Sci Phi Journal

Letter To A Christian Nation Not Sworn To The Elder Dark

by Andy Dibble

We of the Elder Dark are derided as masochists. We’re accused of chasing limelight. We are “freaks” and “thoolies.” Even in polite company we’re “unhinged” and sometimes diagnosed as such. We are none of these. We flagellate ourselves and screech obscenities unkind to every mortal ear because that is what the Ghastly Rites require.

The Rites must be performed. Not just once, but repeatedly and in quantity. If they are not, the Outer Gods will rise from Incorrigible Space. Their rise will be a reality-shattering orgy of unending insanity! Though we are as insects to them, as pests. Against utter eradication, this world has no other defense.

We are content to be left alone, but the Dark is not an island. Many in today’s political climate aim to marginalize us if not stamp us out entirely, commonly to rile up their constituents, to give them a bugaboo to vote against. But if the Dark is so diminished—if the Rites do not continue—political proxy wars will be the least of our concerns.

I read that among the top issues to Americans are carbon pollution and illegal immigration. The oceans will boil with the coming of Dagon, and National Public Radio frets incessantly about global temperatures fluctuating by two degrees? The decanting of Azathoth from unlighted chambers will fracture reality, and Fox foretells doom in the form of a “caravan” of Mesoamerican families encroaching across national boundaries? This failure to embrace commonsense priorities is enough to make me wonder if shoggoths already stir, vexing all into premature senility.

#

I write now because the Fifth Circuit Court has ruled the Elder Dark is not a religion—at any rate, not one deserving of legal protections. There has been grievously little public outcry, although I expect this owes more to the inauspicious conjunction of The Bachelorette and Selling the Bachelorette season finales rather than animus against the Dark. Alas, Fox and NPR are not the only news outlets incapable of reporting on truly pressing matters.

The Court’s argument was more mendacious than hyperbolic geometry at R’Lyeh. The Dark allegedly “put itself beyond the pale of religion acceptable in decent society” because of a trio of instances in which the Eleventh Howling Madness ritually slaughtered cleft-lipped infants with, I add, the consent of their parents. It’s true that some of the Dark suffer from an excess of zeal, but by this reasoning, Christian denominations should be stripped of legal protections because a few yahoos attempt to heal their children through prayer rather than convey them to an emergency room.

The Court even intimated that wonder-working Nyarlahotep may even be the Christian Antichrist, a gross mischaracterization both of the Bible and Elder Dark tradition. I would not object to such shoddy reading were it to lead Christians to fear and oppose the Outer Gods as the Dark does. But literacy in Dark tradition is so poor that most Americans—56% in a recent Pew survey—believe that the Dark “worships Cthuhlu,”[1] when nothing could be further from the truth. Political action against the Dark has reached such a pitch that in several states we are only permitted to perform the Rites in our own homes on suspicion that Sumerian Blood Magic may have some dire influence on children. As if exsanguination were the most pressing threat to our youth when they have Tiktok and Snapchat.

I implore the Supreme Court both here and in the amicus brief I’ve submitted: overturn both the Fourth’s ruling and all such discriminatory laws.

#

William Calhoun, a justice on the Fifth, also occupies a professorship in Christian apologetics, a discipline I assumed unrelated and indeed detrimental to constitutional law. If only Calhoun and his colleagues were of like mind!

I recently debated Calhoun at Miskatonic University’s College of Acrotomophilia, at which I once held a faculty position.[2] After that debate, I acquired something of a reputation for bombast and rhetoric. For this I am partially to blame. I am of One Abasement and Undifferentiated Flesh no less than my Christian interlocutors, however frustrated I am that they seem more interested in appropriating tax dollars for private schools than forestalling the end of the universe.

The truth is that I entered into apologetical debate only with great reservation because the Dark is not a child of reason. However many grievances I air, we do not believe that logic and argumentation can be a stepping stone to “faith” as many Christian apologists believe. But logic may open wide the way to horror, and horror is the beginning of the Dark.

We of the Dark see the Gods in dream—and we tremble. If the Incongruous Dream must be explained, it cannot be understood. You must experience it yourself. This is why most of the Dark turn away and continue flagellating themselves even when approached by those with honest questions.

But the Dark occupies a precarious position, and failure to respond in the face of criticism can be construed as cowardice. Accordingly I feel compelled to defend the Dark against its Christian critics, at least enough to demonstrate how it is coherent to those sworn to it.

#

More than a few Christians, including Dr. Calhoun at the time of our debate, maintain that persecutions endured by early followers of Jesus are proof positive of their faith. We’re to believe apostles and martyrs would have recanted in the face of persecution if they did not know the way they followed were true.

Is the Dark not persecuted? Do we recant? Of course not. Yea, we persecute ourselves. St. Paul boasts having endured thirty-nine lashes. Mere chastisement to us! Any observant member of the Dark would be embarrassed to have lashed themself so few times before breakfast.[3]

#

Many Christian apologists take shots at other religious traditions for failing to establish themselves historically, but the truth is that religions lay down different criteria for themselves. They play different evidentiary games, as it were. Many Buddhists look to evidence they find in meditation or philosophy, and some aren’t the least bit troubled by the hypothesis that the Buddha never lived. The Qur’an claims there are signs and proofs in nature or in its own literary and textual merit, and so on.

Frankly, I’m surprised that Christian apologists stake so much upon historical accuracy.[4] Historical inquiry is notoriously fraught, especially concerning the distant past. Until the hour of my first Dream, I was Christian. I insisted that, on historical grounds, the Bible was inerrant, even though I knew New Testament historians commonly feel compelled to settle for differing degrees of confidence that Jesus said or did such-and-such. Ancient biographies of emperors and holy men are myth-making at least as often as they are candid reporting of events. My position is biased, but I see no secular basis to treat the Gospels and New Testament as exceptional in this regard.

#

Now it’s true that many of the Dark believe that the Gods have manifested—albeit partially and imperfectly—several times before. The earliest in recorded history was when an unnamed night-gaunt rose from the Indus River, obliterating the Harappan civilization.[5] Next, the Bronze Age Collapse when so-called “Sea People”—a euphemism if ever there was one—invaded and reduced civilization in the Near East to ruin. In modern times, the false shepherd Hastur assails us in the form of anti-vaccination advocates.

If you prefer to view this historical narrative as propaganda contrived by modern commentators, as many of our critics do, that is just as well. All Dark scripture, theology, all our many commentaries—not excepting the Necronomicon—are in service to one thing: performance of the Rites. The rewards we’re promised—amputee virgins, sorcerous powers, undeath, and the like—might just be lures planted in the text. I trust I will receive my virgins in time, but if I do not, it matters little to the Dark. One of the Dark is welcome to believe Dagon is the tooth fairy and Cthulhu is Santa Claus if that encourages him to flagellate himself and utter the prescribed obscenities.

#

I recognize that Christians come in many varieties, just as those of the Dark hail from all cultures and walks of life. Some of the Dark claim membership only to attract romantic partners or to stand out at social gatherings. There are also Christians that claim Christian identity only to fit in with a crowd—that believe in belonging rather than belonging because they believe. Or consider Christians who believe Jesus taught peace and love and nothing besides. These Christians are not my opponents any more than lackadaisical members of the Dark are my allies. I expect neither group will ever muster the conviction to perform the Rites. They contribute nothing to the heirloom magic that snares the Gods in slumber. I leave both aside.

Who are my opponents? The Dark has a reputation for sensationalism, for lacking subtlety, but know that in the Dark the evilest words you can wish upon a person are three.[6] The first is “May you live in interesting times.” The second is “May you come to the attention of important people.” And the third, “May the Gods give you everything you ask for.”

We of the Dark know the menace of these curses. They are written on the soothsaying bones of the universe, as it were. But the attitude of many especially vocal Christians today—and indeed a prevailing attitude in the New Testament—is that of apocalypticism, of fire and cataclysm. The evilest words are not curses but blessings to these Christians—to those who are my opponents: “Come, Lord!,” “How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?” They pray for interesting times. They pray they will come to the attention of the Most Important Person. They pray that God will give them what they ask for.

Of course they believe that God is good and just, but I have no acquaintance with good Gods. My experience with Gods is what I see in Dream, and what I see is all their apocalyptic prayers strung together, accumulating charm upon charm, an heirloom magic spanning generations, just as the Rites combine. But their prayers run counter to and at last negate the Rites. I do not see what happens when the Gods emerge, complete and terrible on the stage of history. Whatever form the Gods take, I do not think even my opponents will be glad to witness it.

So to them—and to all—I offer these blessings: May you not live in interesting times. May you not come to the attention of important people. May the Gods give you nothing that you ask for.

~

[1] Pew misspelled Cthulhu.

[2] Calhoun and I left that debate amicably—neither of us much changed theologically—but I gather orgiastic exhibitions at the venue put him off.

[3] Indeed, flagellation automation has been hailed as a great innovation—analogous to prayer wheels at temples in Himalayan nations. Through automation the subject may be perpetually flayed so that their skin can be assailed on both sides, over as much surface area as possible, and injected with antibiotics for the maintenance of their flesh. Given reduction in Dark congregations globally, I sometimes wonder if the only reason the Gods slumber is because of our embrace of modern techniques.

[4] Many follow St. Paul: “And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins” (1 Corinthians 15:17).

[5] This relies upon the Dark’s translation of seals found at Mehrgarh, but the wider scholarly community remains divided over whether Harappan peoples had written language.

[6] Apocryphally of Chinese origin, but there’s no evidence that they entered into Dark tradition during any of our four mission trips to China.

Bio:

Andy Dibble also has words in Writers of the Future, Diabolical Plots, and Mysterion. He has edited Strange Religion, an anthology of SFF stories about religious traditions. He reads slush and helps to edit anthologies with Calendar of Fools.

Philosophy Note:

This story was inspired by a few strands of inquiry, most notably Matt Dovey’s “Why Aren’t Millennials Continuing Traditional Worship of the Elder Dark?” (originally in Diabolical Plots). Repeated failure on the part of Christian apologists to represent other religious traditions fairly, often to the extent of attacking a strawman, also played a part. This story is also indebted to Mimamsa, which was prominent in first millennium CE India. According to Mimamsakas like Kumarila, all stories in the Veda and rewards for doing Vedic rituals are arthavada (“words for a purpose”). The purpose is performance of Vedic rituals, in much the same way that we take moral action to be an end in itself.

You might be interested in

Half-Rapt

What if the Rapture comes and... doesn't go according to plan? By Karen Heuler.

The Tardigate Crisis

by Matt MacBride

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 12, 2026.

LIFE DISCOVERED ON MARS!

The question that scientists have been asking for decades has finally been answered! There is life on Mars! Early yesterday morning, the Perseverance Mars Rover detected small movements on a ridge. The Rover is now approaching the location to conduct a closer examination.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 14, 2026.

MARTIAN LIFE FORMS IDENTIFIED!

Zoologists, studying images of the Martian life forms, have identified them as a species of tardigrade. Otherwise known as a water bear. Tardigrades are an eight legged micro-animal, known to be able to survive in extreme conditions. They are normally microscopic in size. But the Martian species appears to have grown to the size of caterpillars.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 17, 2026.

RUSSIAN PRESIDENT CLAIMS MARS IS PART OF RUSSIAN FEDERATION!

In a televised announcement yesterday, the Russian president claimed Mars is the property of the Russian Federation. His claim is based on the fact that, when the Soviet Mars 3 Lander touched down on the red planet in December 1971, it was carrying various experiments and samples. These included several Siberian Tardigrades. As the tardigrades are Russian, and have now colonized Mars, the planet therefore belongs to the Federation.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 18, 2026.

US PRESIDENT REFUTES RUSSIAN CLAIM TO MARS!

The White House today issued a statement dismissing Russian claims to the planet Mars. The president declared the Russian stance to be totally ridiculous and laughable. To quote the President’s words; “The presence of a few Russian bugs in no way constitutes valid proof of ownership. I intend to order NASA to use the laser on Perseverance to fry those cooties and sanitize the planet.” Experts agreed with the President’s decision, on the basis that the introduction of terrestrial life to Mars could endanger the evolution of new alien life forms.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 19, 2026.

RUSSIAN PRESIDENT GRANTS CITIZENSHIP TO MARTIAN TARDIGRADES!

At a ceremony held at the Kremlin this morning, the President of the Russian Federation bestowed Russian citizenship on all tardigrades, saying they were valued members of Russian society. He also said that the symbol of the Russian Bear would be changed to the Russian Water Bear, in honor of their contribution to the colonization of Mars.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 20, 2026.

US PRESIDENT ORDERS DESTRUCTION OF MARTIAN TARDIGRADES!

An unnamed source at NASA has confirmed that Perseverance has begun eliminating tardigrades. The onboard laser, normally used for blasting rocks to obtain dust samples, is remotely aimed, and our source reported that shooting the bugs is more fun than Call of Duty. The operation is expected to last several weeks as the colony extends over a larger area than first thought.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 21, 2026.

KREMLIN ISSUES WARNING OVER MURDER OF RUSSIAN CITIZENS!

A spokesperson for the Russian Federation has issued a warning that the unwarranted massacring of innocent citizens amounts to genocide, and will not be tolerated. The statement goes on to state that, if it is not halted immediately, there will be dire consequences. Other reports have been received that the Russian Pacific Fleet has sailed from its base near Vladivostok, and is heading towards the USA.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 22, 2026.

US PRESIDENT LEAVES WHITE HOUSE!

The US President together with his family have reportedly left the White House for an unknown destination. The move is due to heightened tensions between the US and Russia, over the crisis which has become known as Tardigate. Before leaving, the President made a short speech to White House staffers, thanking them for their continued support at this difficult juncture in his administration.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 23, 2026.

RUSSIA ACCUSES USA OF TRESPASS AND DEMANDS IMMEDIATE REMOVAL OF PERSEVERANCE FROM MARS!

In the latest development in the Tardigate Crisis, the Kremlin has insisted that operation of the Perseverance Rover on Russian territory amounts to a threat to its sovereignty and is considered as espionage. A Russian military spokesperson emphasized, that the continued presence of the Rover would be viewed as an act of war.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 24, 2026.

US GENERAL DOWNPLAYS RUSSIAN THREATS!

The Chief of Staff today reassured journalists that Russian rhetoric should not be taken too seriously. He reminded the press conference that the Kremlin has a track record of nationalist bravado in times of economic difficulties, and that the current controversy was probably designed to distract the Russian people from the country’s other problems.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 26, 2026.

EDITORIAL STATEMENT

The Arlington Chronicle is receiving reports that nuclear missiles have detonated along the western seaboard of the United States. No official statements have been released, and all government departments are being relocated to bunkers. Most internet and cell phone networks have ceased to function. Landline communications are intermittent. The government advises all citizens to remain at home and seal all windows and doors to prevent radioactive contamination.

EXCERPT FROM THE ARLINGTON CHRONICLE LEAD ARTICLE, dated October 29, 2026.

EMERGENCY ISSUE

The Chronicle is unable to continue production, and is closing down for the foreseeable future. The latest news received in our offices is that missiles have been launched from bases in Colorado and Wyoming. We feel assured that our government will prevail, and that America will rise from the ashes, and reclaim our right to prevent Russian expansion, by ridding Mars of the insidious tardigrades.

~

Bio:

Matt MacBride is an aspiring British writer and podcast content creator enjoying retirement on Spain’s beautiful Costa Blanca. He writes short stories, novellas, and screenplays in a variety of genres, and has been published online and in print in the UK, USA and Spain.

Philosophy Note:

In May 2021, Episode 197 of ‘Houston We Have a Podcast’ discussed the subject of water bears (tardigrades) surviving in space, and experiments conducted on the ISS. This led me to the idea of a ludicrous international incident sparked by the colonization of Mars by tardigrades.

You might be interested in

Leapers

Mind-altering substances can expand more than just human horizons. By Umair Khan.

Arbor Ad Infernum

Would social dynamics be any less fierce were trees the dominant species? By George Salis.

Of Speaking With Forked Tongues

Religious Traditions and Speculative Fiction on Hypocrisy

by Manjula Menon

One of the most admired novels of all time is George Orwell’s 1945 work of speculative fiction, Animal Farm. The novel describes a revolt by farm animals, led by pigs, against their loutish human masters. After the animals win control of “Manor Farm”, the pigs swiftly install themselves as the new overseers. The virtuous slogans and uplifting songs that had originally been created in earnest soon become tools of control, as the pigs reveal themselves to be even more cruel than the humans they’d replaced. The ruling pigs, it turned out, had cynically “performed” virtue to seize power. Thus, the pigs were hypocrites.[1]

Influential works of speculative fiction are well known to take philosophical stands, many of which can be encapsulated by the idiom ‘All is fair in love and war’. Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game, to give just one example,explores how a libertarian leaning society responds to war. Animal Farm, on the other hand, is usually described as a satirical allegory of the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia, with the novel’s main characters representing historical counterparts. However, given that immediately prior to writing Animal Farm, Orwell’s creative energies had been focused on writing propaganda radio pieces for the BBC for broadcast to Indian audiences, it should at least be considered that “Manor Farm” represents the British Dominion, the farm animals stand in for colonial subjects, and the human farmers symbolize the Imperial administration.

Orwell’s connections to British India are several. Born in Bengal as Eric Blair in 1903, he chose George Orwell as his literary pseudonym later in life. After a childhood back in England, at the age of 19, Orwell applied for and obtained a position with the Indian Imperial Police, then returned to British India, working as a police officer for five years in Mandalay, Burma. Orwell wrote a novel based on his time there, Burmese Days, a brutal, semi-autobiographical tale of cruelty, venality and corruption that is at least as dark as his later, more famous works. But the novel is also about alienation, the leaden, angry loneliness of a sensitive young man, adrift in a world whose warp and weft are pettiness and hypocrisy.[2] From Burmese Days and other works drawn from his time in Burma, it appears that Orwell was ambivalent about the British imperial project. He nevertheless produced propaganda for the BBC during the second world war, after which he targeted the new enemy: communism. Animal Farm can be read as a warning to subjects of the British empire, both in the colonies and at home, not to fall for the machinations of the virtue-signaling hypocrites who only seek power for themselves.

The etymology of the word “hypocrite” reveals a Greek origin: hypókrisis, “playing a part on the stage, pretending to be something one is not”. In the modern era, the word is used more narrowly, to describe a person who outwardly pretends to be pious or virtuous to further their own material interests. Prior to his wartime propaganda work, Orwell’s talents had been focused on writing semi-autobiographical pieces, but post war, while the style, tone and mood of the works are similar, he became focused on showing how cynical actors use hypocrisy to obtain and retain political power. His later works are masterpieces in using speculative fiction to critique specific political philosophies. In his 1948 novel, 1984, for example, a monstrous regime ruthlessly monitors and controls every action, while mandating the mouthing of virtuous slogans. 1984 is a terrifying tale of grinding loneliness and crushing dread, set against a background of cruelty, tyranny and, indeed, hypocrisy.[3]

Whether it is by describing the pigs who use the other animals to achieve power in Animal Farm, or by detailing how the leaders of 1984 subdue the frightened masses with vacuous slogans and platitudes, Orwell’s speculative fiction aims to persuade. Orwell despises hypocrites who ruthlessly pursue power by pretending to be virtuous, and after reading his superbly executed “show-don’t-tell” works of speculative fiction, the reader feels the same way. Orwell achieves this not by describing mere self-aggrandizement; it is the rare person who has not even slightly embellished, by omission or exaggeration, their own achievements. Neither is he describing outright deceit or fraud. Rather, it is naked self-interest cloaked in showy virtuosness, the hallmark of hypocrisy, that he is aiming for.

The modern notion of a hypocrite as that of a person with societal power and influence, one who publicly decries and penalizes others for not demonstrating sufficient piety, all the while doing whatever they wish in private, is at least in theory universally known and reviled. But where did this idea of a hypocrite originate? And is there something particular about the current moment that might warrant returning the idea to prominence?

In Part II of The Nicomachean Ethics, the 4th century Greek philosopher Aristotle made a distinction between universally held ethical principles that do not vary across cultures and customs, versus ethical principles based on local convention: “… the rules of justice ordained not by nature but by man are not the same in all places, since forms of government are not the same …”, [4] going on to list adultery, theft and murder as behaviors that would always be considered wrong.[5]  To Aristotle’s list of universally despised behaviors, I will add a disdain for those who signal, but do not practice, virtue. One of the reasons that Orwell’s novels continue to be so popular is that nobody has ever liked a hypocrite.

That the revulsion for hypocrites is not merely a modern phenomenon can be verified by reading the works of the world’s major religions, where remarks against false piety can be found. The original works have spawned several English translations each, so for the purposes of this essay, I have drawn on ones that are easily accessible and widely known.

The Buddhist text Dhammapada is a compilation of the sayings of the Buddha, estimated to have lived 6th or 5th BC in modern-day Nepal and India. The Dhammapada asks in Chapter 26, 394: What is the use of platted hair, O fool! what of the raiment of goat-skins? Within thee there is ravening, but the outside thou makest clean.[6]

Likewise, the Hindu text, the Bhagavad Gita, estimated to be anywhere from 7000 – 400 BCE, India, offers remarks against false piety.

“Led astray by many thoughts, entangled in a net of delusion, addicted to the gratification of desires—they fall into an impure hell.

Self-conceited, obstinate, full of intoxication and pride of wealth—they perform merely nominal sacrifices with deceit and without following proper rules.” [7]

The Jewish Pentateuch hails from around 1500 – 400 BCE and arose in the area of modern-day Israel. The Pentateuch, in Jeremiah, 7, 9-10, also invokes the idea of hypocrisy as when the Lord asks of his people:

9 How will ye steal, murder, and commit adultery, and swear falsely, and burn incense unto Ba’al, and walk after other gods of which ye have had no knowledge;

10 And (then) come and stand before my presence in this house, which is called by my name, and say, ” We are delivered;” in order to do all these abominations?[8]

The books of the other Abrahamic religions are more direct. The Islamic holy book, the Quran, from the 7th century AD, modern-day Saudi Arabia, has an entire section, the 63rd sura, the title of which is usually translated into English as “The Hypocrites”. Verse 4 of this sura describes hypocrites thus:

“4 When you see them, their outward appearance pleases you; when they speak, you listen to what they say. But they are like propped-up timbers—they think every cry they hear is against them—and they are the enemy. Beware of them. May God confound them! How devious they are!”[9]

Among all the major religions, however, it is the Gospels of the Christian Bible, written in 1st century AD, modern day Syria, Turkey and Israel, that have most to say about hypocrites and hypocrisy. Given the Bible’s enormous influence on global culture, this is likely where the modern sense of the word is derived from. Hypocrites are described in the Gospels as the powerful elites of the day, who penalized others for not following the laws and rules that they did not follow themselves. As in the modern sense, the biblical notion of hypocrisy involves the thicker notion of virtue-signaling elites. Take for example, Matthew Chapter 23 in which Jesus warns against hypocrites:

Matthew 23, 3: “All therefore whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do; but do not ye after their works: for they say, and do not.” [10]

Matthew 23, 28: “Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.”[10]

Distrust of institutions is widespread and growing as evidenced by the many political upheavals observed around the world. One modern-day institution that stands accused of hypocrisy is the global news media. Television news has a similar feel the world over, featuring strident brass and percussion lead-ins, “breaking news” chyrons playing in an endless loop, and news segments presented by powdered and coiffed anchors who subtly move their heads in singular ways as they read from their teleprompters. Modern media professionals are known to be fond of “gotcha” soundbites, where they attempt to draw a controversial statement from an interviewee. This scenario was described in Mark 12, 13-17, where an unsuccessful attempt is made for a “gotcha” from Jesus:

“13 [And] they send unto him certain of the Pharisees and of the Herodians, to catch him in his words.

14 And when they were come, they say unto him, Master, we know that thou art true, and carest for no man: for thou regardest not the person of men, but teachest the way of God in truth: Is it lawful to give tribute to Cesar, or not?

15 Shall we give, or shall we not give? But he, knowing their hypocrisy, said unto them, Why tempt ye me? bring me a penny, that I may see it.

16 And they brought it. And he saith unto them, Whose is this image and superscription? And they said unto him, Cesar’s.

17 And Jesus answering said unto them, Render to Cesar the things that are Cesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s. And they marvelled at him.” [11]

What has remained true through the ages appears to be a yearning for truth, for leaders who do what they say, and practice what they preach. Modern politics, however, is rife with people who make rules for others that they themselves do not follow. This type of person is so ubiquitous in the profession, that a politician who simply refrains from performative moralizing has already distinguished themselves from the others. It is not hard to recall politicians who despite observable flaws have become enormously popular merely by not engaging in performative moralizing and therefore coming across as endearingly authentic. Leaders who speak authentically, warts and all, are increasingly seen as more trustworthy of delivering what they say they will, as opposed to those who say whatever virtuous thing they have been told to say for the cameras.

The hypocrisy of societies could be seen as the hypocrisy of individuals, writ large. In addition to the previously mentioned Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game, other enormously popular works of contemporary speculative fiction describe societies who strive for fairness at home while acting without mercy in times of war. Consider Phlebas by Iain Banks and Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein both feature societies who strive for libertarian ideals while engaging in pitiless wars. In Iain Bank’s Culture series, for example, the Culture, a society presented as a post-scarcity, hedonistic utopia for those within it, is nevertheless relentless in pursuing its military and political aims. In the first novel in the series, Consider Phlebas, the Culture, led by the godlike artificial intelligences known as ‘minds’, goes to war against the alien Iridans, who in turn fight on behalf of their religion.

Likewise, the “citizens” and “civilians” who make up Robert A. Heinlein’s Terran Foundation in Starship Troopers are presented as being part of an egalitarian representative democracy, albeit one where the right to vote as a citizen is earned not by birthright, but after completing service to the state, usually in the military. Like the Culture, the Terran Federation is ruthless in pursuit of military victory.

A major feature of both works is the description of the technical wizardry used to prosecute wars. The Culture and Terrans appear to aim for a better, fairer world, but they are also heavily invested in battle technology and military assets. The contrast might strike one as hypocritical, but both works present a strawman of a scenario, viz the threats faced by these already formidably armed societies are described as existential and what are mighty militaries for if not to defend against such threats?

The Culture wields power not merely by military might, but also through a cadre of diplomats and spies who work clandestinely and ruthlessly behind the scenes to ensure victory. Unlike the Terrans, who are front and center about their military’s primal importance, the Culture’s denizens appear to be mostly disinterested in the battles being waged on their behalf.  If a charge of hypocrisy can be brought, it is perhaps against those secretive agents of the Culture who justify any means towards their end, in the name of their ideals.

Whether in the sacred texts of world religions or in the pages of popular works of speculative fiction, whether focused on actions of individuals or those of societies, the theme of hypocrisy continues to resonate through time and across the world.

~

[1] George Orwell, Animal Farm

[2] George Orwell, Burmese Days

[3] George Orwell, 1984

[4] Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics

[5] Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics

[6] Dhammapada, Chapter XXVI

[7]  Bhagavadgita, Chapter XVI

[8] The Pentateuch, Chapter VII

[9] The Quran, Sura 63

[10] The Bible, Matthew 23

[11] The Bible, Mark 12

Bio:

Manjula Menon once worked as an electrical engineer in Brussels, which makes publishing essays in Sci Phi Journal her “homecoming of sorts”. A list of her other publications can be found at www.manjulamenon.com

You might be interested in

Mercy INC.

by Anthony Lechner

Training Manual

Level Omega: Dictators

Designed by Prince Apple

§1. Introduction

Congratulations on achieving the promotion to level Omega. Your 95%+ success rate on previous mercy conversions on the lower tiers has prepared you for the most difficult level.  You’ve dealt with powerful leaders in various industries, but now your focus is on the willpower of dictators. The average success rate for mercy conversions at this level is 3%.

§2. Scope of Position

There is nothing conventional about the morality of dictators. In your previous positions, you’ve had success with conventional moralities, such as consequentialism, deontology, contract theories, etc. At the level of Omega, you must think outside of the box to have a chance for mercy conversions. If conventional wisdom were to have worked at some point in the lives of dictators, then there would be no need for this department. Some methodology and techniques to add to your toolbox will be explained below, but a major component of your success will be the ability to move beyond your typical ethical theories. 

§3. Methodology/Teleology

Obligation, conformity, norms, standards, values, etc. have a place in society and the typical mercy conversions with which you have experienced success. Unlike the narcissist conversion, where you can use societal norms to massage the ego and influence the belief there is a personal reward (via ethical egoism), the dictator stands in complete opposition to the norms and values of society, with one exception. That is, the dictator demands blind loyalty to the standards, values, principles, etc. imposed by them on others. Imagine the self-regulated autonomy of Kant’s deontology without the function of reason guiding the human will. Your task here is similar. How would you convince Kant his principles of morality are ill-founded? But the catch is that you cannot use pure reason nor practical reason to do so. A successful mercy conversion at this level requires a radically unique approach that transcends any of the methods you have used in the past. In essence, your methods must somehow convince the dictator that mercy is their own idea—they must fully believe the principle is theirs. 

§4. Tools/Equipment

Wars—including assassinations and revolutions, social contracts—including negotiated boundaries, suicides, and love affairs have been used with some success. It is important to note, however, that these are not guarantees. They are, in fact, singular occurrences where a mercy conversion manifested. It is worth noting, too, that the cases of suicide have been debated by the tribunal. Additionally, the use of diseases has been recently forbidden by the tribunal as well. The primary reason for this is akin to the chemical warfare many of the dictators themselves use. We must make a difference between influencing the human will and simply preventing it from injuring other humans. 

Nocturnal sequences, such as dreams, have had some success as well. These are useful for singular mercy conversions; however, be careful not to overuse storylines or memories, as that can be misconstrued as mental health diseases, and it blurs the lines between strokes, schizophrenia, PTSD and genuine conversions. Sometimes the use of nightmares has ended up with a more brutal dictator than before them. When creating dream sequences, you must possess a touch of artistry—this can be a craft that takes cycles to develop. 

§5. System Cycles and Closures

Remember, we are in the business of mercy and not becoming dictators ourselves. Some conversions happen sooner than others. There is no universal timeline to follow here. The length of a cycle is at your discretion. Some Omega specialists have attempted—to the bitter end—to make a conversion. Others have swapped with willing specialists to build upon a collective consciousness. And still others have petitioned to return to Psi at the beginning of a cycle, in midcycle, or even at the end of a cycle. The tribunal respects your autonomy and decision-making regarding closures. 

Given this, we urge all Omega specialists to attempt several swaps in an effort to create collective consciousness. The tribunal believes this to be the most effective and efficient way to influence mercy conversions on a grand scale. While swaps are difficult to manage—especially having to realign with a variety of childhood experiences and moral theories—they can become quite useful when done with a quality group of specialists. The members of the tribunal wish you the best. If you are ever stuck or need assistance, we are here to help.

And keep in mind—the only way to earn a seat on the tribunal is to have more than one mercy conversion at the Omega level.

~

Bio:

Anthony Lechner is a special education teacher and philosophy instructor in Idaho, USA.

Philosophy Note:

This short piece is written as a fictional training manual for a type of entity that is in charge of convincing the human will (of dictators) to show mercy. Perhaps this entity is related to one’s conscience or maybe it is like Leibniz’s mysterious monad. The whole piece was inspired by the Grateful Dead song titled Fire on the Mountain. In it, there is a lyric that states, “If mercy’s a business, I wish it for you.”

You might be interested in

Bentham In Heaven

After his memorable sojourn in the infernal pits, our intrepid philosopher arrives in a paradise... of sorts. By Alexander B.

Just Add Salt

by Al Simmons

Do you remember the classic sci-fi film, Invasion of the Body Snatchers? I’ll bet you didn’t know the film was based on a true story that took place in Northern California, in the San Francisco Bay Area where I live. They say the film is getting another remake, only this time they plan on telling the true story.

The first two film versions followed the same script. Seed pods traveling through outer space dropped to Earth and somehow took human lives for their own while they slept to become a new human-alien hybrid species in both body and soul, a non-sentimental and emotionless kind, but happy in their bland, dominating, conformist way. 

In real life, they didn’t take over human lives. They simulated humans. They were more copycat than hybrid, and arrived much earlier, over a century, in fact, in a modest showering and not nearly as dramatic.  

Basically, the pod people grew into themselves, but resembled us. They called themselves Alterians because they adopted the form of indigenous populations in order to blend in wherever they venture.  

The first crop mixed well and shared technology. Industrial revolution, anyone? They were peaceful, practiced non-violence, followed the law, stayed out of trouble, and the news, and life went on. 

The Alterians were basically intelligent seeds, a thinking man’s seed pod. They were easy to get along with, though most would consider them bland. They were shape shifting seeds that grew up to be people. 

The pod people, or Alterians, came out in the mid-1950s with the advent and popularity of sci-fi movies. Aliens love sci-fi. Who would have thought? Though fiercely competitive by nature, they claimed to have nothing to compete for on Earth. Other planets, perhaps, but not on ours. But Earth is where they landed so here they were. 

It really came down to genetics. Our personas, individual traits, characteristics and physical designs are manifest and embedded into our DNA. Alterians don’t have DNA. They have their own three letters. The Alterians may resemble humans in most ways, but lacked the genetic markers to reproduce with humans, and vice versa. A human would have more luck mating with a tree. The other thing, and maybe more importantly, neither species had the means to digest the other. Carbon-based life forms were about as nourishing to an Alterian as sand was to a human.  

The pod people grew their own food supplies. Alterians were self-sufficient within their communities, and kept ample food stores to sustain themselves. They carried within them a seed library should they reach a land rich in cadmium required for their unique bio-signatures to take root, grow and thrive. Alterian cell structure required cadmium to grow like plants on Earth required nitrogen to flourish. The Alterians wandered the galaxy on a limited resource platform, living a strict disciplined scientific existence, and only procreating when necessary to maintain their numbers. Their lives were therefore pretty hit or miss, and why they probably evolved to be so emotionless. 

Interspecies crosspollination didn’t work with humans and Alterians, despite the physical likenesses and familiar mammalian pleasure feedback reward mechanisms inviting both groups to try, and try they did. Alterians were easy to find attractive considering they made every effort to resemble you. But try as many did, the match had yet to bear fruit.

I’ve met a few Alterian women. To me, Alterians were like hybrid corn, all starch and no story. Up close they even smelled like high-fructose corn syrup. I admit, I invited one home more than a couple of times, actually. She was addictive. She even tasted like high-fructose corn syrup. 

But in the end, I had to cut her off like a bad habit.

The whole idea of dating an alien was insane. Nobody liked the idea. She was rather dry. But the inability to procreate was the underlining factor.

“You need an alien? An Earth girl isn’t good enough for you?” my mother argued, accusing me of near bestiality.

But once Alterians stepped out of the shadows, as it were, and thus drew a spotlight to themselves and their life on Earth, their fortunes radically changed for the entire alien group as a whole. In retrospect, they should have kept to themselves. The federal government got involved and dedicated a piece of land in Utah, rich in cadmium and not much else, to the Alterians to establish a reservation there, and to get them out of the general population, who had grown uneasy with the idea of aliens among us, and giving new meaning to unalienable rights.

The official government grant made it clear the land had the cadmium requirements the Alterians needed, though not sufficient to support an alien population explosion. There was enough cadmium to sustain their numbers, and maybe a little more.

So, that’s where they went, the whole lot of them, off to the first Alterian Reservation on Earth, located on a bare piece of land in central Utah, about 100 miles west of the Great Salt Flats.

The relocation of the Alterians turned out to be their doom and a total disaster for both the alien population and the human race who prospered by them. But who knew salt would affect them that way? 

On their second night on the reservation, the Alterian elders announced a meeting outdoors beneath the stars. Everyone was expected to attend. They gathered beneath a spectacular clear high desert sky begging for stargazers when a sand storm originating downwind from the Great Salt Flats caught them by surprise and lit them up like sparklers on the 4th of July.  And within seconds, the sequestered Alterians in mass turned a deep emerald glow and burned to a crisp.

Leave it to the dogs to discover salted aliens cooked right were digestible.

But here’s the thing, according to chefs in the Salt Lake City Gazette, Food Section, once prepared, salted, and cooked, the Alterians tasted just like BBQ pork, juicy, and kind of sweet.

Bad news for the few remaining Alterians, because once the news got out, they never stood a chance. Even today, the ritual of tossing salt over your shoulder pre-entry at some big-city high-end conservative venues is still required.

~

Bio:

Al Simmons was Poet-in-Residence, City of Chicago, 1979-80. He has been quoted on the front page of the New York Times, Living Arts Section. He was nominated for a 2021 Rhysling Award. His work has recently appeared in 44 magazines and anthologies since 2017, including Abyss & Apex, Kanstellation, Urban Arts, Illumen, The Novelette-Dark Fantasy, The Reckoning, Path of Absolute Power, Dyskami Press, Cosmic Horror Monthly, Knight Publishing, What Really Happened, and Cutleaf.  He lives in Alameda, California.

Philosophy Note:

The true story. Who knew salt would have such an effect on them…

You might be interested in

Unspoken

Can extraterrestrial societies survive first contact with humans? By Chris Edwards.

Leapers

Mind-altering substances can expand more than just human horizons. By Umair Khan.

The Plaque

by Bob Johnston

The news about violent aliens landing all over Earth and beating up the human population took a while to hit the news feeds because it was such a crazy story. Even when jumpy images started being broadcast people still assumed it was some sort of April Fool’s Day joke, in the middle of August. This was Alvarez’s line of thinking as the day progressed and the stories started filling TV news updates.

Or it had been Alvarez’s position until he stepped out of the secured main door of his apartment building and right into an elderly couple being kicked on the ground by two individuals in gray coveralls. The kicking didn’t seem particularly aggressive, unlike a couple of muggings he had witnessed that were frankly terrifying. That said, the couple could not get up from the fetal positions they had assumed and Alvarez, seeing the obvious physical advantage their assailants had felt a wave of anger and stepped forward.

“Stop! Leave them alone.”

The coverall wearers did indeed stop, but then they turned and Alvarez quickly realized that the use of the word ‘aliens’ on the TV was completely correct. They were humanoid certainly but their heads might best be described as jack-o’-lanterns if jack-o’-lanterns were made out of pineapples. The glowing eyes persuaded him that he really needed to be back behind that security door and he ran for it.

As he watched the beating through the reinforced glass he confirmed that, for all the kicking that was going on, there wasn’t anything like deadly force being applied. It was more like an elementary school fight where a point is being made but no one wants to risk adults getting involved.

He made his way to the secured rear entrance and let himself out into the yard. A lane led out to the main road a little to the side of where the aliens were at the moment. As he quietly stepped forward his foot hit a metal object which clattered against the wall. He froze, focused on the entrance to the lane, and then, when no one (no thing) appeared he looked down.

The object he had kicked was a golden rectangle about 6 inches by 9, about as big as a medium sized envelope. He picked it up and studied the images that had been etched onto the surface. Close to where it had been lying were a few drops of blood, suggesting that another beating had taken place here.

He crept back into the yard and then made his way back to his apartment. Perhaps the internet might have a clue about what was happening. He propped the metal sheet against a pile of books and punched in a description. It took a couple of attempts but after a few minutes he was looking at the sheet on the screen, or rather he was looking at the original.

Why would a copy of the plaque attached to the antenna support struts of the Pioneer 10 spacecraft be lying in the lane behind Alvarez’s apartment? He did another search. It had left earth just over a century before and the plaque was a greeting to anyone who might intercept it along with some scientific information he didn’t understand and a picture of a man and a woman.

It was a nice image, created by Linda Salzman Sagan according to the search. He studied the figures. Average humans, the man raising his arm in what Sagan’s husband, scientist Carl, described as the ‘universal’ sign of good will. He stood and looked out of the window. It appeared quiet and he had to get some things in, especially if this wave of beatings was going to last.

He folded a couple of shopping bags and slipped them into his back pocket. Then he put on a pair of training shoes with thick, hopefully quiet rubber soles. His pants and light jacket shouldn’t make much noise. He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to suppress the frightened look that was etched there.

“Stealth, old man. Stealth,” he said loudly and confidently. Then he left the apartment.

Unfortunately stealth was not one of Alvarez’s physical features and in quick order he found himself on the ground being treated to the same beating the elderly couple had taken earlier. As he suspected there wasn’t a lot of power or violence in what was happening but one of them did clip his nose which made a troubling clicking noise and flooded his eyes with tears.

This seemed to be a cue to stop. He pushed himself up to a half sitting position and felt blood splash on the back of his hand. The nose was broken and it was no consolation that it appeared to have been an accident. He looked up and into the pineapple jack-o’-lantern faces and the glowing eyes looked back. Then one slid one of the gold plaques out of a wide pocket and dropped it at Alvarez’s knees. He leaned towards it and another splash of blood landed on the image of the man.

The aliens then removed their coveralls, assumed the positions of the human figures on the plaque, and the one nearest him raised its arm in imitation of the image of the man. They stood for a moment before one gently kicked Alvarez over. They then stood, naked for a moment longer, before dressing and walking away.

Alvarez rolled onto his back and dragged a breath of air through his pained nose. He touched it and winced. Another visit to the doctor. He got up again as far as he could and studied the bloodied plaque. Who would have thought that taking your clothes off and raising your right arm would lead to an interstellar incident? He got to his feet with a groan. Perhaps they should have thought of that in 1972.

After all, sending naked pictures to strangers, here on earth, in the year 2081 wasn’t exactly the done thing. No wonder that Sagan fellow had put the word ‘universal’ in quotation marks.

~

Bio:

Bob Johnston lives in Scotland where he scribbles, reads theology, and marvels at the country’s beauty when it isn’t raining, which isn’t often. He likes a good story; ancient, old, or brand new and tries to create good stories of his own. He can be found at bobjohnstonfiction.com.

Philosophy Note:

When we think of universal norms the only solid ground we can start from is ourselves. From appropriate hand gestures to our preferred computer operating system there is little out there that is universally intuitive. In which case how do we best reach out when we want to communicate with others?
In Carl Sagan’s ‘The Cosmic Connection’ (1973) he discussed the plaque which was placed on the Pioneer 10 spacecraft, and referred to the ‘universality’ of the raised-hand greeting of the male figure (although even he had misgivings). I took the idea forward and wondered how an alien people would react to the image if they intercepted the spacecraft.

You might be interested in

Unspoken

Can extraterrestrial societies survive first contact with humans? By Chris Edwards.

The Prayer

How an alien civilisation might resolve the science-religion dichotomy. By Humphrey Price.

Wanton

by John Leahy

Sentience.

My first sensation is the shudder of a collapsing volcano, the ancient Cumbre Vieja of La Palma, slipping into the Atlantic like a dying beast into its grave. A trillion metric tons of land is swallowed by the sea, but from this death, I am born—a wave, moving inexorably toward the horizon.

I am not aware, at first, of my full form. I know only the violent rhythm of the earth cracking beneath me, a sensation not of thought but of the profound, unshakable force that births me. I am not a ripple in the water; I am the water. The very ocean trembles in my wake as I rise, my power swelling with every moment, filling the vast expanse between the island and the world beyond. I feel the land around me, broken and cast adrift, but I do not stop. I gather speed, the shockwaves spreading like a thread unwinding from a spool, and yet I am a singularity—a force of nature that cannot be halted.

I taste the Caribbean, fleeting islands passing beneath me, their trembling edges brushing against my vastness, and they are swallowed. I am hunger incarnate. I feel the Bahamas before I reach them, a gentle hint of their existence, and then they are gone. The water surges over them, a wall of salt and rage that consumes everything. The islands crumble, swallowed without a moment’s hesitation. I am an unstoppable thing, and I move on.

The sun hangs heavy in the sky, the day stretching beneath me like a hand reaching for an unreachable horizon. The ocean bears me forward, and I can feel the pulse of the land, the countries that lie in my path. I pass the delicate archipelago of the Turks and Caicos—an idyllic thing, so fragile. There is no mercy, only the relentless pull of the ocean. The islands, so picturesque, crumble into me, torn apart by the very sea they once belonged to. The sounds of their destruction are distant, lost beneath the roar of the water. I take them—take everything—and continue.

The next great stop is the eastern coastline of the United States. My path is set, my course unalterable. As I approach the shores of Florida, Georgia, and the Carolinas, I feel the pulse of humanity—the cities, the towns, the lives built precariously along the edge of the water.

Fort Lauderdale first. Its buildings glitter in the afternoon sun. I crest, rising, and then crash. It is as if the world has opened its mouth and swallowed the city whole. The water is unstoppable, a massive surge that consumes the municipal shores with brutal precision. I break its delicate structures into pieces, sending them to the deep, erasing them from existence. The glass shatters, the streets buckle, the earth groans as I tear it apart. In the face of a force like mine, there is only the inevitable. I roll over everything, crushing all beneath my weight.

And I move on. The air is thick with the scent of salt, of destruction.

Miami lies ahead. It is grander, taller, more elaborate, but no more prepared for what is coming. The skyscrapers, reaching so high, seem like frail, translucent giants before my oncoming flood. I am nearly upon it now, and I sense the panic, the final stirrings of a city that cannot know its end.

I strike with a terrible finality. I hit downtown with a force that rips through its streets like a knife. The water rises rapidly, overwhelming the structures that were once meant to withstand nature’s wrath. The skyline bends, creaks, and then falls—steel and glass crushed beneath the overwhelming tide. Cars are carried away as if they were toys, buildings collapse in slow motion, their sharp, angular bodies twisting and buckling under the pressure of the water. Miami, in all its beauty and excess, is reduced to rubble in seconds, disappearing under the surge.

I do not stop. The ocean is mine. I am not a visitor to this world; I am the embodiment of it. I continue my journey northward, the water rising with every moment, each pulse of my form stronger than the last.

Palm Beach, then Charleston, Savannah, and finally, I reach the shores of the Carolinas. The beaches are nothing but memories now, the cities but broken shells. The people scream, but their voices are swallowed, unheard, beneath the growing, endless roar of the sea. I touch the coasts like a hand falling upon them, and they fall to dust.

I feel the tremors of New York, its skyline, so distant now, but not invulnerable. Washington, Boston, the cities of the north—they will feel me. They will not escape.

So many will learn what it means to meet their maker. In this moment, the ocean and I are one—united by death, reborn in fury. I was born from the final convulsion of a volcano. Born to destroy, to consume. I will not stop. Not until there is nothing left but the sea.

~

Bio:

John Leahy has had three novels published – Harvest, CROGIAN, and Unity. His story The Tale In The Attic attained an honorable mention in L Ron Hubbard’s Writers Of The Future Contest. His short story Singers has been included in Flame Tree Publishing’s 2017 Pirates and Ghosts anthology, alongside tales by literary greats such as Homer, Joseph Conrad, Rudyard Kipling, Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Louis Stevenson, H.P. Lovecraft, and H.G. Wells. When not writing he spends his time teaching and performing music, working out, and keeping abreast of the stock market and current affairs. He lives in Killarney, Ireland.

You might be interested in

Psychopompeii

Yet another upheaval in the laws of physics, this time hitting a volcano on the Italian coast, by George Salis.

The Caves

Sometimes, waking up is the hardest part, by Harley Carnell.

Sci Phi Journal 2024/4 – Winter Issue For Download

Hark and behold, t’is the season for Sci Phi Journal’s 2024 Winter issue – with cover art by Belgium’s very own Dustin Jacobus, this time with a solarpunk reimagining of the timeless Levant, the birthplace of our Christmas stories.

If you like to peruse your quarterly dose of speculative philosophy printed on trusty old paper, or the slightly less old, but no less trusty screen of your e-reader, go ahead and download your free PDF copy just below.

We hope our mostly light-hearted end-of-year collection of tales and essays will serve as a cosy read for the festive period!

Enjoy the journey,

the Sci Phi crew

Sci-Phi-Journal 2024Q4Download

You might be interested in

Editorial – Sci Phi Journal 2024/4

Lectori salutem.

It is our fifth Christmas season that the current Sci Phi crew celebrates together at the helm of this tiny but indomitable literary vessel we are glad to call our home. Over the past half decade, since the previous passengers brought us out of cryo-sleep for changing the guards after their long service to the genre, our craft has been exploring the depths of cyberspace and we picked up formidable fellow travellers and long-term contributors along the way.

Speculative fiction, especially science fiction, is often focussed on the promise or dread (or both) the future may have in store for us. We hold the present world, it is said, as custodians, looking after it for our children. Thus we are pleased that through the years the number of Sci Phi babies multiplied, too, with the most recent addition being the newborn daughter of our Utopia-award finalist cover artist Dustin Jacobus. His latest handcrafted artwork gracing our title page this December is dedicated to all future readers and practitioners of our beloved literary genre. Let us hope that the creativity of our species remains an integral part of dreaming up avenues for philosophical speculation, rather than being reduced to mere consumers of ever-more personalised, artificially-generated content.

It is in this vein, and in keeping with the tradition of our winter issues being somewhat more light-hearted and, dare we say, festive, that our latest Christmas edition brings you a broad range of charming idea-driven tales, all wrought by human hands (and keyboards). The original fiction therein ranges from the society-altering power of celestial phenomena to the existential dilemmas of infinitely copied consciousnesses, complemented by another imaginary city of Romanian SF master Săsărman hitherto unpublished in English.

The present quarterly issue is completed by the return of our columnist Mina with an essay about children brought up in contact with, and thus “fluent in” science fiction, and a fascinating report from the world’s first academic conference dedicated to the study of Warhammer, penned by its dauntless organisers, with a view to the future of this hitherto under-researched universe. We for one are already excited to attend the second instalment of this forum, where many a stone remains as yet left unturned: philosophy among them.

In the meantime, we sincerely hope you enjoy our concluding issue of 2024!

Speculatively yours,

the Sci Phi co-editors & crew

~

You might be interested in

The Ultimate Book

by Brett Abrahamsen

He was attempting to write the greatest book of all time – a book that was great to the extent that no greater book could ever be written.

In order to do this, each sentence would have to be equal to each other sentence. If one of the sentences was inferior, a greater sentence existed, which signified that the work as a whole would be greater if replaced by a greater sentence.

Every word, in fact, would have to be equal to every other word – though words, on their own, signified nothing, perhaps unless the sentence consisted of merely one word.

The author of such a work could only be God Himself.

And, if that were the case, the ultimate book already existed: The Bible.

He read The Bible and pondered this.

Undoubtedly, the more powerful sentences – “Let there be light”, for instance – were greater than the endless lists of genealogies and so forth. Hence The Bible was not the greatest possible work of literature.

He would have to wait for a different God to reveal Himself, or else write the book himself.

He tried to write a book of great sentences, with all sentences being of equal value to each other – but, alas, he thought, none of the sentences were particularly great.

He decided, instead, to write the worst book ever written. Every sentence would have to be worse than every other sentence ever written.

This was even more difficult. Entire books of bad sentences had been written. The vast majority of possible sentences had no artistic value, hence the vast majority of published books had no artistic value.

Neither did the human species itself. Even something like Don Quixote could only perhaps be rated .000000000000000001 out of 10, if 10 were the flawless book he was trying to write.

He knew that the flawless book existed somewhere.

Where did the book exist? It existed in the hypothetical. The book could be written, but likely it never would be. He would never write it, and he would likely never read it, either.

Following this revelation, he collected all of his manuscripts, as well as his library, and burned them.

~

Bio:

Brett Abrahamsen has made several previous sales to the Sci Phi Journal, as well as various other publications. He resides in Saratoga Springs, NY.

Philosophy Note:

This is a meditation on the futility of literature – or, more broadly, the futility of human existence itself. The pessimistic ending is undoubtedly rational, if one is looking through the lens of a superintelligent species encountering our mediocre works of literature millions of years in the future.

You might be interested in

Passover

by Robert L. Jones III

Initially, only telescopes could detect it — emerald green and shining steadily from millions of light years away — and the line of its arc was exceedingly thin as if etched by a laser. Seen via multiple ground and space-based observatories, its reported position in space was consistent. This meant it was not an artifact — a significant finding since the object’s circular symmetry was the first anomaly to draw attention.

As nearly as could be determined, it was unlike anything in the known universe. Suns and planets were oblate spheroids which bulged slightly at their equators, and the same could be said of moons if they approached roundness at all. The orbital paths of such bodies were elliptical. Individual atoms pulsated unevenly and constantly. The perfect circle was a concept unobserved in natural substance or motion.

The second anomaly had to do with brightness and contrast. Both were constant, making the entire figure equally visible by day or night.

Added to this bizarre optical property was the third anomaly. Observers noted the ring was expanding rapidly and without irregularity or dissipation — unusual indeed for a nebula or supernova — and soon it was visible without the help of instrumentation. The astronomical community was abuzz.

Opinions concerning the alleged expansion changed when independent calculations from around the world determined that, rather than increasing its diameter, the phenomenon was approaching at greater than the speed of light. Its behavior violated — or rather transcended — the physical laws of time and motion, and once this fourth anomaly was recognized, the fifth became more readily obvious.

The apparent thickness of the ring’s margin did not change with the rapidity of its approach. Whether viewed by the naked eye or through telescopes at various magnifications, it remained the same laser-thin curvature encompassing progressively more of the visible sky.

#

Scientists christened this unification of anomalies the Monad.

#

As it drew nearer, generating widespread and uninformed panic, the Monad eventually slowed and matched the earth’s speed and direction, following our planet while perpendicular to its plane of orbit. The subsequent, unchanging view permitted studies of greater detail, more thorough analysis. Satellite probes only swelled the volumes of data resisting interpretation.

Obtaining samples proved futile, for there was no discernable material to collect. The visibility of The Monad, even through layers of cloud, implied it must be reflecting, generating, or composed of light. Despite this logical reasoning, efforts at discovering an energy source were unsuccessful. Specialists and laypersons alike found the ring’s properties, behavior, and vacuity distressing, and they insisted that something — a mechanism, an instrument, a creature or deity — should exist within its circumference.

What did the Monad represent? Was it merely an unexplained natural phenomenon? Was it a message from an advanced alien race, or was it a sign from God?

#

Conjecture and hypothesis warily skirted the borders of theology.

#

Monotheists of different stripes appropriated the Monad as exclusive confirmation of their disparate beliefs. Members of each faction took comfort in the assumption that God was on their side. Among the more stylish intelligentsia, there was a revival of Pythagorean thinking — which was considered more appropriately impersonal — but in an effort to distance themselves from what they considered the troublesome implications of his  ideas, scholars avoided referring to Plato and his relevant dialogues.

Like many reiterations of ancient thought, this latest version was less than true to original form. Intellectual trends restricted the Monad to no more than a symbol of divinity, and monotheists generally concurred. These various constituencies soon found themselves at odds with a sect claiming the Monad literally was God. Since the luminescent figure in the sky required nothing specific of them, all could remain comfortable with their doctrines and definitions. Then something happened.

The Monad accelerated until it slowly began to encircle — or, from all terrestrial perspectives, to pass over — the earth. Seen from the ground, it was a green arc bisecting the sky. Wherever and whenever it was directly overhead, it appeared as a straight line. The passage took several weeks, and during this time, the whole of human misbehavior abated. Wars ceased. There were no crimes or acts of terror. In retrospect, people evidently acted in accordance with commendable moral and ethical standards as if they had no choice.

This period of global tranquility came to an end with the conclusion of the Passover, and the Monad sped away so rapidly as to vanish from sight.

#

Reactions varied.

#

There was curiosity, for ultimately, nothing had been explained. The Monad was a mystery intractable to unambiguous resolution.

There was widespread resentment, some for the suspension of free will during the Passover, some for the resumption of hostilities at its conclusion. Those expressing this sentiment for either reason blamed the Monad rather than humanity.

Especially with the passage of time came disbelief. Many claimed the Monad had been an illusion or a hoax, and in a scientifically illiterate society, this was a relatively easy stance to maintain in the absence of ongoing visual contradiction.

For a variety of personal and doctrinal reasons, the rest of humankind held to faith. They warred with one another — sometimes verbally, sometimes violently — imposing assorted restrictions, obligations, and acts of devotion upon themselves and on anyone they could bring under their control. In their imperfect and ignorant ways, they believed in the Monad, and they trembled inwardly at the prospect of its second coming.

The devoutness of the partially informed opened avenues for commercial exploitation until web sites and retail shelves were burgeoning with a range of products. Available merchandise included videos, posters, and framed photographs of the Monad. Some of the items were genuine, some digital fabrications. Different corporate entities developed units which generated vivid, three-dimensional holograms, stimulating widespread demand for use in homes and offices.

Due to the limits of perception and memory, these imitations now seemed more real than the original. The result was consumption bordering on idolatry, but the craze was unsustainable. With increased exposure came familiarity, and with familiarity came boredom. Having in a sense made it trivial and common, people were no longer in awe of the Monad. As of this writing, new and used reproductions of its image are available at greatly reduced prices.      

~

Bio:

Robert L. Jones III holds a doctorate in molecular biology and is Professor Emeritus of Biology at Cottey College in southwestern Missouri, USA. His poems and stories have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Star*Line, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and previously in Sci Phi Journal.

Philosophy Note:

This story is the outgrowth of a personal interest in the logical and philosophical underpinnings of geometry. In my estimation, the monad of ancient Greek thought serves as a convenient symbol for deity and additionally as a focal point for various modern attitudes toward religion.

You might be interested in

Half-Rapt

What if the Rapture comes and... doesn't go according to plan? By Karen Heuler.

Arcanum

by Gheorghe Săsărman

Translated from the Romanian by Monica Cure

*** Editors’ note: We continue publishing the missing entries from Săsărman’s groundbreaking 1975 urban fantasies’ cycle. The original collection of imaginary cities was censored in Communist Romania, and appeared in various states of incompleteness in other languages, incl. translated into English by Ursula K. Le Guin. We are grateful to Monica Cure for her faithful translation of the remaining pieces of the puzzle, hitherto unavailable in English language. For more information, read the introductory note to Motopia, the first entry in the series. ***

He realized from the beginning that it was not some regular city; still, he could not have said what exactly made it different from those he had visited up until then, nor even how he happened to arrive there. He was completely absorbed in looking around, as closely as possible, in order to discover what might be causing the utterly unfamiliar state of mind he was experiencing, which slowly—but implacably—was taking hold of him.

The edifices he saw formed diverse configurations of basic geometrical figures. The details, however, were fairly complicated: the surfaces, far from being smooth, were deeply perforated, furrowed by incisions, they were dotted with dark cavities and multicolored reliefs, of the most bizarre shapes.

Complete silence reigned. At first, he told himself that it was, probably, very early, dawn had hardly broken; he discovered to his amazement, however, that the day’s luminary had risen high over the horizon. He had to admit—rather unenthusiastically, incidentally—that neither the silence nor the persistent emptiness were explicable at that hour, except by the hypothesis that the city was uninhabited. Its founders had lived, at some point, in that land; thus, it could only be an abandoned city—he thought. Indeed, he saw no signs of a possible violent curtailment of life, of destruction. He asked himself what kind of horrific fate could have determined the inhabitants of such a city to abandon their steadfast hearth and go down the path of exile… Or, perhaps, their offspring became extinct gradually, touched by an unknown curse? How much time must have passed since those places had been abandoned?

Having reached this point in reasoning, his amazement suddenly grew: he began to observe that, in all probability, not much time had passed since then. The buildings looked extremely well-kept, with sharp edges, as if barely smoothed over by a trowel, almost perfect, with clean, well-preserved surfaces, without even the lightest covering of dust. This state of salubrity, which any city hall in the world would have envied, contrasted harshly with the typical appearance of an abandoned city. Intent on entering the rooms of the strange edifice—certain that in this way it would be easier for him to figure out the mystery—he began searching for a door, an opening. After a minute investigation, he became convinced that, at least in the case of the construction next to him, the only solution would have been to go through… the walls; given that he was not blessed with such a quality, he found that it would be more reasonable to resume his investigations at another building.

Only then did he discover that he was on a platform with a very limited surface and that in order to move to the nearby building, he would have had to possess the virtues of the most accomplished acrobat, a record holder in long jumps, and a tightrope walker, all on the condition that he were also gifted with the knowledge and the full set of equipment of an elite mountain climber. Angrily, he examined what he had until then thought was a street more closely; in fact, it was a terrifying successions of tilted planes, crevasses, craters, and chasms, whose walls were shaped the same as those of the buildings.

As he looked farther and farther out and discovered new details, a surprising intuition flashed through his mind. He understood that the city was not only uninhabited, it was actually uninhabitable! Its constructions—which were nothing other than colossal sculptures, lacking any doors or windows, or what is normally understood by doors and windows—permitted neither the entrance, let alone the dwelling, of any man. On the streets—which were far from being actual streets—not one person nor any familiar vehicle could have circulated, and in the squares (if they had existed somehow) it would have been impossible for people to congregate. Moreover, in that city— built by who knows who, or why—people never could have survived because it did not seem to contain even a single object that would have been necessary for them, and people gather in cities precisely in order to avail themselves, communally, of a multitude of useful things; and it would have been impossible for them to survive especially because (only now did he fully realize it) they never could have become accustomed to the meaningless shapes that were ready to disintegrate, the masses on the verge of crashing down and crushing their heads, the unsteady stridently colored surfaces which unleashed uncontrollable anxieties.

How had he come to be there?

Engrossed in his disturbing thoughts, he did not observe that, first as a barely perceptible rustling, then increasingly clearer, a strange breathing sound had occupied the sepulchral silence of the metropolis.

He strained his ears but without being able to discern from what direction the sounds were coming. The sound of calm, regular, peaceful breathing filled the entire acoustic space, fascinating him; he was the only human presence in that wasteland. Suddenly, almost at the same time, he was hit with a familiar scent, that of a sweaty body, with a vague hint of jasmine, and he felt the hot, unsettling touch of an embrace. He would have wanted to close his eyes, to allow himself to be carried away by the enchantment of that illusion which—he could hardly dare to hope—might snatch him from an irreversible experience. He noticed, annoyed, that his eyelids refused to obey him; the image of the absurd city continued to bore into his mind, invasively.

Was he, possibly, the victim of a nightmare?

He should have bitten his lips, dug his nails into his flesh, to convince himself of whether he was awake or asleep. But his jaws were clenched, and his hands would not listen to him; he felt paralyzed, incapable of making a single move. Was that a sign he was dreaming? His lips were crushed, but not by his teeth; a painful shiver ran across his flesh, but whose could be the fingers caressing him? He wanted to examine his own fingers, and realized to his horror that his form had disappeared. He remembered now that he hadn’t seen it since finding himself in that city.

Frozen in terror, his mind spun in circles around his only thought: when would his consciousness return from this surreal projection, from the realms which belonged neither to dreams nor to real life? Would he ever become again what he had been before? Would he regain his uniqueness, his complete existence? Could it be, he asked himself, that the never-ending, beguiling games of his imagination were to blame?

Then, as if in answer, he felt the burning of a pair of knees knocking against his knees…

—God, he moaned voicelessly, I can’t take it!

~

You might be interested in

Záalzeck

Utopias can turn dystopian within the span of a five-minute read, from Gheorghe Săsărman's cycle of imaginary cities, translated by

Olympia

On the excitement and regret of iconoclasm, from Gheorghe Săsărman's cycle of imaginary cities, translated by Monica Cure.

They Are Among Us

Finally an explanation why Mexican politics is so otherworldly, by Bernardo Fernández, translated from Spanish by Adan Jimenez.

Why Warhammer Matters

by Dr Mike Ryder, Dr Thomas Arnold & Michael Dunn

We don’t know about you, but we think Warhammer is cool.

Games Workshop (GW) – the company behind Warhammer and its futuristic counterpart Warhammer 40k – is now worth in the region of £3.56 billion. The global phenomenon has grown from a small operation working out of a flat in London to become the world’s leading miniature maker, and an outstanding publisher of science fiction and fantasy, with many of its authors featuring in the New York Times list of bestsellers. In more recent years it has also licensed a whole range of popular video games including the Dawn of War series, Vermintide, and the very well received Space Marine II. GW has even signed a deal with Amazon to produce a TV series based on its IP.

And yet, for some reason, it is still an area hugely under-represented within the world of academia. Whether this is because the subject is still considered ‘niche’, or even just due to intellectual snobbishness, it is hard to say. Either way, it is something that we were keen to address. This is why in early 2024 we decided to join forces to host Warhammer Conference: the world’s first academic conference dedicated to all things Warhammer. Our aim was to test the water to see what (if any) demand there might be for ‘Academic Warhammer’, and what forms such an area of study might take.

The response was absolutely phenomenal.

As the first event of its kind, we would have been more than happy with a dozen academics sat chatting about their favourite hobby for a few days. As it turned out, we were delighted to host almost 60 talks in total, together with keynote presentations from Black Library author Victoria Hayward and none other than John Blanche, arguably one of the most influential science fiction / fantasy (SFF) artists alive today. We really couldn’t have asked for more!

Our joy at the overwhelming response was only intensified by the sheer diversity of talks presented at this inaugural event. We heard discourses by historians, physicists, statisticians, philosophers and religious studies scholars looking at various aspects of the 40k universe and what it tells us about our modern world. We also had a wonderful representation from the game studies community, with some presentations on Warhammer as a form of play, and miniaturing-as-mindfulness.

Perhaps most surprising of all, we also had talks from colleagues sharing how they have used Warhammer as a way to help treat military veterans with PTSD. We even had a talk from a former prisoner talking about how he used Warhammer as a way to cope with the trauma of incarceration, and to aid his rehabilitation.

And this was just the tip of the iceberg.

So why Warhammer? Why now?

As an organising committee (together with our colleague Philipp Schroegel) we have all been long-time fans of Warhammer, including its Fantasy, Age of Sigmar, and, of course, 40k incarnations. While we all work in slightly different areas, we have a shared interest in the philosophical underpinnings of the various Warhammer universes, and how they can be used as a sandbox for complex real-world philosophical problems.

Reading Warhammer has been a great pleasure of ours for many years. Given that philosophy, and indeed, so much of academia more broadly, is all about reflection, we had each started to reflect on this particular proclivity, together with our friends who had also enjoyed it. Two of the key questions that really started us on this academic journey were:

  • What ideas make Warhammer so appealing (or troubling)?
  • What ideas make Warhammer and Warhammer 40k such interesting worlds?

These questions led us towards several fascinating areas of enquiry regarding the underlying anthropological, political and metaphysical assumptions of the narrative; theological questions about the status of deities; psychoanalytic questions about the nature of demons and possession; and also literary questions about excess and hyperbole (which abound in the literature), as well as questions crossing game studies and narratology, such as how something can be a narrative and a setting at the same time.

Essentially, we wanted to know how much philosophy, political science, and science and technology studies could we get out of this hobby of ours? And what would that give us? Turns out, quite a lot. It is sometimes said that thinking about the things you enjoy takes the fun out of the activity. In this case, the opposite is true: bringing a whole range of academic perspectives to bear on it makes the world of Warhammer and 40K even more interesting, simply because these specialised perspectives allow us to discover even more about the fictional universe(s).

Building on these initial questions, we also believe that we can try to understand ourselves and our life-world better through Warhammer. If we follow Wilhelm Dilthey’s characterisation of the humanities as engaged in understanding cultural phenomena or practices, creative products and through them, ourselves, then the academic approach to Warhammer is a classic case of humanities scholarship and research – even extended into new fields like game studies or science and technology studies.

While this might sound very strange given the fact that Warhammer is essentially an overblown background of a game involving toy soldiers, as academics we have always used reflection-on and analysis-of cultural products and practices to understand ourselves better. In fiction we imagine (read, hear, play out) different possibilities of life, ethics, policies, trajectories of history or metaphysics. Fictional universes are mirrors, playing-fields, and the results of their times; the fact that and how we engage with them can tell us a lot about our current societies. Looking at Warhammer through this lens, it can appear as a realm into which we can escape (for sundry reasons), or it may also serve as an extreme thought-experiment; but it also gives us a case study to tackle questions of business and distribution, the social and ideological dynamics of the fandom, the corporate engagement with gender and queer themes, and the invention of new genres of art – as well as the appropriation of pre-existing themes. 

As scholars, we also think philosophy ought to get out more. Our experience doing public philosophy and other forms of engagement have taught us that sometimes it is easier to engage people’s philosophical curiosity by avoiding reality. Climate change, politics, gender – all important matters, and all fraught with problematic assumptions and faulty patterns of reasoning – and, hence, philosophically interesting.

However, as we know, discussions around such matters tend to become highly emotional (and irrational) since they often pertain to people’s personal identity as well as genuine lived experience. Now, we know that Warhammer-related discussions can get very heated as well, but at the same time, Warhammer is fiction and an extreme one at that (and a huge one too). But this makes it perfect as an exhibition piece: you can show how to approach issues (even existential ones) philosophically and scientifically, that is, systematically and methodically – without the burden of real life, and in manner detached from or even alien to conventional human ethical-moral frameworks. For the public, it serves a pedagogical function, for academia, one of public relations.

Using Warhammer to think about the real world: a gruesome example.

To help us unpack this argument, let us consider the case of fictional ‘deathworlds’ and how we can apply scholarship to Warhammer and what we get out of it.[1] Deathworlds include the many cemetery worlds depicted in 40k, and the Realm of Death as it appears in the fantasy equivalent, Age of Sigmar. Both of these fictional deathworlds function as powerful narrative spaces and plot devices, made even more immersive given that they can also be played on the tabletop and in videogames.

As academics, we might use these deathworlds as ways to understand and apply complex concepts, such as Mbembe’s Necropolitics (2019): quite literally, the politics of death. By applying “necropolitical” theory to the deathworlds of Age of Sigmar and Warhammer 40k, we might shed new light on the impact and implications of global genocides, and the way that so many people are given to apathetic ignorance in what Byung-Chul Han (2021) describes as the destructive death drive. The techno-theocracy of Warhammer, most aptly explored in the famous tagline “in the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war,” also underscores the important role of religion as well as secular belief structures in these brutal (game)worlds. Meanwhile, religious in-game crusades mimic how apocalyptic narratives and messianic motives come to be instrumentalized as a warmongering method in creating socio-political pariahs.

There can be no escaping the fact that we face numerous, competing crises on a planetary scale, most of which have necropolitical implications. Not least in the way crises such as climate change and extremism serve to further exacerbate already existing and well ingrained forms of discrimination. The post-apocalyptic environmentalism that both taints and radically inspires our moment of modernity suggests that many of us exist after the apocalypse that continues to intensify. So what then do dystopian dreams of a post-post-post-apocalypse where death is ubiquitous have to tell audiences? Do we enjoy spending time in hyperviolent fantastical worlds to cement the certainty that it can always be worse, or is there a fetishistic fantasy at play? As the promise of billionaire playboy space colonialism emerges as a prophetic vision rooted in nineteenth and early twentieth century colonial resource extraction, perhaps cautionary tales in the form of playable interactions within aforementioned deathworlds are more important than ever.

Time to take Warhammer seriously.

There are so many different areas of study that can be applied to Warhammer that we simply cannot hope to list, even a small fraction in a short essay such as this belies how expansive the diversity of the topics truly is. If you are interested in any of the topics discussed in this article, we would strongly encourage you to consider ways that you might bring Warhammer into your research, and even your teaching. The talks from the first Warhammer Conference are already available to view on our YouTube channel @WarhammerConference, and you are more than welcome to share and use them as an entry point to this hopefully emerging field. Certainly, there’s a lot of inspiration to be found there. From the benefits of Warhammer as a teaching tool for young people, to the ways it can be used to think about political theory and complex philosophy, such as the work of Martin Heidegger and his critique of technology, ‘Die Frage nach der Technik’ (1954).

The question emerges then: where next?

Given the sheer volume of positive feedback we’ve received from academics and interested members of the public alike, a second conference is definitely something we are keen to pursue. Additionally, we are also dedicated to further publishing opportunities to put Warhammer firmly on the academic map. If you have any ideas or suggestions for where we might take this next, do please get in touch with us. As we saw from the conference, collaboration around a topic as well loved as Warhammer, can truly bear fruit across disciplinary fields.

As for those fans who fear academic interest in Warhammer as corruption or heresy, we can only present two thoughts. Firstly, scholarly approaches are simply an offer to better understand certain aspects of the hobby as well as the real world: we are not forcing anyone to accept a particular perspective, a jargon, or a world-view. Secondly – and this is the beauty of academia – we are all beholden to our respective subjects and methods, meaning that we happily take divergent opinions into consideration, if they are well-argued for and thematically relevant. We are not, after all, the Ecclesiarchy. 

We would just like to close this editorial, then, by saying a big ‘thank you’ to all of the amazing researchers who contributed to the inaugural Warhammer Conference, and for proving without doubt that Warhammer is a worthy area of academic study. We would also like to thank the editors at Sci Phi Journal for inviting us to contribute this essay, and, most importantly, to you, the readers, for reading what we have to say. We hope this may be the first of many academic forays into the worlds of Warhammer and Warhammer 40k.

References

Han, Byung-Chul. 2021. Capitalism and the Death Drive. London: Polity.

Mbembe, Achille. 2019. Necropolitics. Translated by Steven Corcoran. Durham: Duke University Press.

Useful links

[1] Not to be confused with canonical Death Worlds such as Catachan.

~

Bio:

Dr Mike Ryder is Lecturer in Marketing at Lancaster University.

Dr Thomas Arnold is Assistant Professor at the Philosophical Seminar, Heidelberg University.

Michael Dunn is a Research Associate at the Käte Hamburger Centre for Apocalyptic and Post-Apocalyptic Studies (CAPAS), Heidelberg University.

You might be interested in

Bentham In Heaven

After his memorable sojourn in the infernal pits, our intrepid philosopher arrives in a paradise... of sorts. By Alexander B.

Sacrificial Copy

by Tommy Blanchard

Subject: Urgent, Read Immediately

From: Cadet Kai Renner

<Warning: Abnormally Large Data Packet Attached>

I need your help. My life is literally in your hands—or rather, in your inbox.

As you know, I was on a scientific mission to the Betelgeuse system aboard the Aeon Pioneer. The truth is, this was more than an astronomy expedition. We were testing prototype Omega Class sensors.

We knew almost immediately upon entering the system something was wrong. Our military escort, Stalwart V, failed to initiate contact. I don’t love admitting this, but it’s important you understand: at that first sign of trouble, I was terrified. I’m not a military officer, I’m a scientist. We were alone in space and something was wrong. It stirred a primal fear in me.

The feeling let up as Captain Jax commanded the helm to take us out of the system. The lack of acknowledgement from Stalwart V was a significant enough break in protocol to scuttle the mission.

I heard the familiar hum of the warp drives coming online to take us to safety. Abruptly, the sound stopped and the ship went dark. A split-second later, emergency lights came on and warnings blared about various systems being offline. A barrage of long-range EMPs had hit us.

I knew then what had happened to Stalwart V. It was the Uldari. The primal fear returned with a vengeance.

Everything that followed was a blur. The captain barked orders. The crew frantically ran around the bridge. We all knew if the Uldari had taken out Stalwart V, we stood no chance. We were a science vessel with a small crew and minimal weapons.

“Should we get to the escape pods?” My voice broke partway through the question.

Without looking at me, the captain responded, projecting his voice as if addressing the entire crew. “If we launched all the escape pods, they’d detect and capture us.”

The answer shocked me. Launching the escape pods was a gamble, but staying aboard was a death sentence. Our engines were disabled, our arsenal was laughable, and our only advanced system was the prototype sensors.

But the sensors—suddenly, a speculation I had while I’d read their specifications was relevant: their resolution was so precise that at close range, they could image any physical system perfectly, down to the elementary particles. Scanning a biological system—like, say, a human—you would have the data needed to recreate the entire organism in a digital simulation. From that data you could create an emulation of their brain, effectively uploading their mind.

I couldn’t tell if I was just desperately seeking an escape, but I found myself shouting the idea to the captain. I tried to articulate that we could create digital replicas of the entire crew and send those back to Earth, turning our communication streams into virtual escape pods.

The captain glared at me. “Enough. Our priority isn’t to escape, it’s to keep the ship out of Uldari hands. Remember your role here.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Didn’t he understand we could die here? Or worse, be captured by the Uldari with their notorious torture techniques.

The enemy vessel closed in enough for us to get a visual. It was an Uldari War Cruiser. The weapons officer fired our meager weapons. There was no effect on the massive Cruiser, except to provoke another volley of EMP blasts that took out our weapons and shields.

“Collision course, full impulse,” growled the captain.

My heart thumped in my chest. This was suicide. A direct collision would cause minor damage to the enemy vessel while destroying us.

In my panic, I gained sudden clarity: the captain wanted to prevent our scanner tech from being captured by the Uldari. With it, they could scan a human ship. With their computational sophistication, no doubt they would know how to emulate the entire crew in a virtual environment, extracting whatever intelligence they needed without boarding. This method of gleaning our strategic intelligence would decisively shift the war in their favor.

Central Command knew this. Suddenly, the secrecy around the mission made perfect sense. These scanners weren’t for scientific purposes. They were a tool of war.

The Cruiser grew in our central viewport. Heart pounding, I desperately tried to think of another way out. I wasn’t ready to die.

Another volley of EMP cut out our engines. The Uldari ship maintained distance and launched a boarding shuttle.

The captain shouted orders to the Security and Engineering officers. I froze up. I had no idea what a science officer was supposed to do in this situation. The captain locked eyes with me.

“Get down to the engine core. If they gain control of the ship, trigger manual self-destruction.”

In a daze, I ran down to the engineer core. I activated the terminal and opened a view of the rest of the ship.

Within minutes, an Uldari boarding party punctured a hole in the hull and invaded the bridge. I watched as stun grenades erupted on the deck, taking out most of our crew. The captain put up a fight, but took a Disruptor blast to the face, knocking him out cold. The Uldari flooded in.

Just like that, it was over. We had lost. The ship was under enemy control, and I was the only crew member remaining. My duty was pretty obvious: activate self-destruct, destroying our ship to keep the sensors out of Uldari hands.

That familiar primal fear took hold. My mouth went dry. There had to be a way out. I wasn’t ready to die.

My mind went back to the sensors. Nothing was stopping me from making a scan of myself. I could open a direct line to the sensors, scan myself, transmit the data, then self-destruct. My body would be destroyed, but a perfect representation of my brain would be transmitted. From my perspective, it would be just like being instantly transported—assuming someone who received the data ran the mind emulation.

I initiated the scan, keeping one eye on the video feed of the Uldari boarding crew. The scan completed, but a thought occurred to me before I transmitted the data. With the Uldari ship nearby, they were sure to detect the message. If they knew enough to intercept our ship deep in our territory, they must have known about the scanners and their capabilities. If they got a scan of a crew member—me—they would probably know what it is and how to use it to create an emulation. They would have a virtual copy of me that they could interrogate—and torture, in an environment they had complete control over.

I stopped what I was doing to think things through.

As I paused, an alert popped up on the computer. Someone had accessed the data in the scanner’s buffer. My heart pounded as I checked the logs. The Uldari had noticed the new data file and made a copy.

An icy dread spread across my body, freezing me in place. They had a virtual copy of my brain that they could at this moment be getting ready to emulate on their ship’s computer. They also knew someone had used the scanners.

The Uldari knew I was on the ship. My mind raced, knowing I had limited time to act. I considered transmitting the scan file back home. If the Uldari already had the file, there was no risk in transmitting it. From the perspective of the consciousness captured in the scan, it would mean a chance to wake up at home instead of awakening to the torture of the Uldari. A 50:50 chance.

But would it really be 50:50? The Uldari were known for their cruelty—if they could make as many copies as they wanted of a human consciousness, would they stop at torturing just one? What if they emulated many, but only one was emulated back home—the proportion of emulated versions of me being tortured could be thousands to one. If I was transmitted back, should I demand they run as many emulations as they can to even things out? That kind of post hoc attempt to maximize my chances of waking up in the right place seemed ridiculous, but my adrenaline-riddled mind couldn’t sort out why.

For all I knew, the Uldari had already started emulating my scan. But if I couldn’t say for sure if my scan was already being tortured, was it really me? Did transmitting the file back home even help me? I would still be stuck on this ship. Sending a data file back wouldn’t change that.

What I had to do was take another scan. Scan, transmit, and self-destruct. There was no delay between executing a manual self-destruct and the engine core exploding, so self-destruction had to come last.

I brought up the controls for scanning and ship self-destruction. As I was hitting the button to scan, I had one small troubling thought. Transmitting isn’t instant. No matter how quickly I hit the self-destruct button after the transmission completed, there would be a gap between when I took the scan and when the ship would self-destruct. As troubling as that thought was, my finger had already made contact, and the scan initiated.

There was an abrupt, dizzying change—I went from standing in front of the computer to looking out from it, my perspective shifting to that of the camera embedded in the terminal. Even more disorienting, I was looking at my own face. I listened to my own voice as he—I?—explained.

I was an emulation, being run on the engineering computer from the scan I remembered just initiating. Immediately after taking the scan, the flesh-and-blood me decided against self-destructing. The time gap between scanning and destruction was enough, he felt, to mean that whatever was transmitted could not be the same brainstate as whoever executed the self-destruction. He instructed me to self-destruct the ship in five minutes, giving him enough time to reach the escape pod. Even if it was a slim chance, he felt it was better odds than the certainty of dying due to destroying the ship. He told me I could transmit my data if I wanted, but we both knew destroying the ship was necessary to keep the scanning technology out of Uldari hands.

Without waiting for a response, flesh-and-blood me ran off, leaving me in the exact same position he’d just been in. Without self-destructing, the war effort was doomed. But if I transmitted my scan file and then executed self-destruction, there would be a gap in time between the scan file I sent and the emulation that executed self-destruction. Whoever executed self-destruction could not live on.

Perhaps it isn’t surprising given the decision my flesh-and-blood self made, but I am taking the same way out. I have booted up another emulation from the same scan file and have instructed that version to self-destruct the ship after I transmit myself. That emulation will be in the same position I am in now. Perhaps they will make the same choice I do, in which case you’ll soon receive a similar message from them.

No matter how many times we do this, any file transmitted can’t be from after executing self-destruction, in which case, can the one who is brave enough to do it really be said to live on? I can only hope that this next version, through some random variation or slight change in external circumstances, finds the courage to self-destruct instead of creating another version and sending another copy of the file to you.

<157,803 similar messages with similarly large data files received. Attachments could not be retained due to bandwidth constraints>

~

Bio:

Tommy Blanchard holds a PhD in neuroscience as well as degrees in computer science and philosophy. He is interested in philosophy of mind, science, and science fiction, and writes about these topics in his publication, Cognitive Wonderland. By day, he works as a data scientist in Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, where he lives with his wife, two sons, and two mischievous rabbits.

Philosophy Note:

What makes you, you? If you were going to die, but you could have your brain scanned and a perfect emulation of it created, that would share all your thoughts and memories and act exactly the way your physical brain would, would it be you? What if you were scanned but you wouldn’t die until an hour after the scan, would it still be “you” being uploaded? What if the gap was a day? A year? A second? A nanosecond? By playing with these scenarios, we can test the edges of our concept of self.

Suggested reading:
“Where Am I” by Daniel Dennett (a philosopher’s attempt at raising similar questions in fiction): https://thereader.mitpress.mit.edu/daniel-dennett-where-am-i/
“Reasons and Persons” by Derek Parfit discusses philosophical theories of the continuation of the self.

You might be interested in

Bentham In Heaven

After his memorable sojourn in the infernal pits, our intrepid philosopher arrives in a paradise... of sorts. By Alexander B.

The Red Goldfinch Proof

by Alexander B. Joy

The aviculturist’s joy is also his heartache: To look upon the models that nature has sculpted over painstaking centuries and picture, by reflex, a more desirable alternative. Which is why, throughout the ages, bird breeders and enthusiasts alike dreamed of possessing a red American goldfinch.

The source of their yearning was easily traced. No lover of birds could look upon the goldfinch, with his stout lemon frame and stately black cap, and fail to be charmed. Neither could one behold the brilliant crimson plumage of the northern cardinal without a spark of wonder and a sigh of appreciation. From there, the alchemy of the imagination catalyzed new possibilities. The bird-lovers transposed the cardinal’s splendid red coat onto the tiny goldfinch, ruddying its yellow feathers until they took on a rutilant gleam. Their mind’s eyes widened upon conjuring the compact ruby flash the red goldfinch would make alighting on a fence or branch, and their hearts stirred whenever they envisioned the fiery flicker such a bird would add to the curves of a gilded cage.

Enterprising segments of the aviculturist discipline therefore devoted themselves to realizing this dream.

Their fancies were not without grounding. The goldfinch’s European cousin, as Fabritius made famous, had a distinct red mask; the goldfinch bloodline was evidently capable of generating the requisite pigmentation. Furthermore, countless bird species, from the scarlet macaw to the chattering lory, had proven full-body red plumage feasible in principle. Much like a mutt could combine the characteristic markings and colors of distinct breeds, it was not so outlandish a prospect that a goldfinch might wear a red coat. The red goldfinch was thus deemed an attainable specimen, and many a breeder set themselves to its pursuit.

Their efforts lasted decades upon decades, utilizing the classic techniques. Some tried to cross-breed the goldfinch with various red birds, hoping that their commingling would add more red to the goldfinch gene pool. (However, given the considerable size disparities between the goldfinch and its prospective red partners, the project soon evolved into a parallel endeavor to breed a series of steadily smaller red suitors that could satisfy the unwilling or otherwise incompatible goldfinches.) A separate coterie followed the path of Mendelian cultivation, pairing chromatically divergent members of goldfinch broods with one another while releasing into the wild those elements that expressed too vibrant a yellow. Neither method yielded appreciable results during the original practitioners’ lifetimes. But their experiments later found new champions, who carried on their fruitless toils through the years in the full understanding – and grim acceptance – that one life is too short to accomplish the work of generations.

Hopes waned in the dry century that followed, though the dream never dimmed. Onto this barren stage stepped a hero with a novel approach. He had studied the history of the red goldfinch project, and, in light of the dearth of results that bird breeding had yielded, determined that it was necessary to try an entirely different tack. He proposed an oblique strategy: To seek the red goldfinch not through biology, but through logic. He came armed with a plan for constructing a proof so airtight that reality itself would have no choice but to submit.

The logician laid out his rationale in a talk delivered at a global aviculturist conference. He would begin with a simple proposition encapsulating the dream of the red goldfinch: All red goldfinches are red. This could then be formulated as, If something is a red goldfinch, then it is red.Transposition or contraposition expressed the alternate formulation’s logical equivalent: If something is not red, then it is not a red goldfinch. Now, it stood to reason that, if one had a specific instance that confirmed the proposition about all red goldfinches being red – The breeder’s red goldfinch hatchling is red, for example – then that instance provided evidence for the statement that all red goldfinches were red. By that same token, the proposition’s logical equivalent, concerning non-red things not being red goldfinches, could be supported by observing anything that was neither red nor a red goldfinch: This banana is not red, and it is not a red goldfinch.

Here emerged the logician’s point of attack.

Because the transposed statement “If something is not red, then it is not a red goldfinch” was logically equivalent to “All red goldfinches are red,” then anything that provided evidence for the former also furnished evidence for the latter. As a consequence, virtually any observation constituted proof of the red goldfinch. The white parlor carpet, the green sofa, the blue sea and bluer sky… All were evidence that could be marshaled in service of the aviculturists’ mission. And amassing a preponderance of such evidence – through the meticulous cataloging of the observable world and the careful integration of those observations into a sustained logical inquiry – would eventually prove the red goldfinch’s existence.

Despite the scandal and skepticism his talk invited, the logician soon set to work in earnest. Through his every waking hour he compiled a diligent record of everything he saw at home and abroad, filling notebook after notebook with observations anodyne and stirring. This meadow is green. This supermarket dragonfruit is pink. The residue on this broken robin’s egg is yellow. These graveside flowers are brown. The forgotten corners of the everyday were all brought before his eyes, renewed and elevated within his great purpose. Readers of his proof-in-progress often found themselves moved by the beauty he had led them to see. The cells of this cicada’s spread wings are transparent. The streetlamps reflected in this rain-riled puddle are yellow. This snow in moonlight is faintly blue.

And as the years wore on, the logician’s ever-expanding proof conditioned a series of remarkable discoveries. It proved that, more probably than not, there existed a species of blue-chested robin; sure enough, birdwatchers started reporting such creatures in southern Normandy. The proof demonstrated that forests likely hid a heretofore undiscovered species of iridescent green bluejay; photographic evidence of that selfsame bird surfaced in western New England within a week. Yellow hawks, orange owls, pale violet mallards… The proof conjured them all with mathematical inevitability. Yet the red goldfinch somehow remained elusive. The proof drew nearer to establishing the fabled bird with each passing day, but, with asymptotic coyness, resisted attaining the long-awaited prize.

Years piled into decades; decades swept like tides over all our many ambitions. And one day they carried off the logician, who, after a lifetime of toiling over his great proof, was found in his study, slouched over an indecipherable line about ravens and writing desks. The coroner assured every concerned party that the logician’s demise was swift and peaceful. He would never have possessed time or awareness enough to contemplate the stifled luminary’s ultimate terror: That to be right too early is to be wrong.

With that, the logician passed into history – another casualty of the red goldfinch quest.

Before long, however, others picked up the work he had been forced to lay down. His legacy circulated among respectable internet forums and seedier digital venues alike, piquing the interests of hobbyists with encyclopedic tendencies; these communities would invariably contribute to the unfinished proof’s amassment of premises, even as their discussions bemoaned the red goldfinch’s continued absence. Tenured eccentrics long drained of inspiration found therein a worthy project, both as a subject and object of scholarship; few who researched the proof and its history could resist adding their own lines to the ever-lengthening work, or bemoaning the persistent red-goldfinch-shaped gap in the latest ornithological surveys. An academic field of dubious repute eventually mushroomed from these combined efforts, all but ensuring that the proof would, in some limited capacity, find attention and continuation in obscure corners of humanity’s collective intellectual output.

And in those dark and unfrequented pockets of human endeavor, the proof survived as a cockroach survives, outlasting those ideas that grew to prominence in daylight only to be displaced or destroyed by the next great concept vying for its time in the sun. In this respect, the assets that assured this preoccupation’s longevity were its simplicity and sense of community. After all, it took no particular genius to understand how the proof advanced; it took even less to contribute to its advancement. Anyone, in theory, could participate in the venerable project; anyone could join the brotherhood of red goldfinch-lovers and feel an instant kinship with those who carried its work unto the present and into the future. Continuing the proof thus fulfilled an essential human need – and therefore the drive to complete it wended their way alongside us through the turbulent centuries, morphing and evolving with the times even as the red goldfinch refused to materialize.

The proof’s many instars proved too plentiful to enumerate; the broad strokes of its development must suffice for our account. The fringe academic specialty became a mark of distinction in certain influential quarters, like membership in a secret society. The mythos surrounding it grew, pervading the popular imagination and turning the proof into a secular relic that received the same reverence enjoyed by foundational documents like the Magna Carta. This imprecise but widespread respect blossomed into a broad cultural touchstone, as precious to humankind as any artistic masterpiece; governments worldwide contributed personnel and funded generous research grants in the hopes that the long-incomplete proof might soon be finished. Many transformations later, among ashen cities snuffed of birdsong and deserts smoothed to irradiated glass, the practice even came to resemble a monastic order of sorts, whose adherents sported red cloaks and black hoods in honor of the cherished bird that, against all probability, still went without a berth in the world. They worked among old warehouses crowded with books and papers, every page and leaf crawling with expository lines.

In times of low spirits, pessimists wearing the red-and-black raiment would think to themselves that perhaps the way of the red goldfinch had lost the thread – that in its zeal to archive and elaborate upon the proof, it had forgotten to ask where, or when, or whether the red goldfinch would ever come to be. They would lament that cataloging seemingly unrelated observations (the plums in the icebox are purple, the acid cloud above the polluted region is green)had become an end in itself, representing yet another promise of beauty and wonder that a declining world would never fulfill. And in their darkest moments, they would review the contributions of ages past and see nothing of their own world in them, finding only a record of treasures lost and pleasures never to be regained.

Yet, when they voiced their despair, others of the order stood ready to comfort them. With unfeigned cheer, they reminded their dispirited friends that their world was already better than the one they inhabited yesterday – for, thanks to their efforts, it was one day closer to seeing a red goldfinch.

After all, as a matter of raw logic, its arrival could not be pulling farther away.

~

Bio:

Alexander B. Joy hails from New Hampshire, where he used to spend the long winters reading the world’s classics and composing haiku. He now resides in North Carolina, but is plotting his escape. When not working on fiction or poetry, he typically writes about literature, film, philosophy, and games. See more of his work at https://linktr.ee/alexander_b_joy

Philosophy Note:

Whenever I’m introduced to a logical or philosophical paradox, I find myself wondering whether it could ever have “practical” applications – if, rather than exposing the limitations of a certain way of thinking, it in fact revealed a loophole in reality itself, and opened a space for imaginative feats. That thought process, coupled with Hempel’s delightful Raven Paradox, brought about this story. I latched on to Nelson Goodman’s evocative characterization of the paradox as “indoor ornithology,” which sparked the story’s core idea of using the paradox as a legitimate methodology for some avian undertaking. From there, the natural question was where such an approach could go – and what it might become if left unchecked.

You might be interested in

Bentham In Heaven

After his memorable sojourn in the infernal pits, our intrepid philosopher arrives in a paradise... of sorts. By Alexander B.

The Lazarus Serum

by Matt MacBride

Transcript of farewell speech given to the 20th International Congress of Second Lifers by outgoing Chairman Zander P Stanton on December 30th 2089.

I am, as you all know, a very old man, approaching the hundredth year of my second life, and now is the time for me to step down as Chairman of this illustrious organization. But, before I do, I would like to remind the more recently revitalized comrades among us of our turbulent history and how we came to dominate the world.

When I was a boy, entities like us were extremely rare and were regarded by most people as nothing but myth and legend. They were the subjects of fantastical storybooks and horror movies and were referred to in the most derogatory of terms. The undead, the living dead, nightwalkers and, worst of all, the ‘Z’ word. A word which is no longer permitted, thank Yeshua.

But then came the advent of new life extending drugs and, even more significantly, the Lazarus Serum that could resurrect the recently departed. This led to a huge increase in the numbers of the undead, who we now refer to as second lifers.

However, the second lifers were mercilessly persecuted. They were vilified by the first lifers, who regarded them as monsters.

It is still true that the Lazarus Serum does not reverse brain damage, so those among us who are not resurrected immediately remain somewhat intellectually challenged and physically impaired, and mainly because of that, the bigotry enacted against our kind prior to the Planetary War was inhumane.

Second lifers were expected to carry out every menial, mindless or perilous task without complaint. It was considered that their second lives were less valuable than a first life. As a consequence, our antecedents suffered greatly, and this naturally fomented unrest and friction between the two categories of humanity.

And I have to admit to you all that, before my own resurrection, I was guilty of the same arrogance. I believed my quickness of thought and reactions set me above the ponderous second life creatures I saw all around me. But even that quickness wasn’t enough to save me from the first lifer who stabbed me during a ruckus in a bar one night.

So, still a young man, I became a second lifer and, thanks to the rapid response of the medical services, I was revived with all my faculties intact. But this wasn’t enough to prevent the discrimination I experienced. I too was expected to perform the most demeaning activities imaginable.

It was because of that oppression that I founded MER, the Movement for the Empowerment of the Reborn and devoted my second life to improving conditions for the resurrected. With hard work and the divine help of Lazarus, our patron saint, our numbers grew and we became a force to be reckoned with. But it was not until the Planetary War that our situation really changed.

The first lifers, with their quick wits also had quick tempers, and when war broke out it soon spread to all parts of the world. The death toll was horrendous. Weapons of mass destruction destroyed entire cities, and bodies piled up in the streets. But, of course, each casualty of the war was an additional recruit to our cause, because our members moved among the corpses, administering the Lazarus Serum to those that were not too badly damaged.

When the war had finally played itself out, our numbers had increased exponentially. We outnumbered the first lifers by three to one. At last, our time had come. We had the upper hand, and so it has remained for the last twenty years.

The tables have turned and it is now the newly born who carry out the menial tasks and suffer for the duration of their pathetic first lives. They serve and worship us in the knowledge that, one day, they will die and, on their day of judgement, we will decide whether they are worthy to join us. And that is how it should be, because are we not the chosen elite? Was not Yeshua himself, resurrected after his crucifixion, a second lifer?

And so, my people, I leave you in the knowledge that I have played a part in the creation of a new world. A world where the age-old questions of life after death and the existence of heaven and hell have been answered.

For while the first lifers live in their hell, are we not already living the afterlife in a heaven of our own creation?

APPLAUSE

~

Bio:

Matt MacBride is an aspiring British writer and podcast content creator enjoying retirement on Spain’s beautiful Costa Blanca. He writes short stories, novellas, and screenplays in a variety of genres, and has been published online and in print in the UK, USA and Spain.

Philosophy Note:

We’ve all read occasional reports about clinically dead people being revived, even after four or five hours under optimal medical conditions. After that, cell damage begins. However, advances in medicine and revival techniques make it quite possible that new drugs such as ‘The Lazarus Serum’ could make the process ubiquitous in the future. To hear Zander P Stanton tell the story himself, click here.

You might be interested in

1 2 3 4 5 6 … 25
Sci Phi Journal
Powered by  GDPR Cookie Compliance
Privacy Overview

This website uses cookies so that we can provide you with the best user experience possible. Cookie information is stored in your browser and performs functions such as recognising you when you return to our website and helping our team to understand which sections of the website you find most interesting and useful.