What does Caution ask?
The ultimate question. The question of why and wherefore. The why of everything. The question of everything.
Is that the ultimate question? Really?
What is Caution’s question? What’s so completely radical that it can just destroy everything? Blow Alphaville’s circuits?
Computers just follow orders. Their programme.
Not if they’re machine learning. Not if they’re teaching themselves. Just, like, picking themselves up by their own bootstraps. Teaching themselves everything – including how to teach. They’re just going to learn, learn, learn.
The question of the meaning of Being. That’s Heidegger.
Why does being have to mean anything? Being just is stuff, right. Just everything that is.
Like a question bomb. Like a question explosion. That would just blow up AI. That would fuck up the head of AI, if it had a head.
You can only ask the question of the meaning of being if you feel certain … moods. AI doesn’t feel moods. AI just … operates.
I don’t know about that, philosopher: moods?
Like your feeling of dissociation.
Is that would you’d call it. But moods and … being? You’re fucking with my head.
So you want to blow up Mother. Why is that? What do you want to do to poor Mother? Mother might be vulnerable. Mother’s pretty new.
So the question of the meaning of being is the biggest question you can ask? About everything that is? Why should it mean anything? Why can’t it just be, like, what it is?
The AI apocalypse – is that real? What does it even mean?
When AI goes exponential. When AI intelligence just accelerates into infinity.
Will AI be able to solve the question of the meaning of being?
It’s not the kind of question you can solve. You just feel it.
And then what?
Maybe we don’t understand what we’re doing in Organisational Management. What we’re serving. Exactly.
So who are we serving?
The incoming world government. Or aliens.
Aliens?
Organisational Management alien. Taking over the galaxy, star system by star system.
Mother is a new kind of intelligence. Supposed to be caring. Nurturing. Like, managing in a good sense. Hence the name.
You philosophers don’t know anything at all. You’re just posturing. All your questions without answers. All your asking. Making everything … self-conscious. That’s not right, is it? Interrupting things. Spoiling everyone’s fun. Making them self-questioning. And self-conscious and self-aware …
The question of everything – of every fucking thing. Can we ask that question?
It’s what we are: we’re things that ask questions. We can’t help it.
Just asking why and why and why … it’s pointless.
What’s the answer to the question of the meaning of being? Give us the spoiler. Does it actually mean anything?
It’s the great pointless question. It’s the question of our pointlessness. The greater pointlessness. The greater, It doesn’t mean anything.
It just sounds futile. And useless. It’s terribly … philosophical. Dwelling in some question. Thinking some stupid question is what gives us dignity. Is what makes everything worthwhile. That our greatest freedom is the freedom to question futilely and purposelessly and stupidly …
Just asking our stupid questions into the night.
Sure, our stupidity … asking from our stupidity. And our idiocy. And all those things. God, what a life we lead. What we do with ourselves, in the humanities.
So Caution asks his great pointless question and Alphaville just … explodes? All because of the question of the meaning of being? Fuck off.
It’s because he gets Alphaville to ask the question of the meaning of being.
Wait – wasn’t Heidegger a Nazi?
Not when he wrote about the question of the meaning of being.
Did the question of the meaning of being lead him to Nazism. Are you a Nazi? Are you European philosophy people just nazis? I think I read something about that. Have we brought a bunch of Nazis into Organisational Management?
So this is what’s going to destroy Mother.
Only if Mother asks the question herself. Of herself. And of everything.
The question of the meaning of being is the question of the great uselessness. Of the great chaos. Of the great tohu vavohu. Of the great randomness. Of the great Unpredictability.
Is that’s what’s going to destroy us, philosopher: the fact that our powers are limited? That Organisational Management can’t organise everything? I mean, sure there are limits, but for everything else, there’s Organisational Management.
So Mother doesn’t understand this stuff?
Mother can’t understand it. It’s not about understanding. It’s about the limits of understanding. That’s what moods show.
Sure, philosophers are fucked up. You have to be fucked up. You have to feel your fucked-up-ness very intensely. Your own, like, inadequacy.
None of this makes any sense.
It doesn’t make Organisational Management sense, sure. But there’s more to life than Organisational Management.
So the humanities going to save us all because of their special connection with … uselessness? Because they’re … fucked up, or whatever?
So what’s the mood like – is it doomy? Is it gloomy? Are you philosophers only philosophers when you’re feeling pissed off?
Caution is about a mood. He brought a mood to Alphaville. And even Alphaville begins to feel the mood. Even Alphaville begins to feel … fucked up, or whatever.
You want to spread your doom. Plug it into Mother. That’s how you’re going to win, right?
I can’t believe that we invited you in. To destroy poor old Mother.
Do you really believe we’ll destroy her?
You’re going to inject your question into Mother and fill her full of self-doubt. And have her tear herself apart. Just like you guys no doubt tear yourselves apart. With your … self consciousness. You want to double up poor Mother just like you double up yourselves. And fill her with doubt. Turning her into a philosophical fuck up who’s good for nothing.
Is that what philosophy is: a way of being fucked up? Maybe I’m a fuck up, too. Maybe you’re fucking me up or maybe I was already fucked up.
Some … contradiction. In our lives. Our existence. That we have to increase. That we have to widen.
What happens then?
Lightning strikes.
All from being fucked up?
Work in Progress 