A war waged by the deity on man

Machine war


The purpose of the machine is to save effort. In a machine-mastered world, the latter will free us to do the hard, lazy work, leaving us with the most exciting endeavors. That sounds great when we describe it that way. This resentful to see half a dozen men sweat when they dig a water pipe critch while the machine can sweep away the ground in minutes. Why don’t we get the machine to do the work and the guys go do something else? But here comes the question, what else will they do? Assuming they were exempted from “work” so that they could do what was not “work.” But what is work and what is not work? Is it the work of digging, to make a woodworking, to plant trees, to drive, to fish, to go on a fishing trip, to feed chickens, to play the piano, to take pictures, to build a house, to cook, to sew, to to to hats, to fix bicycles? All of these things are someone’s work, and they are all for another’s own. There are actually a small number of activities that cannot be classified as work or ahua and that is according to your view of them. When the worker is released from the digging, he may want to spend his free time playing the piano, while the professional pianist may be very happy to go out to dig into the potato field. Therefore, the contradiction between acting as something unbearably tedious, and inaction as desirable, is false. The truth is when a person doesn’t eat, drink, sleep, breed, talk, play, or just hang out—and these things can’t fill an entire life—he needs work and is often looking for it, even though he may not call it work. After third or fourth grade naivety, life must be lived with effort. Man is not a moving stomach as the adherents of market pleasure assume, but also has a hand, an eye and a mind. Stop using your hand and you have lost a large part of your consciousness. Now let’s think back about half a dozen men who were digging a trench for the water pipe. Let’s say a machine has exempted them from digging to go and have something else – carpentry, for example. But whatever they choose to do, they will find that another machine has exempted them from doing it. In a fully possible world our need for ooking, cooking, bicycle repair, etc. will be no greater than our need for drilling. There’s hardly anything, from whaling to digging a cherry stone, a machine can’t do. The machine may even intrude on activities we today call “art,” and is already intrusive through camera and radios. Empower the world as much as you can and wherever you turn you will find a machine that excludes you from the opportunity to work – that is, from living.


At first glance that may not seem so important. Why shouldn’t you go with your ‘creative work’ neglecting the machines you’re dedicated to doing? But it’s not as simple as it looks. Here I am, I work eight hours a day in an insurance office; in my spare time I want to do something “Creative”, so I decide to do some carpentry – to make a table, for example. Note that from the beginning there is an artificial touch on the whole subject, as factories can make me a table that are many times better than I will make for myself. But even when I start working on making the table, I can’t feel like the cupboard maker felt about his table a century ago, I’ll feel as Robinson Crusoe felt about his own. Before I started, most of the work was done by machines for me in advance. The tools I use barely require skill to use. For example, I can get a mold abrasion skimmer; a century ago the cupboard maker had to use the radiator and chisel to get the work done, which requires real manual and visual skill. The panels I buy have been abrased and the lists have been lathe-wraped. I can even go to the wood shop and buy all the parts of the table ready only need to be installed together, my work is limited to installing a few screws and using a piece of sandpaper. If this is the case today, things will escalate further in the possible future. With the availability of tools and materials, you will no possibility of error; that is, you will miss the skill. Making a table would be easier and simpler than peeling a potato. In such circumstances, talking about “creative work” would be irrational. Any kind of handicrafts will disappear. Some arts have already disappeared after a losing battle against the machine. Take a turn to any church cemetery and see if you can find a tomb that was properly dismembered after 1820. The art, or rather, the craft of stone work is completely extinct and it will take several centuries to revitalize it.


But some might wonder, why don’t we keep the machine and “creative work” together? Many molested this idea; it seems like an easy solution to the problems brought by the machine. We are told that a utopia native returns home from his daily two-hour work he spends spinning a handle at a tomato canning plant, who will revert to a more primitive lifestyle and attribute his creative instinct to some wood excavations, glass-coating porcelain, or hand knitting. Why does this picture look silly – and of course it is? Because of the principle rarely observed, but always working under it: as long as the machine exists, we are obligated to use it. No one will pull the bucket of water out of the well when they can open the water valve. No human being wants to do anything in a more stressful way than necessary. Herein lies the absurdity of the image of the citizens of the utopia who save their lives by excavating on wood. In a world where a machine can do everything, a machine will do everything. Deliberately returning to more primitive methods, using old tools, putting silly small obstacles in your way, would be a kind of arbitrary. It would be like you were sitting reverently for your dinner with stone tools.


So the tendency to mechanize progress is to thwart the human need for effort and creativity. It will make visual and manual activities unnecessary and even impossible. The pioneer of “evolution” will sometimes declare that this is irrelevant, but you can cram it into a corner pointing out how terrible this process can reach. In fact, there will be no reason for a person to do more than eat, drink, sleep, breathe, and have children; the machine will take care of everything else. Thus the logical end of robotic evolution is to reduce a human to what looks like a brain in a bottle. That’s the point we’re moving towards, but of course we don’t intend to get to that point; just as a man who drinks a bottle of whiskey every day doesn’t intend to have kidney failure. The padded and complete purpose of “evolution” may not be brain in a bottle, but at any estimation, half a terrified person is defeated. The machine must be accepted, but it is probably better to accept it as one accepts drugs – that is, with hatred and skepticism. The machine is like drugs, useful, dangerous, and a problem for habits. Her grip tightens as much as one surrenders to her.

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