Back at home, Gabriel started in earnest to put together a new B1 project on fairness issues in global social service provision. The countries so far involved are Spain and the US. And Germany, of course—though, at the moment, he did not yet have the slightest idea for a case study, but that would come. All countries would include vulnerable people as experts to identify bias and discrimination issues.

Tilda did not help with anything. She had returned to her old prickly self and avoided Gabriel whenever she could. It got worse by the month. Finally, as her boss, Gabriel decided that the best way to let her contribute to the proposal would be to send her away to recruit another international case study. “Yes, I want to go as far away as possible”, Tilda scowled. “How about China?” Another Asian case study, but India would indeed be great, Gabriel decided. She departed to Hong Kong and Shanghai in the first days of July to visit some B1 contacts who might be interested.

The Chinese Case

Jin Xiaowei looked expectantly at the face of the young Western woman awaiting the interview he had consented to.

“Where did you grow up?” Tilda asked, obviously well trained in asking cautious warm-up questions. Jin Xiaowei smiled and looked around in his modestly but nicely furbished Hong Kong flat. “In a little village called Dengtucan, in Gansu Province. My parents were smallholders with a little farm field in the hills. They grew potatoes, beans and corn, but they had hardly enough to eat. We were very poor with less than 250 yuan in annual income. We had to cut down trees in the mountains for firewood. My parents did not even have running water before I was able to send them some money.” He poured some tea into Tilda’s cup. “Where did this money come from?” she asked. “That is a long story. It all started with our village chief coming to us one evening in 2018, telling us there would be a mandatory training programme for our region. People from the government would come and train young people for a job that would be needed in one of the big cities. I was assessed, and my profile scored highly with the artificial intelligence algorithm. It forecast that I would perform brilliantly, so I was selected for the job.” “What type of job?” “Noodle cooking.” “I beg your pardon?” Jin Xiaowei shrugged his shoulders.

“We learnt to prepare traditional Lanzhou noodles for the street soup kitchens of Beijing, Shenzhen or Shanghai. Our regional programme trained more than 15,000 young former farmers like me. We were told that participation was not optional.” “Did you like it?” Jin Xiaowei looked away evasively before replying: “I do not know; there was no choice. I was learning something, and I was earning money—even during training. I was out of the mosquitos and the daily dirt of working with the crops. I could help my parents. With my first money, I bought them a television set, with which we could watch Xi Jinping’s review visits of these programmes on the evening news on state television. He promised to free everyone from poverty by 2020. Our village chief was happy that the programme ran so well. He was paid by success rate and could report our region as prospering.”

Tilda looked at him curiously and then asked, “What happened next?” Jin Xiaowei again shrugged his shoulders. “After training, I was scored by the algorithm for relocation to Shenzhen. There, I got a job as noodle cook in the city centre. My high score for getting the job and housing in the city centre was mainly due to the fact that I was single. My friends from the village with families were socially assessed for the hinterland. I remember how sad I was when leaving my parents. But, of course, in my new home, I had a living.”

“How did you live in Shenzhen?” Jin Xiaowei answered: “I was allowed to own apartment by the Office for Poverty Reduction, which I could buy for only 10,150 yuan. My uncle and aunt from Beijing helped me with financing.” “Was it difficult to find the flat in the city centre? I heard that Shenzhen is highly populated,” Tilda asked. Jin Xiaowei smiled. “Not at all. The resettlement scheme also contained an AI component where elderly people were assessed for being relocated, to get them out of the urban centres. They went to retirement cities for the elderly, vacating precious living space in megacities. My flat formerly belonged to an old lady that had been resettled to Zhelang Residential District. The government wanted to see young professionals like me populating the city centres. Do not forget: My score was high. I was young, male and now well trained.”

“What went wrong? Why did you leave Shenzhen?” Tilda asked. Jin Xiaowei sadly stared at the ceiling. He had tears in his eyes. “It started with the very same lady from Zhelang Residential District. She must be 86 years old by now, and her name is Hu Feiran. I know this because one night when I came from work, I found her sleeping on my doorstep. She had walked more than 200 kilometres up and down the coastline mountains for five days without much food and nearly no sleep. She was quite a fit old lady but mentally a bit deranged. She had wanted to see her son, who lives in Shenzhen, and had usually visited her every Tuesday when she lived in my flat. She had not seen him for three months, because he could not leave the city, due to work commitments. I remember how desperately she cried when social workers came to fetch her to bring her back to Zhelang. It is wrong to tear families apart like that.”

Tilda was shocked. “What then?” Jin Xiaowei looked at her. “AI-based social assessment had my parents scored for relocation. At least it tried to.” He mirthlessly laughed. “At a certain point, my parents and a few other elderly couples were the last remaining inhabitants of our little village. The government had offered a place in the north. My parents were desperate. My grandfather had built the house seventy years ago; they had spent their whole lives here. I lost my parents over the next two months. First my father died of a stroke; shortly after, my mother died out of mourning. The other couples in question resettled alright. After their resettlement, the authorities had everything destroyed, officially because of security threats. Now, I have nowhere to go home to anymore.”

Tilda was very sorry. “What did you do?” she asked. “I started to fight the programmes. I tried to organise a meeting with like-minded people against the AI scoring in the resettlement programme.” “This did not endear you to the Communist Party, right?” Jin Xiaowei laughed. “Not really. First thing that happened was that my central score spiralled downwards in our famous social credit system. Then I lost my job in the noodle soup kitchen. Guess why.” “Bad score? Algorithm thinking lowly of you?” Tilda had clearly got the message. Jin Xiaowei nodded. “However, for me, it was clear by that time that my issues with AI-based social assessment, mandatory job training and forced resettlement were just parts of more-general questions. Where and with whom do you want to live? Where do you want to go? Who do you want to be? How important is culture and tradition to you? What society do you want to live in? These are questions of importance that were not addressed—and much less answered—by the governmental policies. People were not really considered.” He poured the last of the tea. “What did you do?” Tilda asked. Jin Xiaowei smiled. “I used the last credit points from my decreasing social score and bought a train ticket to Hong Kong.”

Society and Technology on Eye Level

Gabriel enjoyed some peace and quiet at home in Berlin. He was a little worried because Tilda had refused the vaccinations that were recommended for China by their employer. This medical officer of B1 was actually quite good and only recommended what was absolutely necessary. However, the stubborn girl had not accepted any of his advised injections.

Tilda was a general opponent of vaccination. She had told Gabriel, “You are the one going on about Immanuel Kant and philosophy of morals all the time, right? You should know, then, that this guy provided a brilliant example of an ethics-based rejection of smallpox vaccinations in his time. Kant said anyone who is vaccinated against smallpox ‘dares his life to the unknown,’ and I can only wholeheartedly agree. We know little about long-term consequences, neither on the individual nor on the population level. And what we know does not give raise to high hopes. The effects are scientifically questionable; confidence is not inspired.” Gabriel showed her a lot of medical evidence to argue against her last point. When it became too overwhelming for her, she simply shouted at him: “I do not want to have foreign substances in my body. My body has so much knowledge that it is well able to take care of itself. I do not want to disturb this inner balance of forces with artificial shots. I would not go so far to say that one should limit excessive population growth through epidemics. However, this is definitely another argument to reason against protective vaccination. Our overcrowded planet helps itself against proliferation. Why should we—as always by the way—selfishly come in its way?” Gabriel shook his head in disbelief. “Do you want to let people die?” “I do not want to force people to get vaccinated; that is all,” Tilda responded a little evasively. “Vaccination campaigns against measles ordered by the authorities are ethically impermissible. Governments may not order inoculation, and people should reject violations of their rights and freedoms. If they want to vaccinate me or my kids if I were ever to have any, I will expatriate.” If Gabriel would have asked her to take injections before travelling, she would have cancelled her contract. There was no way. Tilda left for China unvaccinated.

Gabriel’s plan was, in the meantime, to prepare for his visit to India—be it with or, what was most likely, without Tilda. He scheduled an appointment with some German representatives of the suborder of the so-called Camaldolense Benedictines, the ashram in India that he belonged to. Bede Griffiths had been a member of that suborder too. It had facilities worldwide—not only in Germany but also, for example, in Eastern Europe, South America and the USA. The German branch helped him make contact with the prior of Saccidananda Ashram Shantivanam, to make a reservation for a stay in early January next year. And the monks provided some practical information for booking his flights, such as telling him to go to Chennai, the capital of Tamil Nadu, and from there to a city called Trichy by the locals, a shortened name for Tiruchirappalli. His search for potential project partners in India, however, proved to be futile at first. He simply did not know anybody over there. Then, chance came in the form of Veronica from B1’s Asian division during a coffee break at work.

Gabriel met Veronica outside in the sunshine sitting on a wooden bench while wasps swarmed around her cake. Veronica asked, “How far along are you with putting together the international consortium for the new project?” She had been in the audience when he introduced the new initiative of his unit at the B1 Trustee Board. “We are still searching for appropriate partners in India,” Gabriel confessed. She frowned. “India is horrible.” “Why?” Gabriel was surprised to hear that from her. “Full of machos,” she replied, looking away. “My India project last year was the only fieldwork I ever cancelled in my life, and I have been everywhere. But after the fourth time of only narrowly having escaped rape, I took the next plane home.” She shuddered in memory. “Did you go there on your own?” Gabriel asked, amazed. Usually, B1 regulations did not allow single trips overseas. “Yes, I was on secondment for my PhD project,” she answered. “But our colleagues over there will be OK, right? You must still have contacts in the south of India,” Gabriel insisted. “Maybe you have a suggestion for a partner for my new project? It would be great if you could give me a name. That would allow for comparison and a broader approach to fieldwork.” She considered this and then nodded slowly. “I will send you an email with contact details. If you like, I can even make the introductions to get your foot in the door. There is one person in Tamil Nadu very much into participatory approaches that work with vulnerable groups.”

Gabriel triumphantly wrote an email to Tilda that he had a partner contact for India. Tilda answered immediately, “Please ask for two contacts. This time, I’ve had a revelation here in China, believe it or not. I talked to a young guy named Jin Xiaowei. He explained that social service provision in China is largely done by artificial intelligence. And AI is exacerbating the fairness issues around distribution practices. This is the second time we have heard this, do you remember? Adsila Idrissi said the same about Spain. It is probably also true in Germany and the US. Our new project should be about AI-based social service provision. This means we would need two partners in each country—a partner who is working on the social side of the project and another who is working on the computer science end.”

“Both partners would need to work closely together to improve AI fairness,” Gabriel said. “I like the idea, though it will make it much harder to put the consortium together. It is not everywhere like in B1, where we have a social science department and a computer science department under one roof.” He made a phone call to B1’s computer science people and asked for an AI expert in India. They promised to send some contact details. Then, he described the new project format to his partners in Spain and the US so that they too could upgrade their case studies on social service provision by computer experts.

The Second Google Maps Miracle

In the morning on the 12th of July, Gabriel read two emails on his laptop: one from Veronica, who recommended her colleague from Chennai in Tamil Nadu for the society part of the project, and another from the B1 computer science department, recommending people from a place called Kottayam. “This is in a different state of India,” Gabriel said to himself, groaning when he looked Kottayam up in Google Maps, “in Kerala.” Because he had never been in India before, he had no idea where everything was and how far apart these two places would be. He used the route planner function and searched for the distance between Chennai and Kottayam: 676 kilometres for the shortest route! More than 13 hours by car. That spoke to the quality of roads. At least, there was a nearly direct road connection between these two cities. Gabriel looked out the window. This was not ideal. It might be better to look for a computer scientist in Chennai. Chennai was a very big city. It should not be impossible. Before again grabbing the phone to ask B1’s computer department for another contact, he hit the keys on his laptop to start an experiment. He inserted the complicated town name of Tiruchirappalli as an in-between stop to see where the ashram of Bede Griffiths was now located in the triangle of the three Indian places on his list. No triangle.

Disbelievingly, he rubbed his eyes and blinked at the screen. It was not a triangle. What he saw was, so to speak, the second Bede Griffiths Google Maps miracle after the Horsham experience. Tiruchirappalli was sitting directly on the path between Kottayam and Chennai; you had to pass it if you wanted to go from here to there. Gabriel hit more keys to measure distances: 338 kilometres from Kottayam to Tiruchirappalli and 338 kilometres from Tiruchirappalli to Chennai. Pater Bede’s ashram was exactly in the middle of it—in between the two recommended, though still unknown, partners for the project. And India was really big. Gabriel was enthusiastic. This was incredible but also absolutely brilliant. He would see the Saccidananda Ashram Shantivanam!

Following this, he even started to appeal to Pater Bede as patron saint, though he very well knew that he was not yet a canonised saint with the Catholic Church. The Church always made a terrible fuss about canonisation before finally declaring somebody as holy. You had to be dead. And then the main proof of holiness was that the person must have performed at least two miracles that were reported by reliable witnesses. But Gabriel knew in his heart that Bede Griffiths was a saint and that he was alive.

He felt very close to him and thus very holy himself. In the evening on his way home, he passed a charity, which was pleasantly set in a little garden full of lime trees. He went in and bought an expensive ‘biblical hoodie.’ He had admired them for quite some time and now felt that it was the right time to buy one. These hoodies were dark green and of very good quality. Each displayed a bible verse on the front and the back in white letters, but not the words, just the bibliographical reference. Gabriel thought this was quite cool because not everybody could decipher this. It was like an argot. He chose one with ‘Mt. 11:29’ on it: The Gospel according to Matthew, chapter 11, verse 29. This read, ‘Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls,’ which he learnt later, when he looked it up.

Tilda in China

Tilda was really unhappy in China. She spent her days mostly in her room, sometimes going out in search for vegan food to prevent herself from starving. This was not easy, even though she had originally expected to find a great variety of Chinese vegetarian dishes. However, she discovered that most so-called vegetarian dishes were prepared in meat broth and were even contaminated by little pieces of leftover meat every now and again. She spent much time on learning the right vocabulary for ordering meat-free vegetarian dishes—not even dreaming of vegan. Furthermore, Gabriel was constantly on her, expecting performance because he’s her boss, and she did not deliver. They had some quite-unpleasant phone calls. “To be honest, I am surprised that you are further along in partner recruitment for the project. Everything is going very slow on your side, Mrs Toelz,” Gabriel said. “You seem absent and busy with something else. I can’t believe that in one week, you can’t do more than write a one-page summary of the past and have a few conversations with Chinese people or with B1 staff on Skype. I don’t know you to be like that. You are generally more creative and have more control over work processes. What’s going on?” Tilda was indignant in her response: “Nothing is going on. I am trying to do my job.” “Sorry for the critical questions, but if the topic or the project is not right, we should immediately make a course correction. Something doesn’t seem to work out here,” he said. She shook her head. “What the hell do you expect from me, Mr David?” He answered: “This project is about personal commitment and attachment. It is about self-initiative, ownership, taking responsibility, the creative design of the process, project management, leadership, process management and so on. You have demonstrated all these competencies sufficiently in the past; therefore, I know that you can do this, but it is not very visible at the moment.” “You are not very clear about what you are expecting me to do here for your new project,” she replied accusingly. “You are waiting for miracles to recruit project partners. That is not my style of work.” “Mrs Toelz, it’s your project as well as mine,” he answered, insulted. “No, it’s not,” she replied, snapping at him. “It was never laid out that way. The main concepts are not determined by me but by you alone!” This had caused a certain dissonance on her side: She did not like to be bossed around. If something were her project, she would call the shots. Gabriel’s last words in this conversation sounded sober on the phone: “Your journey has been scheduled to recruit project partners and to define the contents of the national case study according to plan. Please work with our case-study partners, and do not return empty-handed!”

For Tilda, Gabriel acted like somebody in the fast lane overtaking everybody else who was driving safely while he was recklessly speeding. And she could not close her eyes or latch on to the holds, because he wanted her as codriver to his madness. She felt relentless pressure from his side as he moved forward to the next level like a mad man. There was no way to tone down his radicalism. Either she went along with his enthusiasm and power, or he would leave her standing there just looking foolishly at his back. The worst was imagining his eyes full of pity, where she could then read: “You little idiot. I knew that you would fail. Why did not you leave that to me? I could have done it regardless of what else is on my plate.” She could not keep up with this.

She wanted to sleep on things. She wanted to take her time with decisions. She wanted to chill. Why could he not slow down? Why could he not relax and let go every now and again? It was all too fast and overtaxing her. Not digestible at all. Maybe all this telepathy stuff was just her feeble attempt to cool Gabriel down and give them both some rest. After a long silence, Tilda finally submitted the case-study description for the Chinese part. She emphasised that—despite what Gabriel had said about her slow performance—this was the first completed case-study template for the project. Maybe she had a point there, Gabriel thought. She had delivered during her last days in China, expressing her hope that other case-study templates would be as comprehensive and efficient as this one. Gabriel was really relieved because he had half expected that she would end her B1 contract with him in the wake of their conflict. “I am happy that you only asked for holidays and not for a termination of contract!” he texted her. “Would you have preferred a termination of contract, Mr David?” she texted back. He was frustrated that she obviously did not get what he was after. For him, it would have been great if she could have mustered up a little enthusiasm for their project: He missed her dedication and initiative. She was doing this as an employee, but not as a partner. Why was she so passive?

However, in the afternoon, he found an email from her on his computer, which convinced him that she would stay and had overcome her bad feelings against him. In the email, she announced a pleasant surprise for him was to be found at the included hyperlink; the email ended “with love.” Gabriel was completely overjoyed—at least until he listened to the lecture, ‘A spiritual wake-up call,’ after following the link she sent. A guy named Rüdiger Lenz on an alternative online channel called KenFM. Gabriel had never heard of that channel before. After listening for a few minutes, Gabriel decided that it was the weirdest political conspiracy theory in the disguise of spirituality. The system was guilty of everything. The power elites were guilty of everything. It was—in short—trash. Gabriel was as numbed as he had been that morning in Santa Fe. He would have assigned such crap to holocaust deniers, AFD partisans and maniacs, but not as something coming from Tilda. Giving it some thought, he became convinced that this must have been a mistake. She had not probably checked properly and had just sent something she had stumbled across by accident, just seeing the title without knowing what it was really about. Therefore, it would only be embarrassing for her when he revealed that the first time that she sent him something nice, it proved to be such a cataclysmic piece of shit. Thus, Gabriel decided to ignore the link and her message.

Angels’ Play

Location:

Heaven above Berlin Brandenburg Airport. Shared-Office Cloud.

Time:

Real-time GMT, Wednesday, 4 September 2019, 14:53

Players:

The two angels as before, Bede Griffiths, D.H. Lawrence and St. Christophorus.

Setting:

BG, DHL and SC sit at the table of the conference facility. They are quietly discussing while smoke fumes waft from their spot over to the two angels that sit in their cockpit chairs, watching them with big eyes.

GA

(wrinkling its little nose in distaste):

Hashish! They are smoking dope at work. I cannot believe it.

TA

(defensively):

It is legal in California.

GA

(watching BG with his two friends and speaking accusingly):

We are still in Berlin. They have serious work to do and should not get high. I wonder what they will come up with. Hopefully an alternative to this mad Script instruction. There must be a way around this additional trip to the US right now (checking the Script). Gabriel and Tilda are just back from Arizona. They will soon go together to India.

TA

(checking its own notes):

And Tilda has just returned from China. She is totally messed up and stressed out. I cannot guarantee sober action.

BG

(calling across the cloud):

Please, dears! Would you come over and take orders?

GA and TA resignedly look at each other and move to the conference area.

BG

(apologetically):

We are very sorry, but there is no alternative. This next bit is about what machines cannot do. We are here to prove a point. And there is no better place than California. Please arrange for supplies. You need to go to the DIY shop and buy green paint.

TA impolitely groans. GA looks at its colleague, alarmed by its impertinence in commenting on an order given by a saint.

TA

(tries to make up for its impudence):

Excuse me. Why green paint?

DHL

(salaciously grinning at both angels):

For your Viriditas!

GA

(stiffly):

I beg your pardon?

BG

(proudly):

Viriditas is the green force of eternity. Explained very well by my good friend from the Saints Section, Hildegard of Bingen. She is a German Benedictine abbess, writer, composer, philosopher, Christian mystic, visionary and polymath of the High Middle Ages and…

GA

(interestedly):

Viriditas? Green force from eternity? What is this about?

BG

(reading from a book by Philippa Rath on Hildegard von Bingen):

Yes. Hildegard writes: “There is a force from eternity, and this force is green. Green is the vital force per se.” Green freshness is a reflection of God as the hidden base of eternity, you see? It lives in the flame, it fluoresces in the water, it imbrues the stone and it wafts in the air. Also, all the soul dynamics of human beings are green, for Hildegard. Even love is clad in green, for her. God himself became human in the green womb of Maria. Here, the circle is completed.

TA

(again groaning):

Green womb? I do not get it. If green is everywhere, why do we need to buy green paint at the DIY shop? And I am not in love with GA. Veriditas here and there. Green or no.

GA:

Sometimes you get on my nerves so much …

SC

(soothingly):

The good news is, Gabriel and Tilda can go by car the whole time. I have assigned a nice Chevvy with a working GPS, air conditioning, full insurance coverage and plenty of legroom. There will only be two little accidents this time…

TA groans even more loudly. GA watches its colleague with growing dislike.

DHL

(making a last attempt to raise the spirits of the angels by pointing at the book on the floor by Richard Rohr, The Divine Dance):

And the best of it, and you can look forward to that: To work on your own Viriditas, the two of you will dance erotically with each other.

GA faints.