Brother Isidore quickly shot to attention upon hearing the harsh beeping of his alarm. Gingerly throwing off his bedsheets, he twisted his body and once again began to climb out of his bed. Before his feet had touched the ground, he said a short prayer under his breath, the same one he offered every morning: “Heavenly Father, I offer myself to You this day to do with me what You will. Just for today remove my defects of character that I may be a better witness to You and a better agent of Your will, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
The feel of his bare feet on the cold metal floor of his cell helped shock him out of his initial grogginess. Taking advantage of his weightlessness, he kicked off of the floor and began to slowly glide towards his beeping alarm to shut it off. He grabbed hold of one of the many handlebars placed around his cell to help steady himself, then pressed the button to turn on the lights and continued with the rest of his morning routine.Retrieving his habit from the trunk at the foot of his bed, he began to remove his pajamas and vest himself. He recited the usual vesting prayer, finishing with an ‘amen’ as he adjusted his habit. Still conscious of his schedule, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Two more minutes before Matins.
Leisurely moving towards the computer console at the opposite side of his cell, he retrieved his tablet from the charging station and opened up his breviary, and once his digital clock displayed the right time he began his prayers. While chanting the psalms, Isidore kept his voice low; partly because he had never been very confident in his singing voice, partly because of the poor acoustics in his cell, but mostly because singing them all on his own felt a little strange. All of the other members of his community were working off of the same schedule, so in a sense they were praying together, but the feeling of solitude put something of a damper on his enjoyment. He would never skip the Offices, of course, but they were starting to feel more and more like a chore.
As he continued his recitation, Isidore’s eyes kept drifting to the side, sneaking peeks at the small collection of objects floating around in his cell. He had left a few icons and even a large painted crucifix suspended in the air, still somewhat enthralled by the gimmick of weightlessness. Mounting them to the wall in some way had also proven to be enough of a challenge that he had judged it to be not worth the effort. In addition tothese distractions, his eyes were being pulled towards the view outside of the small window in his cell. Through the reinforced glass, he could very clearly see the surface of the Earth. He had been told that he was whizzing by at speeds far beyond his comprehension, butlooking at how the landscape moved by always made him feel like he was just slowly inching along. It was a breathtaking sight any day, but this time Isidore’s attention was drawn by the fact that he appeared to be orbiting over his home country. There was a brief sense of homesickness as he looked down through the window at the familiar mountains. Though the landscape was very recognisable, at this great distance he was completely unable to make out the small village where he had come from. He had already been up here in his ‘cell,’ in reality a small spacecraft orbiting the Earth, for several months now. This was his community’s attempt at reproducing the life of Saint Anthony the Great, albeit with a few compromises on the eremitical aspects; the use of the internet was permitted to allow hermits to maintain a connection with community life. Isidore was less than halfway through his year in the ‘desert’ of space, but he had already become very comfortable with his adjusted routine.
Concluding his prayers with the usual blessing, he then checked to see what the Scripture reading for today was. After identifying the verses to read, he quickly closed the breviary app on his tablet and pressed the button to open up his app for the Bible. Sifting through the list of chapters before finally locating the 115th Psalm, Isidore’s eyes began to scan the screen, trying to absorb as much information as he could as his finger slowly dragged the scroll bar down towards the bottom of the page. “They have mouths, but do not speak; eyes, but do not see. They have ears but do not hear; noses but do not smell. They have hands but do not feel; feet but do not walk; they make no sound in their throats. Those who make them are like them; so are all who trust in them.”
Isidore closed his Bible as soon as he had finished the reading. Next, there was to be a short period of reflection prior to their community discussion. Reflection on what? The meaning of this passage was fairly clear to him. It was yet another condemnation of idolatry, fairly typical of the Old Testament, in very familiar language. Isidore decided that he would simply leave a comment saying just that. This was only a formality, but to him it was also important to not be the first one to post a comment. If he commented first, it would draw too much attention to him and steer the course of the rest of the discussion.
Posting last, on the other hand, gave the impression of laziness or hesitation. This didn’t suit him either, so he always tried to post somewhere in the middle.
Before he could turn on his computer, he had to recite the Litany of Saint Isidore of Seville. It was a long prayer pleading for the intercession of his patron, asking for safety in using the internet and protection from the temptations within. Beyond the obvious kinds of sites, all of which were strictly blocked on all devices belonging to his community, there were all manner of trite distractions, gossip, and scandals contained in the continuously churning deluge of information that made up the internet. There was a certain spirit that seemed to animate any digital environment, as if the very nature of being online shaped the substance of whatever could be found there. It was important to be wary of these spirits which prowled about the world wide web, seeking the ruin of souls.
Having finished his litany, Isidore signed in to his community’s group chat. After waiting for a minute or so, he was happy to see that Brother Thomas, always eager, had finally broken the ice and started posting a series of comments on today’s verse. “I think it is very interesting to reflect on how the ancient Israelites viewed idolatry in light of the kind we face today,” his first comment began.
“The idols of the Canaanites were statues that could not speak, hear, or see; in our era, however, I feel like we are surrounded by machines who are capable of doing all of these things.”
“Would that make them not idols, then? No, I would say they are still idols. And all the more dangerous because we do not recognize them as such,” Thomas continued in a second comment, with other elaborations seemingly on the way. “We’ve come to rely on machines to the point where we have built them to perform tasks that our ancient brothers would have identified with life, but this artificial life is not the same as the life lived by God when he became man to be with us in the person of Jesus Christ.”
“We must be able to recognize what a true life lived in participation with God is, and that if it is unavoidable for us to live with these machines, then we must be sure to remain their masters. They cannot be allowed to occupy our hearts. ” Prayer emojis and other reactions started to fill up the chat in response to his comments. Many other brothers were responding, creating long threads under his comments, while still others were posting their own thoughts as well.
Isidore didn’t bother reading the thread under Thomas’ comments, but left a quick reaction as he began typing his own post, finally comfortable that he wasn’t jumping in too early. After making his post, he also left a reaction on Brother Benedict’s shorter comment: “I am especially struck by ‘Those who make them are like them.’ Did we build these machines in our own image? Or are we starting to become more and more like the machines as we let them into our lives? Persevere in prayer, brothers.” Seeing that the activity in the chat was slowing down, and that some brothers were already posting waving emojis, Isidore felt that he had contributed enough to satisfy his superiors and signed out of the group chat for the day.
His use of the internet done for now, Isidore moved to shut down his browser and eat his morning meal. As he was about to close it, the sight of a recommended article on his homepage stuck out to him. He remembered the litany, and the pleas for proper discipline and custody of the eyes, but after checking the clock and reminding himself that he was ahead on his work and could get away with a later breakfast, he convinced himself that he had time to read one article. Maybe even two.
Clicking on the link, he was immediately appalled by its contents, as he had suspected he would be from the headline. From there, there were even more scandalous recommendations that he couldn’t help but click on. He could spare five minutes, he thought to himself as he opened the next article. This seemingly rational part of his brain was quickly overwhelmed by anger, then sorrow at the state of things. He read another report about how the cities were becoming more and more empty, populated only by the dwindling minority of professionals who had the skills to manage the increasingly self-reliant systems that ran the world economy. More funding for education was proposed as a solution, but as the university was increasingly seen as an investment rather than a place of learning, it could only serve to churn out more cogs for the bureaucratic apparatus. And of course, it was becoming increasingly clear that computers simply made better bureaucrats. All our needs could be provided for by the complex system which had been set up, they said; but then what were the rest of us to do? Out of work, most of the population could no longer afford to live in the cities and were forced to strike out elsewhere. But where?
Another article discussed the most recent expansion of euthanasia legislation, seemingly in answer to the previous article’s question. The courts, ostensibly still run by human judges but increasingly reliant on the use of artificial intelligence to analyse and comment on lengthy legal texts, had ruled that it was legal for the bodies of the euthanised to be broken down at the atomic level and used as raw material. Carbon could be made into artificial diamonds for cutting tools and mining equipment, nitrogen was useful for fertilizer, and whatever hydrogen they could extract could be used for clean fuel cells. All of this was done with the patient’s consent of course; the argument for the case hinged on the right to privacy and bodily autonomy. With this new legislation, the price tag on a dead body had now become even bigger, so the algorithm that managed the health care system was more likely to recommend euthanasia to the growing sector of the population unable to remain ‘productive’ under the new system.
The upper class didn’t seem to be faring very well either, the next article seemed to indicate. Even the ones that weren’t being phased out by the merciless march of progress were reporting skyrocketing rates of addiction and sexually transmitted diseases. Increasingly bizarre accidents and crimes were also popping up in all sorts of headlines. With so much time on their hands, they were struggling to find any sense of purpose. And to top it all off, another article seemed puzzled about why they were seeing higher rates of suicide and plummeting birth rates, seemingly with no hint of self-awareness. The charts were all up, after all. Every measure of human prosperity was trending higher than it had ever been, according to their models.
Before Isidore finally closed his browser, realising that his five minutes had long passed, he caught sight of another recommended article. The article, seemingly just an ad presenting itself as journalism in order to pass through any filters, boasted a headline which exalted the virtues of the latest entertainment product. Isidore couldn’t tell if it was a television serial, a movie, or a book, but based on the description it just appeared to be a remix of a bunch of different ideas from several previous entertainment products, seemingly created to check off a series of boxes on a list of consumer preferences for maximum marketability. Isidore was fairly certain that this product was pitched by an algorithm, but he couldn’t figure out if the algorithm was being run by a computer or a human who happened to be following the same routine unconsciously. He wasn’t sure which possibility disturbed him more.
Finally freeing himself from gazing into the abyss, Isidore turned his eyes towards the window of his cell. He was once again facing the surface of the Earth, but this time looking at a different continent. For some reason the sense of warmth that he had felt from seeing his home earlier had vanished. Gazing at the surface of the Earth from this far up really drove home just how alone he was, but he was starting to feel like that might not be such a bad thing. Looking down at the Earth, instead of a ball teeming with life, he now saw a cold, mechanical engine; endlessly churning away, seemingly indifferent to all the interchangeable gears working away in its gullet. As small and cramped as it was, his cell felt like an oasis in the mechanized desert. He was up here with his icons and his books, free from all the chaos that he had just been reading about. But Isidore couldn’t help but frown as he thought this. He wanted to say this was true, but it didn’t really feel true.
Having decided that he had already wasted enough time, he resolved to finally start his daily work, even if it meant skipping breakfast. He had never found his massive stash of freeze-dried meals particularly appetizing, and he felt like his stomach could hold out until lunch. Opening up the appropriate application on his computer, he promptly received scanned copies of all the documents he was to be working on today. His community was primarily engaged in the restoration and cataloguing of old manuscripts, icons, artwork, and other miscellaneous sacramentals. While the brothers on Earth continued their work maintaining the physical objects in their vast collection, those within the ‘desert’ were tasked with cataloguing and transcribing scans from books and other texts. Yesterday, he had been in the middle of a particularly interesting book, and the pages that had been sent to him for today looked to be very interesting as well. However, try as he might, Isidore just couldn’t keep his mind focused on his work. Whenever he was looking over a page, within a few sentences his mind would drift to the outrageous things that he had been reading earlier. The devil had been able to get his hooks into Isidore with that one careless click earlier, and although the young monk thought he had pulled the thorn out of his flesh, the wound still stung.
Finally resigning to a break after only about a page and a half of work, he leaned back in his chair and thought. Things were going really badly, and he was once again grateful to be free from all of it. The humans on Earth had seemingly lost the will to live, following the promises of more efficient machines until they had willingly made themselves obsolete. They were so dazzled by the promise of certainty and material prosperity that they let a series of systems and algorithms run their lives, and robotically followed all of their commands. It was promised that, as technology advanced, the machines would become more human. To Isidore, however, it seemed like humans were becoming more like machines instead.
He thought about this with some smug satisfaction, but there was something nagging at him in the back of his mind. He began to think of the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector. Who was he to be so self-assured? Well, I’m not following some mechanistic routine designed to optimise efficiency, he thought to himself. Just as he considered that, however, an image of his itinerary flashed into his mind. It was the same schedule that all of the members of his community were obliged to follow, as per their vows. Day after day, week after week. Isidore could feel himself getting a bit flustered. That’s very different, he assured himself. The Rule is not from a machine algorithm, but from God. But doesn’t it come from Saint Benedict? something seemed to whisper in his head. The small doubts and questions that had been haunting him were now cohering as a single voice, presenting a clear rebuke of Isidore’s own failings
Isidore wasn’t sure how to respond. Part of him knew a voice like this could only be a sign of no good, but another part of him was deeply disturbed by his inability to answer it. He knew not to argue with the devil, but to discount these objections would be the same as the computers that ignore data outside of their parameters, right? He started to feel doubt creep in. Was his faith predicated on similar preconceptions? Was this just another routine that he was set in, much like the people on Earth?
It’s true that his monastic lifestyle comes from the Rule, but the purpose was to order his life towards God. It wasn’t a case of mere efficiency, and in some cases it was intentionally the opposite. But are we not simply comparing one set of rules to another here? The voice seemed persistent. The algorithm and the Abbot may have different ends, but do they not employ similar means? Obedience is obedience, regardless of what is obeyed.
Isidore began to imagine God as an engineer operating a great big machine. All of creation expanded and contracted rhythmically, all of its parts moving with precision. Hooded monks moved swiftly through the hallways of their monastery, like electrons through a circuit board. Arriving at their chapel, they all promptly got out their rosaries and began to pray. With each Hail Mary a counter increased by one, and once it had reached 10 the counter reset. Each time the first counter reset a second one started counting towards 5, and Isidore’s head began to spin.
This picture would not leave him, mostly because he struggled to articulate why it felt so wrong. He knew this wasn’t true, but he couldn’t find an answer to the challenge within his own experiences. That steady lifeless precision, like clockwork, seemed to haunt him even up here. He had run away from the machine, only to apparently find himself part of another machine.
Having completely forgotten his work, he began to frantically look around his cell, as if the answer could be found somewhere on the blank walls. Seeing nothing but cold metal surrounding him, he closed his eyes and uttered a small prayer. It wasn’t something he had memorized from a book this time, but simply an earnest plea with no fixed formula. Please, he muttered to himself. I can’t find it on my own.
As soon as that thought poured through his mind, his eyes snapped open, seemingly at random. To his surprise, Isidore found himself face-to-face with another man. The man’s eyes were turned downward, filled with deep sorrow and some other indescribable but profound emotion. It took Isidore a second to realize that the blood- streaked face he was looking at was from his large painted crucifix, which had slowly drifted over to his chair. He continued to stare deeply at the painted figure of his Lord, not just at the wounds all over his body, but at the expression on His face. Isidore’s mind began to wander back in time, to when Christ was carrying His Cross. He was walking along a specific path, to a specific destination, to complete a specific goal. He already knew ahead of time what was to happen and what He was to do, much as an artificial intelligence works with specific parameters and a particular goal in mind. But as He walked, carrying His heavy burden, there was none of the rigidity of the mechanical movements which filled Isidore’s mind. He continued to stare deep into His eyes, and he could almost feel something welling up in him. An emotion, but also some kind of new understanding; an understanding of the importance of the ‘why’ and the ‘how,’ over the ‘what.’
Waking from his reverie, Isidore caught sight of the digital clock on his wall; he was supposed to be starting his daily Rosary soon. He had already fallen very behind on his work for the day, having squandered much of the morning, but it was nothing that would be impossible to make up in the afternoon. Reaching over to his beads and grabbing hold of them, Isidore started reciting the familiar prayers he had said every day for as long as he could remember. This time, however, something was different. He spoke very deliberately and slowly, letting the words not just dance on his tongue but spring forth from his heart. He was saying the same words, but now he said them with a new feeling behind them. The daze he had been in over the past few days seemed to slowly lift away, leaving a sense of relief. With each call to his Blessed Mother, Isidore could almost feel tears coming to his eyes. Feeling newly invigorated, he was surprised and disappointed to find that he had already come to the end of the Rosary. In confusion, he went to see if he hadn’t skipped a decade somewhere, but checking his beads again and looking at the clock finally convinced him that he had indeed finished the whole prayer. It seemed to go by so much quicker this time, as if a chore had now become a cherished hobby.
The community schedule called for midday prayer to start immediately after finishing the Rosary, but before opening up his breviary he stole another glance out his window. Looking down at the surface of the Earth again, he felt his isolation that much more strongly. He had come into space as an escape from Earth, seeing nothing left there to love. As always, the green and blue planet in his small window was still filled with motion, but now he started to see it with different eyes. Before, he could only see cold and rigid undulations, but now he noticed something different underneath it all. Though still under the burden of the rhythmic beating of pistons, there seemed to be a slightly uneven pulse quivering through the ground; like a wounded beast drawing ragged breaths. From within that cage, there were still signs of life, and where there was life, there was hope.
Isidore took a quick look at the date on his tablet. He knew he still had more than six months up here, a deadline he had long been dreading, but for the first time he felt desperate for that time to pass. The sense of security in his cell was now replaced by a desire for companionship, a longing to go out into the world and to be with his brothers again. While he began reciting his prayers, his voice booming with enthusiasm as never before, he noticed the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile as his eyes kept glancing out the window. I’ll be back soon, he whispered between antiphons. I’ll be back soon.
THE END