Body, Soul and Cyberspace in Contemporary Science Fiction Cinema

Virtual Worlds and Ethical Problems

S. Magerstädt

• Publisher: Palgrave Pivot
• Year: 2014
• Print ISBN: 9781137399403
• eBook ISBN: 9781137399410
• Topic: Art
• Subtopic: Art General

Body, Soul and Cyberspace explores how recent science-fiction cinema answers questions about body and soul, virtuality, and spirituality in the digital age by linking cinematic themes with religious, philosophical and ethical concepts.

1

Body – Cyborgs, Clones and Automata: The Matrix, eXistenZ, Avatar

Abstract: This chapter outlines a shift in representations of the body in science fiction from a postmodern, dystopian framework to a posthumanist utopian frame of reference. Posthumanist notions of body transfer and virtuality are evident in films such as Avatar, as well as in The Matrix. Magerstädt further addresses how the idea of escapism has changed from earlier cyberpunk narratives as presented in eXistenZ to more recent representations in Avatar. Magerstädt’s analysis highlights an interesting development in the portrayal of technology. She draws on Deleuze’s concept of the spiritual automaton in order to distinguish the organic avatar bodies from earlier cyborgs that appear, for example, in the Terminator films. The chapter concludes highlighting some of the ethical issues that result from these developments.

Keywords: body transfer; cyborgs; cyberpunk; organic networks; posthumanism; spiritual automaton

Magerstädt, Sylvie. Body, Soul and Cyberspace in Contemporary Science Fiction Cinema: Virtual Worlds and Ethical Problems. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. DOI: 10.1057/9781137399410.0005.

Many of the recent discussions on digital culture pay attention to the relationship between the body and technology (see, for example, Shilling, 2005; Miller, 2011; Athique, 2013). These contemporary debates are exemplified also in recent science fiction films, where – as I will argue – we can see a distinct change from earlier science fiction narratives. More specifically, this chapter will focus on the portrayal and importance of physical reality and the material body in The Matrix trilogy (1999–2003) and Avatar (2009), and compare their different attitudes towards the body. Both epics illustrate particularly well a development in the relationship between body and soul as well as the problematic ethical aspects behind the question of what it is that makes us human. In addition, I will look at David Cronenberg’s 1999 film eXistenZ, which also engages in the issue of embodiment in virtual realities and presents an interesting contrast to the majority of computer-generated virtual worlds. As we will see, the games console in eXistenZ literally becomes a living organism. The film also represents an extreme (and early) example for the proposed move from a transcendental to a more organic representation in contemporary science fiction. Other works, such as the Terminator series (James Cameron, 1984 and 1991; Jonathan Mostow, 2003; McG, 2009) will also be included in the discussion.

In his book Understanding Digital Culture, Vincent Miller dedicates a whole section to a discussion of our contemporary relationship with the body. Drawing on cyberpunk as a fictional genre, which often portrayed a dystopian perspective on the human–technology relationship, he argues that these stories often ‘serve as a warning that if technological advances and their application to the human body continue uncontrolled, unimpeded and dominated by the forces of the market, we might end up with a situation where “humans” become unrecognisable from what we consider to be human today’ (Miller, 2011, p. 207). Nevertheless, this relationship does not need always to be feared as it can also have a range of obvious advantages. Other writers have, for example, highlighted that cyberpunk ‘narratives conventionally articulate a desire to transcend the physical ... by suggesting that identity might be divorced from the body’ (Hughes, 2013, p. 30). Hughes (ibid.) further argues that in ‘the cyberpunk genre, the urge for transcendence of the material often replaces (and performs an equivalent function to) the desire to escape from urban technocracy into natural space’. It seems that it is exactly this ‘ambivalence between, on the one hand, a desire to use technological advances to prolong and improve the quality of human life and, on the other, concern about how the use of such technologies might move humanity away from its “humanness” or create further inequalities’ that is the topic of much of recent science fiction cinema (Miller, 2011, pp. 207–208). A good example for a cinematic representation of these concerns is Andrew Niccol’s much acclaimed Gattaca (1997), which discusses the notion of striving for human perfection and social inequality with regard to genetic enhancements. What creates the uncanny feeling when watching the film is that much of its technology and science is already available and used in contemporary medicine, such as pre-natal screenings, IVF and DNA testing. It thus shows that science fiction does not always have to be entirely fictional with regard to science and that it may only be a small step from our contemporary reality to the dystopian future presented in the film. The notion of inequality between ‘naturally conceived’ humans and genetically engineered ones also appears in The Matrix. However, in contrast to Gattaca, the priorities are reversed in The Matrix. When Neo, the hero of The Matrix films, meets Tank, one of the underground rebels who freed him from the Matrix, Tank is particularly proud of being ‘100 per-cent pure old-fashioned home-grown human’ in contrast to the majority of other humans, who – even if now freed – were ‘grown’ by the machines. This notion of ‘pure humanness’ is indicated by the lack of scars across the body, the immaculate body indicating ‘the old-fashioned human’ (Bartlett and Byers, 2003, p. 40). As we will see, the idea of overcoming a flawed body and the striving for bodily perfection is a recurrent theme in contemporary science fiction and the films discussed in this book.

Flesh and steel – postmodern bodies

What all films discussed in this chapter show to a greater or lesser extent is that our ‘increasing manipulation of bodies through technology leads us to question what “the body” (and “the human”) is, what they could or should be, and how we should control these processes’ (Miller, 2011, p. 208). As I have indicated above, The Matrix sets the integrity of the body against its abuse as mere ‘batteries’ by the machines, but the later instalments of the trilogy already present a more complex picture, where humans, software programmes and machines turn out to be more similar than their different materiality would suggest.

What then are the key factors in a postmodern relationship with the body? For some, the focus on the body is an outdated concept; something that we have already, at least partially, transcended as mentioned with regard to cyberpunk. Caputo (2001, p. 75) claimed that we ‘jog and exercise not only for our health but in order to re-establish contact with our embodiment, to reassure ourselves that we still have a body. We still get sick and die, which is a big reminder of embodiment ... but we are working on that’. In contrast, Miller argues that we have developed a new attitude towards the body, which puts a much stronger focus on it. He outlines three main reasons for this tendency. First, Miller (2011, p. 208) claims that the ‘decline of religious authority in the West’ has led to a new concept of the body as being the sole responsibility of the individual, a process that, second, leads to the body becoming increasingly ‘a bearer of symbolic value’. This means that we use our body more than ever before to make a statement about who we are – from dress, hairstyle and tattoos to more extreme forms such as plastic surgery. Lastly, he argues that we now have a ‘historically unparalleled degree of control over our bodies’ (ibid.). Yet this control is also increasingly susceptible to abuse, as can be seen, for example, in disorders such as anorexia nervosa which is amongst other things fuelled by pro-anorexia websites reframing the illness as a lifestyle choice. Moreover, the ethical debates arising from this development are increasingly challenged by an ageing Western population keen on and able to take advantage of these technologies to prolong and enhance their lives.

With regard to the changes in the body, Miller (2011) defines five different categories. According to him, bodies become (1) more plastic, meaning that there are more likely to be subject to aesthetic modifications; (2) more bionic, including now common devices such as pacemakers and artificial hips; (3) more interchangeable, that is organs being transplanted from one person to another, as well as (4) from one species to another (e.g. organs ‘grown’ in animals) and finally (5) more virtual, for example, by spending a significant amount of time in virtual environments, such as online shops or social networks. Whereas online shopping could be considered a merely practical aspect of actual life, it does lack the tactile engagement with a product prior to purchase. More importantly, the recreation of a (often fictional or ideal) self on social media platforms and in online games can be regarded – at least in parts – as a virtualization of the self that emphasizes an online identity at the expense of actual, physical experiences and (embodied) interactions with other people.

Throughout this chapter, I will discuss how these categories are played out in contemporary science fiction narratives. Yet, what will also become clear is that despite the layers of criticism brought up regarding the use and abuse of technology and the manipulation of the body in contemporary films, we also need to keep in mind that to a large extent ‘the pleasures of the digital are about transcending gravity, about bodies exceeding their limits’ (Landay, 2012, p. 134). I argue that contemporary science fiction narratives reflect this ambiguity particularly well as I will aim to show throughout this book. This conflict can be summarized with regard to The Matrix trilogy, which in ‘the end is humanist’ as it emphasizes the value and agency of humans in contrast to machines, but ‘it’s taken a lot of technology to get us there’ (Keane, 2007, p. 126).

Just like The Matrix trilogy, James Cameron’s Avatar has caused an intense debate about its topics and representations. Both films have not only divided fans and critics but also started a discussion among film scholars and philosophers on the relevance and meaning of these films. But whether or not these films are milestones in the development of cinema or ‘mere’ Hollywood spectacles, they do tell us something important about our relationship with technology and our world.

When comparing Avatar to another one of James Cameron’s futuristic tales, namely the Terminator series (1984–2009), Rosenfeld (2010) argues that beyond ‘their mass-market appeal, impressive visuals, predictable characters, and surface-level storytelling, these films capture aspects of the public’s current experiences and ideological states’. She further claims that by comparing the two narratives of Avatar and Terminator, we can see an ‘ideological shift’ in these stories that can help us ‘understand how they represent the turn from a modern Terminator mindset to a postmodern Avatar mindset’ (Rosenfeld, 2010). According to her, the Terminator films largely present the Cold War dystopian view of the future, which informed the first film of the series. However, Rosenfeld here focuses on the first two instalments of the franchise, which were directed by Cameron and leaves out the more recent films. As I will demonstrate later in this book, the more recent films, and in particular Terminator Salvation (2009), also feature a number of the characteristics that Rosenfeld ascribes to the ‘postmodern mindset’ of Avatar. More specifically, she claims that Avatar not only presents a more optimistic view of the future, but it also suggests new relationships with, and attitudes towards, artificial life-forms and technological advances. Accordingly, Rosenfeld (2010) writes that Terminator’s cinematic ‘representations of a society in shambles brought about by humankind’s losing control to its machines were popular with audiences in a period when the socio-political context fostered anxiety and technological mistrust. However, such angst is becoming an increasingly passé attitude’. This can be seen when looking at the portrayal of the cyborg (human/machine hybrid) in science fiction films over the past few decades. The cyborg is an important factor in the discussion on the body as it relates to the aspect of the bionic as noted above. Of course the idea of artificial bodies is not new and examples can be found in early literary iterations such as Shelley’s Frankenstein. However, the idea of the cyborg has a particular place in science fiction. As Bostic (1998, p. 358) emphasizes, ‘the cyborg is both real and fictional – through it we anticipate the implications of emergent technology in which we foresee the final blurring of distinctions between reality and virtuality.’ It is not simply a robot that looks a bit like a human, it is a hybrid – not quite human but not ‘just’ machine either. It therefore exemplifies the main question we have posed at the beginning of this book: What makes us human? As such, the ‘cyborg is no mere hypothesis: it has already become a cultural icon and is synonymous with our millennial threshold’ (ibid.).

When comparing the first two films of the Terminator series (1984 and 1991) we can see a shift from the perception of cyborgs as a monstrosity and/or threat towards a more ambiguous or even positive attitude concerning cyborgs. As Csicsery-Ronay writes, by ‘the time Terminator 2: Judgment Day was released, attitudes had changed so much that audiences had no difficulty imagining the “re-programming” of the T-800 into a beneficent cyborg, a figure sent to guard precisely the same Sarah Connor that his earlier incarnation had been sent to eliminate’ (2002, p. 76). Moreover, this shift is not only illustrated by the newly assigned role for the Terminator, but also by the dramatic change in the physical representation of the main (human) female character. Here, Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton) is transformed from a screaming and weak young woman into a tough, muscled, female warrior, who ultimately has more in common with the cyborg warrior on her side than with her former self. This transformation is an excellent example for the control over and symbolic value attached to the body mentioned earlier. While machines become more human, human bodies are increasingly treated like machines that need to be adapted and modified to fulfil a particular function.

When looking at the latest instalment of the Terminator series, this development is even more pronounced and Terminator Salvation (2009) shows some significant differences to its predecessors. The story is being positioned as pre-dating the earlier films¹ and we make contact with one of the first terminator cyborgs, played by Sam Worthington, who interestingly is also the male lead of Avatar in the same year. What is significant about Worthington’s character Marcus Wright is that, unlike Schwarzenegger’s Terminator in the earlier films, he is not aware of being a cyborg. The only thing Wright remembers is that he has been on death row and donated his body to science. Moreover, for most of the film he is not recognizable as a machine and often shows significantly more emotions than his ‘human’ opposite John Connor (Christian Bale), the tough rebel leader. Wright has a human backstory emphasizing that rather than being a cyborg created ‘from scratch’ he is actually a bionically modified human. This is illustrated poignantly in the following dialogue that takes place when Connor first captures and examines Wright:

JOHN CONNOR: The devil’s hands have been busy. What is it?

KATE CONNOR: It’s real flesh and blood, though it seems to heal itself quickly. The heart is human and very powerful. The brain, too, but with a chip interface.

MARCUS WRIGHT: What have you done to me?

KATE CONNOR: It has a hybrid nervous system. One human cortex, one machine.

JOHN CONNOR: Who built you?

MARCUS WRIGHT: My name is Marcus Wright.

JOHN CONNOR: You think you’re human?

MARCUS WRIGHT: I am human.

Throughout the film, Wright primarily aims to prove that this statement is still true. The comparison between Worthington’s cyborg character in Terminator Salvation and his human/Na’vi² hybrid in Avatar is an interesting one in that respect. Whereas the human Jake Sully ultimately transcends death by being reborn in a new (artificial) body, the cyborg Marcus Wright defines himself as ‘human’ at the end of the film by choosing death. Just like at the end of Terminator 2: Judgement Day, the ‘final sacrificial act of the film, the self-destruction of the Terminator, is born out of his reflection on the uniqueness of being human’ (Ortiz and Roux, 1997, p. 153). Wright rebels against the orders that are programmed in his brain by removing the chip interface – maybe his most significant bionic component. This is an act of liberation, allowing him to ‘perform a truly human act – and a conscious one at that – of self-sacrifice’ (ibid.). He does so by giving John Connor the most ‘human’ part of his body – his heart, symbol of love, emotion and human relations. ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Introduction: Ethical Questions in Contemporary Science Fiction Films
• 1  Body Cyborgs, Clones and Automata: The Matrix, eXistenZ, Avatar
• 2  Soul Cyber-Spirituality and Immortality: The Thirteenth Floor, Aeon Flux, Transcendence
• 3  Cyberspace Dreams, Memory and Virtual Worlds: TRON: Legacy, Total Recall (2012), Inception
• Conclusion: Imagining Our Future(s)
• Bibliography
• Index