... In the future, if we can design a way to intercept, circumvent and replace our incoming sensory data somewhere before or between the eye, ear, tongue, nose and skin and the corresponding sections of the brain, we just will not know the difference. How could we? Nor might we care. If the AI driven data is sufficiently detailed and life-like (that’s the necessary key), life would be seen, heard, tasted, smelt and felt just as it is now, or even much more profoundly than now. Yes, new techniques might allow us to taste oranges, experience purring cats and savor the love of family each more intensely and profoundly than our present limited senses and range of emotions allow.
And thus, there will soon come a time when most of us, if only for a short time, will choose other “realities” over this one. However, it is also nothing new:
For thousands of years, stories have been our doorway to other times and places, an escape (for a time) from our present time and place. It began with oral tellings around the tribal fire, then novels, sacred Sutra books, plays and films. When we read a book or see a film or theatre show, we can be “pulled in” to the story, hypnotized to such degree that we lose all sense of its distance. The book, movie or play becomes our world for a time. And so it has always been for Buddhist stories, as the ancients deeply witnessed and experienced the Buddhas and incredible Buddha Realms in our traditions’ sacred tales, ceremonies, dances, statues and paintings. It will be so for our coming Buddhist simulations.
We know that works of fiction, such as Hamlet, nonetheless convey “real truths” about the human condition. Likewise, when we experience Buddhist works, whether as legend, painting or digital “simulation,” the virtual scenes of ‘Buddha at the Deer Park’ or ‘Vimalakirti in his sickroom’ present “real” truths conveyed and witnessed in front of us, even if just theatre. Reading a Sutra on a digital reader, or listening to a Dharma talk online, are each just new media which help bring an enlightening message to our eyes and ears, with timeless lessons imparted. The holographic or virtual experience will be even more powerful and persuasive as media, for we will lose all awareness of its being “just theatre,” and may be pulled into events as “actual happenings before our eyes.” 5-D Dharma Drama shall be available for one to step into, reach out to touch, be emotionally touched by, smile and cry within and (due possibly to hypnotic or pharmaceutical aides) swear to as authentic.
Of course, these new tools will not be used just for spiritual experiences, and not only by devoted Buddhists. Far from it! As always seems the case, porno and power trips will lead the way, together with fun games and other entertainments. Some will cast themselves into created lives as movie stars, rock stars, space heroes and billionaires. In all likelihood, only a few will choose religious simulations, whether Buddhist stories or those of other religions.
As with any tool, simulations can be used for good or for more questionable purposes: It might help on those long trips to Mars, our bodily needs serviced by a robotic crew as we dream within slumber tubes. Simul-life may present a more pleasant option for those in their final months of aging and growing ill, who might trade that in for an experience of youth and vigor. Would a terminal cancer patient with weeks to live “extend” their life such way? These might not be actual added years of healthy life, but what is the difference if it feels like added years of health … or of many pleasant lives? Would it be much different from administering a morphine drips now, a way to ease the transition and hide the physical pain? We might live a simulated life of 80 years in 8 seconds, depending on the data upload time, then start a new life in the 9th. We could repeat our current life then try something new, a string of lifetimes each more rewarding than the last. Perhaps our bed-ridden self, in our final days, will be transported to a happier version of our past rocky life, so much better than what had been, in which we unmake our past mistakes, unlose our long lost loved ones, see our unattained dreams attained, make our old regrets vanish, unbreak our broken hearts. We (or our family on our behalf) might choose for us to spend these final days in the company of Buddha, Jesus, Einstein or whatever religious or meaningful figure, real or fanciful, is preferred, all as directed by living will.
You may be such a hospice patient now. You can’t be sure.
... We may soon see the day that we buy a pre-packaged “our life” from Nintendo, just as we buy Mario’s life now. It might be a standard story, or a deluxe life, or maybe a story custom written and designed for us alone. There will be private booths and beds to rent for an hour or however long we can afford. An automated minder will plug us in, stick on a diaper and an IV, give us “gullibility gas,” wake us when it’s over … and we will not know the difference. ...
Some might argue that a simulated life would be less of a life. It could be seen as somehow cheating life, escaping life, hiding away from life, not unlike heroine or opium use that buries someone in an artificial paradise for a time. It feels like running away to a false dream, not truly facing life head on. I agree with such critics. However, what if, in the simulation, the content of our life is actually richer, more exciting, more rewarding, more dramatic, more full of love and living, more personally meaningful than what we would otherwise be facing if we rose from our slumber? Is it still an “escape?”
For educational purposes, it would be interesting to “virtu-visit” the Roman Empire, the Middle Ages, the French Revolution, rather than merely read about them in books. It would be exciting to fly with the Wright Brothers at Kitty Hawk or with Neil Armstrong to the moon. When would we otherwise get the chance? We might reserve a table in a 5-Star “holo-café,” dining with Plato, Picasso, Pascal and Proust for a night of vibrant conversation. I would like to revisit my childhood again, see my long dead parents, pet my old forgotten cat.
It will be tempting (and likely most popular by far) for us to “plug in” to a fantasy life of personal dreams realized, one in which we are young, handsome, famous and rich, win every bet and are always the life of the party. But wouldn’t it be unhealthy to live in a simulation in which ALL one’s dreams are granted, one’s every wish? Buddhism teaches that having too much is an enticing trap. Would not we end up as lost as King Midas, who turned all he touched to gold? Would the result be anything but the kind of suffering that Buddhism warns about, in which constant pleasure leads to ennui, ever increasing desires and an eventual feeling of being lost? We see this now in our depressed movie stars for whom money, looks and fame are not enough.
Of course, the simulation could cause us to constantly forget, reset then relive an endless loop of moments of pleasure and triumph, such that things never grow dull, each time fresh, a hedonistic version of Groundhog’s Day. But that also seems rather pointless, circles going in circles. Buddhism speaks of Devas, gods trapped in their pleasure heavens, heading nowhere or eventually back down. Even in apparent perfection, something would still be missing, because the days of loss and tears, mortality and risk, are what give life’s wins and smiles a meaning. A trophy means so much less when the outcome is pre-arranged, a sure thing, even if we do not know it’s a cheat.
Zen folks might recommend a “Middle Way” here, a nice mix. Zen students don’t always need winning to be content, and in fact, we celebrate and embrace a life of sometime youth and health, sometime old age and illness. Namely, when young be young, when old just be old. When sick, one may take one’s medicine and try to heal, but also accept the sickness all at once. No need to be handsome outside if beautiful inside. The richest person is she who has enough and is content, even with all the ups and downs. When one wins, one wins, and when one loses it is best to do so gracefully. All of it is life’s party.
Thus, in my ideal simulation, I would include plentiful opportunities to fail, to stumble and err, to miss a plane flight, to lose one’s job or wallet, to have a broken leg or a broken relationship and broken heart. I would leave out the starving children, refugees and atomic bombs, plagues and pogroms. I would omit the fiery car crashes and plane crashes, Tsunami deaths and crib deaths, even if they are just fictions. It would still be a rich life, a very beautiful life, an incredibly satisfying life without those.
But fun and fantasy aside, what about those of us who might choose spiritual rewards over money, power and fame?
Like many Buddhists, I do hope that, when I die in this life, I might be reborn in a better life, perhaps in the Pure Land or a Buddhist heaven, perhaps in Nirvana. I know many Christian and Islamic friends who feel much the same about their versions of heaven. There is no guaranty, alas, and anyway, I’m the kind of Buddhist who is skeptical of such things when taken very literally.
But if I could guarantee entrance to a dreamland Pure Land, a Dharma Disneyland in this life, as wonderful as the real thing? I might take that offer!
... more on that next time ...
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