The Alphaville Herald

Opening the Cupboard Door

by Alphaville Herald on 11/03/05 at 8:36 pm

The Herald is proud to introduce to its readers our newest freelance correspondent, Budka Groshomme, who here brings his experience as a RL writer of science fiction to bear on the not-quite-fictional world of Second Life.

As a long-time reader and writer of fantastic fiction, I thought myself well prepared to step into the cupboard of Second Life, to step into a world where I would become a digital string, nothing more than a bit pattern swimming through the gigabyte sea.

Science fiction and fantasy has long dealt with worlds or situations where the virtual and real combine. Charles Stross, who writes regularly for Asimov’s, introduced the idea of an individual as a state vector, which is equivalent to an individual’s definition in Linden Lab’s servers.

In many ways, the Lindens’ world might have resembled the world William Gibson perceived in Neuromancer, but while he conceived of data aggregations as visual objects, he never mentioned the converse that I perceived when I arrived in SL.

Coming from a background steeped in the fantastic, I was mentally prepared. I fully expected a different universe, something different from our mundane real-world existence.

What I found at first seemed entirely ordinary. Instead of creating the new and different, many residents of SL seemed to have brought as much of RL with them as possible. Instead of imaginative leaps into radical architecture and physical forms, too many people seemed to have opted for rank Barbie-ization and a digitally rendered Levittown.

But pedestrian builds notwithstanding, I soon found SL was a place of boundless promise, a place where dreams could be realized, a different life created, expanded, and fulfilled. If I bought into the collective concept, perhaps I could become an entrepreneur, a scientist, inventor, wizard or even an animal, vegetable or mineral. Could I become a Jay Gould, a Rockefeller, a Hearst or even a Bill Gates?

In his Well of Souls series, Jack Chalker (whose passing we were sad to note just one month ago) dealt with the consequences of a world where the virtual and real combined. Some few were able to control things beyond the abilities of mere mortals. So too, here.

As I began my voyage of exploration and discovery, I learned to soar, to fly above the sprawling landscape. I learned the mysteries of the map, the bottom bar, Instant Messaging, calling cards and the seemingly bottomless capacity of my inventory. I discovered, much to my delight, that people just gave me stuff!

For several SL weeks I strolled, speaking to strangers, racing along rivers and lakes and descending into the ocean depths. I soon discovered the true architectural treasures to be found in Second Life, I visited soaring palaces on floating anti-gravity islands and flew aircraft among them.

By teleporting to distant sims I discovered that social experiments were underway and found numerous forms of eroticism being explored and exploited. Everywhere, I found people ferociously building from their fervid imaginations (if for the most part building variations of the world left behind). These were people with amazing skills: architects, construction gurus, scripters, designers, real estate dealers, currency exchanges, bankers and many more.

Despite my modest investment to date, and all those years spent learning from real life, I was, at best, little more than an immigrant. Here I was, newly arrived and ignorant, having no means of establishing myself, and no income, except for the dole. In short, I wasn’t worth a milliLinden.

Flying around will be cool for a while, and changing my appearance every so often somewhat amusing. Perhaps torturing prims into twisted, textured, colored and scripted forms might hold my interest for a time, as would building.

But I know that, eventually, the novelty of these things will begin to fade.

At what point does dancing without physical contact continue to satisfy? How quickly will purely visual sex fail to titillate? Will the fleeting pleasures of chancing L$ to the turn of the wheel, the throw of the dice or the turn of the cards persist for long?

The question I know I — and every immigrant to SL — must eventually face is this: what is there in this second life that is worth my investment of time, energy and money? What is there that makes all this illusion worth the emotional, intellectual and karmic energy?

The unreal utopia of SL represents something mankind has been striving for through the centuries. In here we are beyond the need for sustenance, beyond the need for shelter, beyond the need for anything material. As residents we are at the top of Maslow’s hierarchy, where only the need for novelty and companionship remains.

Do you need proof? Witness the variety of social events: dancing, screwing, building, learning, talking, talking, talking and more talking! SL’s residents are a flock of roosting magpies, chirping away — declaring their existence, their relevance, by saying “Here I am! Here I am!” It’s as if they could, by dint of words alone, make themselves real.

Is there something beyond building a fantasy world with the tools of SL? Is there some way that this grand experiment can make a mark on the real world? Could Second Life become a cauldron for social experimentation, for group interaction?

Even a newbie like myself can see the promise inherent in Second Life. This is a place that we could mold to our desires, a place that could become a heaven or a hell. But before that, each of us must face a fundamental question: Where do I go from here? What is the purpose of this pseudo-life?

And pursuing that answer will be the real journey.

–with additional linkage by Walker Spaight