This essay begins by affirming the position of film and television as meaning-making sites where cultural ideas are both created and reflected. This insight leads me to suggest that Christianity has been a powerful social determinant over film, especially through eschatological and apocalyptic themes. Next, I narrow my focus to the proliferation of transhuman theories in film and TV and their manifestations as both Christian eschatology and speculative scientific futurism. I suggest that the concept of transhumanism has been an effort to dissolve conventional Christian eschatology into science, rendering the location of human advancement as the present and not an eschatological future. Having done so, I suggest that the film medium is especially well suited to portraying these interactions and conflicts. In particular, I offer an account of the TV show Black Mirror and the manner in which the episode Be Right Back examines the human capacity to conquer mortality. Ultimately, I suggest that Be Right Back criticises transhuman faith in technology and thereby provides epistemological space to revisit Christian eschatology.
Despite the challenges presented by the Coronavirus pandemic to the film industry, film continues to be an immensely popular entertainment medium for people around the world. In its annual report on media consumption, Ofcom, the media regulator, found that during the March 2020 lockdown, UK adults spent twice as long watching streaming services as they did before the pandemic.[1] But films, like other kinds of media, do a lot more than just entertain. In so far as films tell stories, they embed into their aesthetic forms distinct meanings for viewers to decipher. In making sense of a film, audiences create an interpretive framework that assigns meaning to the sequence of events. Lighting choices, costumes, and music are all part of the manner in which meaning is made. While there might not always be a consensus on the clear interpretation of a film, most of us are involved in this interpretive practice. For many, half the joy of viewing a film is the resulting discussion that takes place after it has finished. If we affirm that all cultural products represent the circumstances of their production, we can see how film might have the potential to serve as a powerful vehicle for creating and reflecting the norms and values of society. Movies might not necessarily include overt moral or religious content, but by reflecting their productive environment, they reveal to us something about the realities of that society and their guiding truths and narratives. In this way, they are a reflection of ‘human values, of the truths of human experience, of insights that will help us to understand better the complexity of human life and human society.’[2]
For many individuals, and certainly in my own social position, these explanatory horizons are often indebted to the Christian faith and its teachings. As Christopher Dawson puts it, the Christian tradition ‘is the most fundamental element in Western culture. It lies at the base not only of Western religion, but also of Western morals and Western social idealism.’[3] Recognising that films are vehicles for social ideas, which are themselves indebted to Christian tradition, invites us to take more seriously the connection between religion and film. It would not be a novel observation to suggest that many films contain Christian themes and that the entertainment industry has often been viewed as presenting thinly veiled Christian tales. Indeed, the American and European box office of the early 20th century was dominated by films that channelled religious or spiritual themes. Films like Thomas H. Ince’s Civilization, which was among the first to present Christ as a character in a film, enjoyed wide success with viewers who took comfort in its familiar biblical messages.[4] Although the latter half of the 20th and early 21st century has seen a decline in films of an overtly religious nature, they have by no means become a remnant of the past. Thus, the Chronicles of Narnia, based on the famous novel by Christian theologian C.S. Lewis, achieved great success at the box office. Christian themes and concepts can be seen elsewhere in a large number of mass-market high-budget films. It can be easily recognised, for example, that most of the films in the Marvel comic book universe contain immensely Christian concepts of Messiah-like characters and of sacrificing one’s self for the good of another.
When we explore the ways in which these ideas are presented in film and TV, the theme of apocalypse and eschaton appears to be a common staple. Indeed, much of 20th and 21st century popular culture has been saturated with dystopian and eschatological content. As William Blizek and Julien Fielding observe, ‘we might say that the most popularly mined section of the Bible is the Book of Revelation.’[5] Indeed, the immense success of the Left Behind Book series demonstrates how profoundly cemented eschatological motifs have become. What do I mean by eschatology? In the following section of this essay, I will narrow down more precisely the aspects of Christian eschatology that I am concerned with. Generally speaking, we might say that eschatology involves the Christian doctrine of the last things and the eventual fate of the human race. Nearly the entire genre of science fiction displays this tendency in film, creating a vast array of content which shares a common fascination with apocalyptic speculation. The Matrix (1999) and its sequel are often cited as paradigmatic examples of end-time cinematic concern.[6] The Matrix films present a future scenario wherein human beings have been stripped of an embodied existence and now reside in a mental simulation powered by artificial intelligence. As we might expect, the messiah type, Neo, is tasked with saving all of humanity. A list of all films concerned with apocalyptic or eschatological themes would be immense, but a limited selection would include The Road (2009), I Am Legend (2007), Children of Men (2006), and The Book of Eli (2010). All these films bring the concepts of humanity and human nature into dialogue with an eschatological vision of what the future might look like.
A central motif frequently seen in apocalyptic films concerns human identity and the possibility of profound linkages between humans and machines. I refer to these ideas as post and transhumanistic, by which I mean conscious attempts to ‘develop enhanced human capacities which include the biological, cognitive and moral domains of human existence.’[7] As Rhys Thomas notes, the idea of post and transhumanism has ‘enthralled film and television audiences, critics and academic theorists alike for over half a century.’[8] Here I have in mind movies like The Terminator (1984) and TV shows like Westworld (2016). In Westworld, human-like creatures are mechanically placed in human-like host bodies. Much of the plot focuses on the possibility of consciousness and the transfer of consciousness between humans and host machines. Pictures of this type raise several important questions about the makeup of personhood, especially in relation to death. Of what substance is the soul made? Is it divisible from the material body once it has perished? These trends in film are likely to be attributed to the advent and exponential advancement of technology, which has given rise to new possibilities for imagining the interaction between humans and machines. As Bukatman notes, ‘it has become increasingly difficult to separate the human from the technological.’[9] These technological developments and visions for the future have become powerful social determinants over the stories we tell in film, empowering us to visualise what it would be like to transgress beyond our human limits.
The notion that technology will facilitate human excellence and triumph is most commonly employed in the context of life extension, i.e. in the pursuit of beating death. Fear of death, and even a desire for immortality, is a key worry that can be found almost universally in all peoples and cultures. Indeed, the Epic of Gilgamesh, considered the oldest written text, tells us of Gilgamesh’s quest for immortality. As Rachel Perrulli notes, ‘the idea of death is a universally repressed fear that lies at the root of so much of what we create, define, imagine, hypothesize, believe and dream.’[10] Owing to the prevalence of this anxiety, death-avoidance defence mechanisms are important for many of us to keep panic in check and ensure that the fear of death does not paralyse us. Before transhumanism, the primary hope of defeating mortality came from eschatological narratives of reincarnation or otherworldly resurrection. With the emergence of more advanced forms of technology, the desire for transcendence has increasingly found expression in the hope of technological immortality. Transhumanism speaks to the fear of death by offering a profoundly scientific method of consolation. At the heart of transhumanism is the idea that the normal human life cycle should be expanded as far as technologically possible and that human beings should be able to escape death itself entirely. Death, to a transhumanist, is not a natural aspect of the human experience, but a tragic and curable illness. Through confining the terror of death to the domain of technology, the existential fear of finitude is therefore consoled by the prospect of ever-immanent medical progress. Technologies that could beat death vary, but include ideas of cryonics, mind uploading, gene editing, and many other potential human enhancement measures. As David Grummet summaries, the transhumanist view is the ‘notion that death may be conquered and immortality gained by human effort alone.’[11]
Christian eschatology, too, has much to say about the perpetuation of the person after death and of the power of God to bring us beyond the limits of normal human existence. It is therefore unsurprising that the development of the transhuman imagination has been paralleled in theology by an increased emphasis on the place of the human in eschatology. Across the scriptures and Christian tradition, death is presented as a tragedy which separates us from fellowship with God. In a verse that has influenced countless songs, Paul tells us that ‘the last enemy to be destroyed is death.’[12] Indeed, the entire thrust of the Christian concept of death is well be summarised in 1 Corinthians 15:55-57: ‘O death, where is your victory? O death, where’s your sting? ‘ The essence of the triumph over death comes in the form of the incarnate Christ and his death and resurrection. ‘I am the resurrection and the life’ Christ tells us. ‘Whoever believes in me, though he dies, yet shall he live.’[13] Christian tradition sees the death and resurrection of Jesus as an act of salvation to be consummated in the eschaton through the resurrection of all believers. As Joseph Ratzinger puts it, ‘faith in the resurrection is a central expression of the Christological confession of God.’[14] Even though Christians have disagreed with one another over the exact nature of this new life, it is important to note that this is a vision which incorporates both a bodily and spiritual dimension. The hope of a new beginning and the redemption of our material world is fundamental to the promise of the Christian faith. The resurrected body of Christ, acting as a blueprint for our own, is one which is ‘strong, imperishable, glorious, and possessed of advanced capabilities.’[15] Indeed, Newton Lee has even suggested that Jesus might have been the first transhuman.[16]
This observation about Christ’s resurrected body, though perhaps comical, lays bare substantial parallels between Christian eschatology and transhumanism. The resurrected body of the Christian faith, as with the transhuman vision, includes radical promises about human improvement and an extended/new life or immortality. Yet, while both might offer similar visions of human flourishing, it doesn’t take much to recognise that they have conflicting views on the path to this transcendence. If technology has the ability to disrupt death within the bounds of here and now, the need for a Christian eschatological vision seems to be at risk. For Christianity, the vision of human transcendence puts the old, fallen, self to death in order to share in the resurrection and glory of Christ. For the transhumanist, science, technology, and rational discourse will overcome death without a need for other-worldly eschatology. When understood like this, transhumanism appears to reflect something like the secularisation of Christian eschatology into technology. According to Gregory Jordan, transhumanism serves some of the functions of religion, ‘with regard to providing a sense of direction and purpose and providing something greater than the present condition.’[17] Despite this, most self-proclaimed transhumanists hold religion in great contempt and see technological transcendence as a necessary part of erasing religion. As James Hughes notes of transhumanists, ‘most are atheist, and many feel that one cannot be a theist transhumanist.’[18] We might observe, therefore, as Zygmunt Bauman does that transhumanism is a ‘triumph of mundane life-size instrumentality over metaphysical purpose inscribed in eternity.’[19]
Returning our attention to the focus of this essay, eschatology in film, there are a number of ways in which the film form is singularly placed amongst the art forms to bear out these interactions and conflicts. As Luke Hockley writes, ‘underneath its unusual and often slightly flashy mise-en-scène, science fiction television has a track record of addressing moral, ethical, political and philosophical themes.’[20] Christian eschatological ideas and post-human concepts are deeply cemented in the science fiction imagination and have already begun to show us a number of ways in which continuous individual life might continue beyond biological death. These aesthetic expressions provide audiences with visual metaphors and tools for imagining what potential technological futures might look like. As Ben Bova puts it, ‘one vital role of science fiction is to show what kinds of future might result from certain kinds of human actions.’[21] The medium of film is especially well suited to portray these ideas since it appeals to both our visual and auditory senses in a way that is more difficult for static art forms. As Michael Hauskeller puts it, ‘screened representations translate concepts into moving images, living pictures, and thus make them immediate in a way that an abstract and thus dead (or more precisely not-yet-living) concept could never be.’[22] Nonetheless, while the audience is aware that they are watching a film, this is never perception at the cost of interpretation. The film form demands serious engagement because the story portrayed in the film is at once also the story of what could happen in the real world. The temporary suspension of the real must always come to an end, and the viewer, changed by what they have seen, must mediate their experiences against their own lives and beliefs. As James Baldwin puts it, ‘the world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimetre, the way a person looks or people look at reality, then you can change it.’[23]
In order to further examine the possible erosion of eschatology into technology and the suitability of film to explore these issues, I will now concentrate on a dedicated case study of transhumanistic form in film. I will do so by means of Charlie Brooker’s TV series Black Mirror, focusing on the episode Be Right Back. Brooker’s Black Mirror series was created in 2011 and was originally broadcast on Channel 4 before being acquired by Netflix in 2014. The series is a global success and has come to be known as a key focal point for discussing the utopian and dystopian potential of technology. An important element of the series is its self-awareness with regard to its own and its viewer’s position in the technological framework it examines. The title screen of every episode forces you to pause on a black screen and an image of your own reflection. After a period of pause, the viewer hears a loud shatter accompanied by a hyper-realistic crack across their screen. Brooker has suggested that ‘the black mirror of the title is the one you’ll find on every wall, on every desk, in the palm of every hand: the cold, shiny screen of a TV, a monitor, a smartphone.’[24] The dark surface represents the manner in which the material of the show transgresses beyond the screen and into our daily lives. When you watch Black Mirror, you are invited to engage the film form in relation to your own image and that of society. The result of this vivid self-awareness and hyper-realism is discomforting because it forces you to realise that the events on the screen are not too far removed from our own reality. Indeed, the only technology used in the pilot episode, The National Anthem, is television and social media. The striking conclusion of this episode is that the prime minister of the United Kingdom is blackmailed into having sex with a pig on live television.
The idea of post-mortality or beating death through technology is explored in the episode Be Right Back. In this instalment, the possibility of the survival of personhood in a new body is explored with subtle hints to the interplay between technology and Christian eschatology. It will be useful here to provide a brief outline of the episode’s synopsis. The subjects of this episode are Martha and Ash Starmer, a young couple who have recently moved to the countryside. Not long into the episode, Ash is killed in a car accident which leaves Martha devastated. Concerned for her wellbeing, Martha’s friend Sarah secretly signs her up for a service that uses social media posts to reanimate lost loved ones as advanced artificial intelligences. In the first stages of the episode, their relationship is carried out via text messages, but later Martha allows the system to access Ash’s voice so that she can speak to him over the phone. These increasing anthropological developments conclude with Martha purchasing a life-size synthetic clone of Ash. At first, the algorithmic simulation of Ash brings Martha much comfort. Since he is based on Ash’s social media profiles, which are an idealized and carefully curated version of him, there are many ways in which the synthetic substitution is even better than the original. Certainly, because of his easy access to internet pornography, the episode indicates that Ash’s second iteration is a much more skilled sexual companion. And yet, despite his similarities to Ash, Martha comes to be creeped out and disappointed by her purchase. The second iteration of Ash lacks autonomy and bears multiple uncanny similarities to an actual deceased body: he does not eat, sleep, or breathe. Overcome by these limitations, Martha instructs the duplicate Ash to hurl himself off a cliff. When Ash begins to calmly proceed with the request, Martha is forced to admit that the real Ash would have fought back and cried. The episode ends with the duplicate Ash locked away in the loft, and yet, in many ways, it is Martha who is the prisoner. She is unable to destroy the robot because it is too similar to Ash and yet she cannot accept him because it will always be a flawed attempt to mimic him.
Be Right Back is a poignant example of the power of film to enact eschatological ideas of death and immortality. Beginning with the 19th century, the collapse of death into medicine as a problem to be addressed has meant that death itself has become ‘increasingly both a more private and a more ‘institutionalized’ affair occurring largely in hospitals beyond the immediate awareness of anyone.’[25] Against this cultural context, films encourage their viewers to engage head-on with the topic of mortality in a comfortable and aestheticized form, where death is merely a natural part of narrative development. The proximity of death and immortality as aesthetic functions serves to demystify our sense of dread and anxiety. In effect, Black Mirror offers an answer to Freud’s challenge: ‘would it not be better to give death a place in actuality and in our thoughts which properly belongs to it, and to yield a little more prominence to that unconscious attitude toward death which we have hitherto so carefully repressed?’[26] Indeed, the context of death in this episode is brought to the forefront with relatively little suspense or tension. The act of importance is not death itself, but the mechanism by which our protagonist tries to transcend it. For the duration of the episode, the trajectory of death is still to be decided, meaning it is still continuously susceptible to change. What does this meaning turn out to be? This isn’t immediately clear. It would be a mistake to suggest that Be Right Back provides a completely coherent method for handling the fear of death or even for reacting to the conflict between eschatology and technology. As David Kyle Johnson, Leander Marquez, and Sergio Ureña observe, Black Mirror is ‘asking a question. It has a moral. But it’s not always transparent.’[27] Thus, in many ways Be Right Back serves more as a challenge to our normative worldviews than a conscious attempt to change them. As with Black Mirror at large, the onus is always left on us as viewers to gather up the fragments of the broken mirror and reflect what we have learnt back on our own experiences.
As viewers of the show, then, what insights might we glean, and consequently apply to our own ethical and moral enquiries? For starters, Be Right Back presents a substantial challenge to the idea that technological augmentation will necessarily lead to positive outcomes, i.e. the good life. For transhumanism, the trajectory of technological development will always lead to the achievement of its stated goals of health, longevity, and so on. In other words, we should never challenge the not-yet-realized but assured human omnipotence. Be Right Back demonstrates that technology may never be able to truly realise this desire. That is, one should never just assume that technology will always bend towards progress or that perceived development will not lead to more problems than first imagined. In Be Right Back, the android Ash shows a tremendous capacity to mimic, and in certain cases to enhance, the original human. In spite of this, we are invited to recognise that the revived figure is not and will never be Ash. The problem with this particular attempt to overcome death is that the source of the android’s personality is a poor representation of the real Ash’s inner mental states and desires. The outrage felt here at the dissimilarity is largely invoked by a lack of agency and desire. Despite robot Ash’s ability to recognise and imitate characteristics of human origin, he himself has no symbolic subjectivity corresponding either to Ash or a real human being. Indeed, the posthuman vision of human improvement will arguably never be able to offer this agency. Any attempts to replicate human desire will always originate in algorithmic speculation about what it is to be human. As Graham McAleer and Christopher Wojtulewicz note, even if ‘AI becomes truly intelligent and self-aware, it will still be true that the desire structure of AI will be sui generis different from ours.’[28] Thus, transhuman attempts to live on through or with technology will always be manufactured: they will be ‘birthed by engineers and accountants, not mothers.’[29]
It is beyond the scope of this essay to engage in further speculation about the potential of technology to replicate or transfer human consciousness. Nor is it appropriate to indulge in an extended apologetic defence of what Christians hold to be true about the creation of human identity and the redemption of all creation. What we can say within the boundaries of our chosen case study is that the post-human vision presented in Be Right Back does not have an adequate human anthropology to truly avoid the problem of death. In order to escape Ash’s mortality, Martha has to kill his humanity and create something that is non-human. Such, surely, demonstrates a failure to properly reflect human virtues, ideals, and desires. In the context of Christian eschatology, the show has not vindicated the distinctive view of God as the agent of human transformation, but it has provided a challenge to the assumed dissolution of Christian eschatology into technology. By laying challenge to the view of technological immortality, Be Right Back has created an epistemological space in which the viewer themselves might conclude of the relevance of the Christian eschatological hope. We might even go as far as to say that by challenging the human potential to achieve eschatological ends, Be Right Back has created space for an eschatology that arrives through external agency. It is perhaps in this sense that film is especially well suited to addressing key aspects of Christian eschatology. The religious aspect in film is its inexhaustible depth of potential for the exploration of philosophical ideas and messages. This reflection confirms the broader place of film as a site for meaning-making within the framework of an already religiously infused popular culture. This influence means that even films without an overtly Christian message, as in the case of Be Right Back, might be interpreted as having immense religious and moral significance.
Thus, as I hope this essay has demonstrated, there is much to be said about the relationship between film and Christian theology. Theology, as an expression of public moral principles, has been subsumed into popular culture to the extent that many films and TV shows have Christian themes. In this regard, apocalyptic and eschatological ideas have been of enduring influence. Much of apocalyptic and eschatological media has given attention to the idea of immortality, and technological attempts to step past the bounds of death. These ideas reflect the ongoing tensions between transhumanism and Christian eschatology, with the former in many ways seeking to displace the latter. The TV show Black Mirror, and in particular the episode Be Right Back, are examples of film grappling with the potential of technology to prolong life or create a post-human existence. Although the show does not affirm one eschatological view over another, it offers a profound criticism of over-confidence in technology. By highlighting the depth of human emotions and the closeness of the technical future, Be Right Back encourages us to discuss what it means to be genuinely human and how we might deal with the profound challenge of death. By offering symbolic expression to these anxieties, the show provides a space for contemplation in a manner which is at the same time detached from our lives yet always aware of the closeness of the events playing out on screen.
[1] ‘Lockdown leads to surge in TV screen time and streaming’, Ofcom, 05 August 2020, https://www.ofcom.org.uk/about-ofcom/latest/features-and-news/lockdown-leads-to-surge-in-tv-screen-time-and-streaming
[2] John May, New Image of Religious Film (Kansas City, MO: Sheed & Ward, 1997), 6-7.
[3] Christopher Dawson, Christianity and European Culture, Selections from the Work of Christopher Dawson (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2012), 118.
[4] ‘Civilization’, Brian Taves, Accessed 4 January 2021, http://loc.gov/static/programs/national-film-preservation-board/documents/civilization.pdf
[5] William Blizek and Julien Fielding, ‘Movies: The Retelling of Religious Stories’, in Bloomsbury Companion to Religion and Film (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 70.
[6] Blizek, Bloomsbury, 19.
[7] Ignacio Segarra, ‘Transhumanism on artificial intelligence portrayed in selected science fiction movies and TV series’, MEDIC, (2017), 65.
[8] Rhys Tomas, ‘Terminated: The Life and Death of the Cyborg in Film and Television’, in The Palgrave Handbook of Posthumanism in Film and Television (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 57.
[9] Scott Bukatman, Terminal Identity: The Virtual Subject in Postmodern Science Fiction (Durham: Duke University Press, 1993), 2.
[10] Rachel Perrulli, ‘The Fear of Death and Narcissism’, PsycEXTRA Dataset (2005), 43.
[11] David Grumett, ‘Transformation and the end of Enhancement’, in Transhumanism and Transcendence: Christian Hope in an Age of Technological Enhancement (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 2011), 37.
[12] 1 Corinthians 15:26.
[13] John 11:25-26.
[14] Joseph Ratzinger, The Immortality of the Soul and the Resurrection of the Dead, in Eschatology, Death, and Eternal Life (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2007), 118.
[15] Calvin Mercer, ‘Protestant Christianity – Sorting Out Soma in the Debate about Transhumanism’, in Transhumanism and the Body: The World Religions Speak (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 145.
[16] Newton Lee, The Transhumanism Handbook (Los Angeles: Springer, 2020), 23.
[17] Gregory Jordan, ‘Apologia for Transhumanist Religion’, Journal of Evolution and Technology, 15(1) (2006), 58.
[18] James Hughes, ‘The Compatibility of Religious and Transhumanist Views of Metaphysics, Suffering, Virtue and Transcendence in an Enhanced Future’, The Global Spiral 8(2) (2007), 5.
[19] Zygmunt Bauman, Mortality, Immortality and Other Life Strategies (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1992), 141.
[20] Luke Hockley, ‘Science Fiction’, in The Television Genre Book (London: Palgrave on Behalf of the British Film Instititute, 2015), 37.
[21] Ben Bova, The Role of Science Fiction, in Science Fiction, Today and Tomorrow: A Discursive Symposium (New York: Harper & Row, 1974), 5.
[22] Michael Hauskeller, ‘Posthumanism in Film and Television’, in The Palgrave Handbook of Posthumanism in Film and Television (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 4.
[23] ‘James Baldwin Writing and Talking’, John Romano, The New York Times, September 23 1979, https://www.nytimes.com/1979/09/23/archives/james-baldwin-writing-and-talking-baldwin-baldwin-authors-query.html
[24] ‘Charlie Brooker: the dark side of our gadget addiction’, Charlie Brooker, The Guardian, 1 December 2011, https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2011/dec/01/charlie-brooker-dark-side-gadget-addiction-black-mirror?utm_source=DesignTAXI&utm_medium=DesignTAXI&utm_term=DesignTAXI&utm_content=DesignTAXI&utm_campaign=DesignTAXI
[25] Daniel Sullivan and Jeff Greenberg, ‘Introduction: When the Lights Go Down’, in Death in Classic and Contemporary Film: Fade to Black (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 8-9.
[26] Sigmund Freud, ‘Thoughts for the times on war and death’, in Freud, Collected Papers: Volume 4 (New York, NY: Basic Books, 1959), 316.
[27] David Kyle Johnson, Leander Marquez, and Sergio Ureña, ‘Introduction’, in Black Mirror and Philosophy: Dark Reflections (Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell, 2020), 6.
[28] Graham Mcaleer and Christopher Wojtulewicz, ‘Why Technoscience Cannot Reproduce Human Desire According to Lacanian Thomism.’ Forum Philosophicum Humanity Enhanced, Transformed, Abolished: Christian Anthropology Encounters the Transhumanist Hope of Artificial Intelligence 24, 2 (2019), 284.
[29] Mcaleer & Wojtulewicz, Why Technoscience, 282.
