable. Just like the others. One of them pulled out a syringe from under its coat, and began looking for an appropriate spot on my arm to jab it in.
I couldn't stop it. The syringe went into me. A sharp pain; and I began to feel numb. They pulled me down the stairs, lugging me by my arms, my legs dragging behind. Even as they pulled me, in the brightness of day, my eyelids grew weary and I grew weary.
Chapter Six
I woke up again. I was back in my room. I was safe. No-one had caught me yet. No-one had injected me with anything. Something still felt wrong though. The last dream was so vivid, it was like it seeped into reality and became true. The emotions, the terror, was still with me. I inspected my arm. There was no sign of any injection. No. It was all a dream. Even then something was still horribly wrong. It was dark outside. Night. I had missed the whole day. I was now conspicuous in my rebelliousness. What were they going to do about me? The other dreams came to mind. I couldn't visualise them, but the feelings of loss and anger and sorrow filled me again. Maybe they would send a force to take me away or kill me. I would fight back though. I wouldn't accept it. But they'd done nothing yet. They've let me be as I've began to wear down their control. This was the first time I haven't dreamt about memorising what we did in class. Maybe because I hadn't even gone to class. It was the first time I hadn't woken up at 8:09am. I'd changed. Everything had changed. It was the beginning of my active rebellion against the state. The beginning of the end of total control that wrecked the lives of everyone. I was going to destroy them. They had made a grave mistake in leaving me unhindered.
Except last night in the palace. Who was it? Was it them? What was it doing there? I remembered the book I had picked up; the Art of War. I grabbed it from under the bed and a sheet of paper slipped out. Floating to the ground, it flipped, revealing an underside covered in text. I picked it up and began to read: