The Blackberry Walk

Quite a mouthful of a title and, I promise, as much of a ramble as ever. Moments ago, I completed Terra e, a Madhouse film from 1980. The themes of the show are multitudinous, spanning from the utilitarian supercomputer, as shall be paralleled in Psycho-Pass, to an attempt to return to the old ways and the meaning of Earth. So, what does Earth mean to us? At our current technological level, we can understand nothing but the Earth. We are held down by Earth's gravity, unable to escape Mother Nature's clutches. Yet Sci-Fi as a genre wants to better understand our relation to Earth. When mankind leaves home and says goodbye to its mother, how shall we treat it? Will we return home every now and then for festivities? Will we storm off, leaving the house in a mess, forgetting about our mother and leave her to waste away in an intergalactic nursing home? Attached at Mother Nature's teat as we are, it is no wonder that we can only imagine what that relationship will one day be like. In Terra e, Earth has been left in disarray, left to heal itself until man can return. Instead, the last bastions of mankind exist on a series of colonies across the galaxy all controlled by a supercomputer named Mother Eliza. Mother Eliza, who is subservient to an even greater supercomputer on Earth called Grandmother, operates a utilitarian hell wherein children are grown in vats and given to randomised households who operate as their parents for 14 years before they take on a new child. Upon turning 14 they are brainwashed to forget their childhood and become a model citizen. The idea is much similar to the Sybil system of Psycho-Pass, albeit on a less extreme level. And, imagining a descending hierarchy here, an even weaker example would be that of the 'Nanny state' of modern times - in essence, an attempt at making sure there is comfort and equality between people at the expense of freedom. Equality and freedom are two extremes on the same axis, forever at odds, whose golden mean must be sought by any society. But interestingly, in all three depictions mentioned, the spirit of society, the zeit-geist or culture, is feminine. The idea of the World Parents is a term in comparative mythology which refers to the idea of having a Mother Nature and a Father Spirit. We see this across world cultures: Gaia and Uranus, Rangi and Papa, Apsu and Tiamat (and, in a more roundabout way, Nut and Geb), wherein Heaven and Earth are once a unity but are now separated. Some of the most primitive forms of worship, like that of totemism, are, in a sense, the patriarchal preservation onto which is projected the idea of society. A tribe's totem acts as the container through which the tribe's traditions can be passed down to the next generation. The idea stems from a primitive idea: the Heavens fertilise the Earth through rains, just like how a man fertilises a woman in intercourse, birthing food, nourishment, to appear out of the ground. Just as mother feeds a baby from the teat, so to does the Earth feed us. In contrast, the men protect the tribe from danger, just as culture, the spirit of the tribe, the stories passed down of other's mistakes, also protect you from harm. Through myths and storytelling, experiences no longer had to be lived by each and every child - they could now be lived vicariously, resulting in the society's progress. And in short that is the association of femininity and Nature and of masculinity and Spirit. In our examples before, however, the spirit has always been portrayed as feminine - why is that? Once such institutions rule your life and your actions are under constant scrutiny and control, the masculine spirit becomes emasculated, imitating feminine nature. Instead of threats arising predominantly from nature, such as wolves in the forest and famine, the state, the culture, assumes that role. Society becomes so abstracted from nature, that mankind forgets their true mother - they cannot recognise her anymore. Instead, they look to an evil aunt to give them sustenance. In our weakest example, the Nanny state, for instance, we are no longer fed by the ground but rather by the state since there is such a large amount of abstraction between us and where our food comes from. That's just on a smaller scale, though - imagine the world of Psycho-Pass, where you are unlikely to see a farm in your daily life. Then in Terra e where, in the massive colonies, nature is rare, food is undoubtedly made by automated hydroponics of some kind, and the miracle of birth is seen as outdated and 'irrational'. Where do food and children come from? The state, in Terra e. Mother Eliza is almost like a totem worshiped by its citizens. The story of Terra e revolves around the idea of a psy-powered people known as the Mu, who are being hunted down since they are seen as being too powerful. An interesting combo of Gundam and Shinsekai Yori. A small tribe of the Mu do live, however, outside of the colonies. That tribe makes their way to an ex-colony where they set up base and make a small place to call home under the leadership of Soldier and guidance of Physis - a seemingly immortal mystic whose name is ancient Greek means matter (as in physics; matter -> mater -> mother). These two leader figures represent the masculine spirit and feminine nature quite well. In their new settlement, they learn about farming and natural birth, forming a agrarian society with harvest festivals and Morris dancing. This society begins to relearn about the old ways, about their birth-mother. However it's difficult to return home for a permanent stay - they are once more hunted down and ousted from their visit by an attack from the followers of Mother Eliza. But just as the title suggests, they end up going back home to Mother Earth. They've found their real mother instead of the fake Mother Eliza and Grandmother who ran their ship. But in order to rediscover Mother Earth, first the fake mother must be killed. Both sides of the conflict managed to find common ground, and made up with one another, seeing Grandmother and Mother Eliza as the real enemy. They kill Grandmother which, upon her death, reawakens Terra. Terra is a masculine computer, as signified by his masculine voice, on Earth, set to boot up upon the death of the fake mother. Only once the fake mother, the diseased mother spirit, dies, can the true masculine spirit reawaken - this being the case in the transpersonal and personal sense. Only in the last moments, when the computer Terra boots, is the double meaning of the title understood: not only have they returned to the Earth, but so too have they returned to the father spirit which dwells beside the Earth as its opposite. Sci-fi has always been fascinated with our relationship with the Earth. We are not biologically programmed to love it - as animals, we knew nothing but it - but there is nonetheless a certain tingle seeing pictures of the Earth from outer space. Will we leave it in ruin like in Cowboy Bebop, like in Terra e or even Wall-e? How much will we yearn to return, like Ed from Bebop, or will we realise there's nothing left for us there like Faye? We fantasise about leaving Earth, but once anyone goes, how long will it be before they can't wait to return, to see real wild life? Only time can tell.