by Terry Morgan
Carl nodded but showed little enthusiasm to say any more. So, the Professor pointed to the north. “Is Saint Michael’s Parish Church still there?”
Carl shrugged. He didn’t know.
“Can you imagine the village people of five hundred years ago who prayed at Saint Michael’s Church, Carl?”
Carl shook his head as if he couldn’t imagine anyone attending a church at any time.
“I can,” the Professor said. “Five hundred years is the blink of an eye in time but look how things have changed. I wouldn’t call myself a Christian but I can imagine them in family groups wearing their Sunday best clothes singing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful.’ Do you know that hymn, Carl?”
“No.”
“It goes something like this though I apologise for my voice. Because of it I have never been a willing singer.”
He was right. It was a rough and tuneless voice and an acute embarrassment but the Professor persevered because he had a point to make. Carl listened.
“All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small. Al things wise and wonderful. The Lord God made them all.
“Each little flower that opens. Each little bird that sings. He made their glowing colours. He made their tiny wings.
“The purple headed mountain. The river running by. The sunset and the morning. That brightens up the sky.”
“He gave us eyes to see them. And lips that we might tell, how great is God Almighty who made things all so well.”
“I can’t remember the other verses because we’ve all stopped believing in Gods, haven’t we? Who do we believe in now, Carl? Who do we put our trust in? Do we put our trust in politicians?”
“No.”
“But which would be better, Carl? An imaginary God or a real-life politician?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do, Carl. We can imagine it was a God that gave us life in all its colour and diversity that we can see and celebrate in words like ‘all things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small’. Politicians, on the other hand, have all but destroyed it by lack of foresight and leadership.”
“Yes.”
The Professor then stood back and looked at his nephew. It was becoming hard work. Carl’s earlier show of confidence had evaporated. He was listening but seemingly unable or unwilling to respond. Still, he thought, if Carl’s real questions, the reason he’d come, had not yet been posed, he’d persevere.
“And then there’s the Lord’s Prayer,” he continued. “The prayer they used to recite as a small self-contained community in Saint Michael’s Church. Have you ever recited it, Carl? Is it not a pity that solemn expressions of thanks to a deity are not allowed these days for fear of upsetting the feelings others?”
Carl examined his shiny black boots.
“The Lord’s Prayer,” he went on. “A simple statement of loyalty, a plea for daily bread and forgiveness for a few sins that in these more modern days might appear too petty to even mention. It was a prayer that could, if we had so chosen, have applied to anyone’s God irrespective of doctrine. But look what happened, Carl.
“The requests the overworked Lord began receiving a few generations ago were a little more demanding. A simple loaf of bread was no longer enough. It was more likely to be a honeyed ham salad on buttered wholemeal bread, a choice of cheese, wine and beer, a bigger house or TV, a new car or an overseas holiday. And in addition to these requests what else did they expect from the Lord? That their rights be respected. Rights without sacrifices or contributions. Rights with no responsibilities attached.
"And if He, the overworked Lord, failed to deliver they would get angry and take their complaints to the government or even a Court of Law. With that sort of quick fix, they soon realised there was no longer a need for a God at all. So, welcome to the society that no longer worships a God but worships itself.”
Carl was sniffing nervously and prodding the wet grass with the toe of his shiny black boots as if everything was his fault. But he was, it seemed, still listening so the Professor continued in the same vein.
"Your relatives of not so long ago had a simpler life, a harder one but a far more honest one.”
This time, Carl nodded.
“Hardship was a way of life. They still laughed and they still cried. And I would argue that they were far happier and inwardly content than we are today. Happiness is another subject on which I have written a great deal, as you may know, Carl. Cheap, mass printed cards for a Happy Birthday, Happy Valentine's Day, Happy Mother's Day and Happy New Year. Happy Easter and Happy Christmas when they no longer want a God but only the chocolate and sparkling gifts. True, Carl?”
Carl nodded again.
“Happiness is a word like suffer, Carl. It needs defining but as it can't be defined to everyone's satisfaction perhaps it needs replacing altogether."
At last, some audible words from Carl: "What better word would you suggest then, uncle?"
That was better. Something had stirred him.
"Contentment is better,” he replied without any need to consider. “Happiness has so many synonyms it’s difficult to pin down. It includes everything from general satisfaction to ecstasy and delirium. Contentment is so much better.”
“So, who is happy these days, uncle? Who is content?”
“You tell me, Carl. Living here puts me at a disadvantage but I’ll make a suggestion. Who smiles the most? The child born into a poor but loving family living in a hut made of mud and straw and with the freedom to run, fetch water from a well and breathe fresh air, or the child born into a broken home on a crowded housing estate, fed a diet of processed food and given every plaything invented?”
Carl nodded as if the latter described the kids he knew perfectly.
“Increased wealth, affordable and easily accessible food, water, fuel, material possessions and non-essential luxuries do not equate with increased happiness or contentment, Carl. So, tell me, what has gone wrong?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but continued before Carl had even opened his mouth.
"I’ll tell you what went wrong. There was a time, a century ago, when food, water, fuel, healthcare and material possessions became so grossly under-priced that they were disrespected and taken for granted. Living was easy but people still need something constructive to do every day. They need a role, a purpose and a job they are proud of, so that at the end of each day they feel satisfied, that they have actually earned their living. But if they have no role, no purpose or no job that satisfies them or if they are living cheek by jowl in cramped conditions, they feel frustrated and angry as if they were being treated unfairly. But who is treating them unfairly? As modern humans rarely point a finger at themselves, they point it at the body that they have grown to rely on for everything - the government.
“It is having a role, a purpose in life, a satisfying job, a good home life and a feeling of relevance and importance that leads to contentment. Without those, life can become very dissatisfying. Spending money on non-essentials doesn’t cure it and neither does living on state benefits.” He paused. “Do you have a job, Carl?”
Carl shook his head sadly.
“I’m sorry.” The Professor said it with sincerity, but it didn’t surprise him.
The Professor was still waiting to hear Carl’s other questions but he’d got an answer to one of his own. Carl was unemployed.
It was no surprise. Unemployment, especially youth unemployment, was an international problem. Was it any wonder that schools were facing disruption with students feeling that education was pointless? It was also the main cause of the increasingly violent street riots brought on, amongst other things, by bad feeling towards those willing to work for less than the going rates. He felt sure that Carl would be mixed up with this. How could he avoid it?
Yet governments, having allowed numbers to increase, still refused to admit it was impossible to create enough jobs for so many people. Economies and
wealth could, quite feasibly, grow with half the number of workers currently employed. But that still left millions with nothing to do.
Worldwide unemployment and underemployment and the poverty, social problems and conflicts it caused had been the main reason for the mass migrations that had started around 2000.
For males, there would never be enough jobs to go around. Machines and robots were cheaper, less bothersome and far more efficient. Even the buses outside the main gate were driverless. You paid by glancing at a camera the size of a golf ball and were driven away in a box on wheels, a machine running on electricity and controlled by electronics. You took instructions from graphics on the wall, played with your hand-held entertainment device while you were moved around and talked to no-one. In effect you were, yourself, a machine that interacted with another machine.
And then, of course, there was the social problem of integrating millions of disaffected, unemployed immigrants with widely different cultural habits. The state could never catch up because the increasing numbers had exacerbated each of the existing crises - the housing crises, the schools’ crises, the healthcare crises, the social welfare crises and the law and order crises. Social problems were costing more than could be afforded so gradually, but increasingly noticeably, publicly funded services were deteriorating. In other words, just as the Professor had predicted, the quality of life was also deteriorating.
Should he now give Carl a summary of a controversial lecture he’d given thirty years ago? The one advising the scaling back of artificial intelligence research and automation for the sake of creating jobs that humans could do until the human population could be reduced by five billion? Yes, costs and prices would have gone up but which would have been the best long-term strategy? Politicians, of course, had sided with big business.
He decided against telling Carl, but he’d been right. Standing alongside him, right now, was a victim. His own nephew.
Robot in the electronics industry.
His suggestion of a five billion reduction in population had, of course, been met with anger, demonstrations outside Parliament and calls for his resignation.
His response had been, “Then carry on as usual. Abdicate your responsibilities. Pass them on to the next generation. Let them sort it out.”
And then there were the complete deniers, those who would repeat their usual mantra. “Technology will find a way. Technology holds no boundaries. There’s plenty of space for a few more billion.”
“But at what cost to quality of life,” he would reply. “There is surely more to human life than using technology to patch up self-inflicted problems. What about the social effects of overcrowding and mass migration? What about the incessant demand for better healthcare and a longer life? What about the threat of increased violence and social deprivation? What about the growing feelings of loneliness, insignificance and unimportance that comes with unemployment?”
But no. He was cruel they said. His views were inhuman and against all civilised behaviour.
But was this civilisation? It was now 2050. The human population had, just as forecast back in 2020, increased by another 2.3 billion. Environmental destruction had continued, the extinction of animals, birds and insects was increasing exponentially and the imbalance between the poor and rich had widened. All the predictions had come true but nothing had ever been done by those charged with solving problems.
Climate change had dominated discussions for years but talk had always been on reducing CO2 levels. No-one had dared point out that the obvious cause of increased CO2 levels was the explosion in numbers of humans demanding cheap forms of energy. No-one had ever asked for action on reducing the numbers of humans for fear of being tarnished with the same reputation as Professor Harry H. Richardson whose views were said to be inhumane and against all civilised behaviour.
The Professor changed tack.
"As you look across this sprawling metropolis from up here, Carl, how do you feel?” the Professor asked.
“It’s depressing, uncle. I feel….” Carl struggled for words. “I feel I don’t want to go back. I feel better here where I can feel the wind. I feel closer to the sky.”
The Professor smiled. It was an interesting reason to be inside Forest Hills Open Prison but he could see the logic.
“I have come here before,” Carl continued. “By the bus. I have stood outside thinking about you. Only today did I decide to come in.”
“I’m glad you did but I’m still waiting for more questions. I am talking too much.”
“Yes,” Carl said without elaborating.
For a moment they stood in silence looking at the view. From this angle, six lanes of cars, buses and trucks could be seen streaming in both directions on the main circular highway. A container train and a long passenger train passed each other on the railway.
“Do you feel insignificant, Carl?”
Carl sniffed. “I feel nothing,” he said almost choking on his own words. “I feel absolutely nothing. I do nothing. I am empty. I feel unimportant. I feel there must be more to life but I don’t know what. I know I want to work but there is nothing other than voluntary work in the care homes, helping old people or the disabled. They say it is essential work but it is not work for a man. I want something that uses my mind, my body. I feel wasted. I want to move away but I have no money and where would I go? I feel like a refugee in my own country. They say this is a free country. Free and democratic. But what is the point of freedom without opportunity? And it is not really free, uncle. There are things you can no longer say or write in case it makes others angry or hurts their feelings and yet my own feelings and opinions are hurt by the system. We have become too soft, uncle. We are soft but confused.” He paused to sniff nervously again. “What is ambition, uncle?”
“Ambition? Ambition is a deep desire to achieve something through hard work and determination. It requires someone to have enthusiasm, commitment and a sense of purpose.”
“Yes,” Carl replied. “That is a good description but I know no-one like that. Why?”
For a moment the Professor was unusually lost for words. Ambition was a word he’d never thought required explanation. Ambition was what drove people, especially young people. Neither could he imagine a generation who lacked enthusiasm and a sense of purpose so could it have been squeezed out of them by an education system that merely ticked boxes, delivered the government’s agenda on social attitudes and then tipped the young out into a harsh and overcrowded world of no jobs and no opportunity.
So how had it got like that? Was it a deliberate strategy to force this generation into realising that to bring children into such a world was a mistake? It was, he decided, an interesting theory but only a theory. In practice the outcome was far too uncertain and no democratically elected government could get away with it.
No. The theory was interesting but entirely wrong. This lack of ambition amongst 2050’s youth was just another undesirable effect of overpopulation.
“Why do people have no ambition?” he said in reply to Carl. “What is your opinion?”
Carl shook his head. “There’s no future, so why bother,” he said.
That was it. It explained things perfectly.
“Do you live alone?” the Professor asked.
“I live with five others. I have known two of them since school. We share a single room but we are not good for each other, uncle. None of us have jobs. We argue.”
“Where is your mother, Carl?”
“My mother died when I was fifteen.”
“I’m very sorry.” The Professor looked at Carl. “How old was she?”
“Forty.”
“What was the problem?”
“Liver.”
The Professor nodded and another thoughtful silence descended.
Liver disease, just like type 2 diabetes had become an epidemic amongst young adults. It was mostly due to food and lifestyle. It had been well forecast and there was a simple ex
planation. Because it was too cheap, humans were eating more food than their bodies could cope with. To be brutal, as was the Professor’s nature, it was greed. It was overeating. Easy access to food did not equate to good health. Visits to stuffy gymnasiums could never replace the hard, physical work in clean, fresh air that the human body had adapted to since before the Stone Age. Humans had grown bigger, taller, fatter and heavier in a space of time that was impossible through natural adaptation. Neither was there anything natural about the reasons for their survival. It was technology that kept them alive and dependant on the state.
“Do you ever see your father, my foster brother?” he asked somewhat hesitantly.
“I last saw him at my great grandmother’s funeral,” Carl replied. “I had not seen him for many years before then.”
“Ah yes,” the Professor said sadly, remembering the day of his mother’s funeral. “A memorable day.” He quickly changed the subject. “What do you do all day?”
“I check the jobs lists. Then……I don’t know what I do. Days pass. Sometimes I ride the buses. Sometimes I help cleaning the grounds of the hospital for exercise. I watch videos. I sit. I go out again. I cannot sleep because I’m not tired.” He paused. “Ten of my school friends have already died, uncle. Depression. Suicide. Some others joined gangs just to get free stuff like dragon and chalk. That is why there is trouble brewing.”
“You don’t do drugs?”
Carl shrugged. “No. My mother taught me.”
“It must be hard to refuse.”
Carl nodded.
“What will you do after leaving here?”
Carl shook his head as if he didn’t know.
“You will return by bus?” the Professor suggested. It was the only obvious solution other than to walk twelve kilometres, though walking everywhere might have done everyone some good.
“Maybe,” Carl said sadly. “Maybe not.”
The Professor would always remember that reply. Instead, he asked “How crowded is the public transport?”
