FUTURE SHOCK

WHEN proto-socialist Jesus Christ encountered situations which jarred with his moral framework – shameless displays of self-serving capitalist gluttony at temple marketplaces, for instance – the peaceable Bee Gee mask would slip and he’d wreck the place in a frenzied messianic rage. The second coming could perhaps spell the end for church hall jumble sales.

Societal disruptor Elon Musk may share a similarly short fuse, but recent hyperbolic comparisons between the slick billionaire and the scruffy Nazarene are, at best, a wee bit premature.

Certainly, both are visionaries who strive to wake humanity up from our collective coma with the smelling salts of self-righteous dogma. Yet, methodologies applied by the pair to achieve societal harmony differ greatly, proving there’s little correlation between Musk and Christ apart from their admirable efforts to accelerate the evolution of consciousness.

Musk also shares the Messiah’s frustration at humanity’s foibles and wasted potential, but this rocketship owner certainly doesn’t eschew the spoils of capitalism. Where Jesus built his reputation in highlighting the flaws in our untethered greed, Musk profits by exploiting such weaknesses in habitual human behaviour. And by simply rebranding familar yet lucrative endeavours – cars, banks, rockets, flamethrowers – in his own carefully cultivated, optimistic futurist image, this “reinventor” has amassed a pile that must have California under perpetual shadow.

Musk’s vast portfolio now spans the disparate worlds of banking, transport, city infrastructure, biohacking, life sciences, mass energy production, space travel, mind mapping and mass media. The very foundations of these long-established institutions are all currently undergoing a Musk makeover whether they like it or not. Both Musk and Jesus’ sophisticated operating systems have accurately pinpointed endemic viruses in our world, but Musk doesn’t move them to trash. Perceived “errors” are simply “fixed” with patches of woolly optimism. It’s undeniable our old reality is currently being debugged, defragged and rebooted – cleansed from whatever Musk judges as a bug or virus.

So far, reinventing wheels has worked well for the multi-billionaire. Countless new mini-industries have also sprung up in his fertile wake, as spooked competitors attempt to play catch up with concepts that do not yet even exist anywhere except in Musk’s mind. This genius engineer’s real legacy will likely lie not with his own achievements, but in the fate of the seeds he dispersed while clearing the path.

Perhaps no other person in history, outside of the political sphere’s despot element, has wielded such a triple threat of power, wealth and ambition. Where the humble Christ had towering spires erected in his honour, reaching out in symbolic heavenly communion, Musk simply couldn’t wait for such posthumous deification – commissioning a “Big F****g Rocket” to physically reach the heavens himself. Materialism meets metaphysics.

But Musk, it seems, is only just getting started. His next target is the troubled US education system and his solution – starting his very own school for 12 ‘gifted’ youngsters – does strike one as a rather tyrannical testament to unchallenged ego. Perhaps the fact he has picked just a dozen ‘chosen ones’ – the same amount of disciples as Jesus – is final confirmation that he has now willingly embraced messianic delusion.

CHILD IS THE FATHER OF THE MAN

IT doesn’t take Freud or Frasier to deduce that the obsessively driven, over-achieving, emotionally distant Musk must have experienced a particularly unpleasant upbringing. Complex daddy issues are perhaps the one thing he actually has in common with Christ.

He endured an especially difficult relationship with his father Errol – whose character can perhaps be surmised by the fact he conceived a child with his own step-daughter. “He was such a terrible human being,” Musk has said.

Young Elon escaped his hellish reality by sinking deep into the infinite possibilities posed by science-fiction novels. Family members say he would disappear into books, impossible to reach. This introverted nature inevitably made him a target for school bullies, however – who tormented him both mentally and physically. One particularly horrific incident required surgery to repair his nose.

In rebellion against an adult world that had dismissed his potential, sneered at his sensitivity and sought to nail a square peg into a round hole, it seems Elon consciously decided to stay a curious child – rejecting established pathways towards intellectual enlightenment by teaching himself.

The glaring flaws that allow thousands of wee Elons to fall through the cracks in global education systems aren’t exactly breaking news, but the adult Musk’s solution – launching a huge rocket at the whole artifice and inventing his own curriculum – can clearly be traced back to the weeping sore of his childhood. By establishing Ad Astra, his school for “gifted” children, Elon likely believes he has finally beaten the adult world that almost broke him.

This very intimate independent establishment currently only educates 12 youngsters at SpaceX’s California headquarters. Coincidentally I’m sure, five of these “gifted” kids just so happen to be Musk’s own children – Griffin, Xavier, Damian, Saxon and Kai. Yes, Musk has a son called Damian so perhaps finds Jesus comparisons funnier than we imagine.

By creating a cheat code to allow his own kids to warp past the childhood pain that, ironically, moulds many high achievers, Musk rather uncharacteristically seems to have been blinded by emotion. By trying to detoxify his own upbringing, he is vaingloriously attempting to engineer an unscarred, unsullied clan of mini-mes. The common abuse survivor’s trait of over-protection does seem to be in extreme effect, but no child mainlining 100 per cent pure Musk inside a cotton wool echo chamber will become a genius like their father. They may share his DNA, but the harsh reality is that it’s often pressure that creates diamonds. The real world will be surely be a jarring, disturbing experience for those who can only think and speak in fluent Musk.

Being the product of such dissociative pain himself, Musk clearly knows the dangers of societal isolationism.

Perhaps, in the end, it doesn’t matter – his children will never struggle for a foothold onto the slippery, rotten rungs of the rat race ladder. They will never struggle, never go hungry – enjoying a luxurious existence safe within the calm eye of their father’s reality-distorting hurricane.

Drawing parallels with his business endeavours, it seems Musk simply seeks to create children in his own image – 12 disciples who will perhaps carry his word to the masses upon his demise.

TAKING A SHINE TO ARDROSSAN

ELON Musk likes recycling old ideas, so it would perhaps be no surprise if Ardrossan Academy served as inspiration for “Ad Astra”, which has been the North Ayrshire school’s proud motto for decades.

Despite sharing the Latin for ‘to the stars’ as their aspirational mojo, the closest Scottish pupils will ever get to flamethrower lessons is lighting 50p single ciggies from the ice-cream van with a Bunsen burner.

It’s also unlikely the Ardrossan Academy board will adopt “How To Defeat Evil AI” lessons into the curriculum anytime soon. Perhaps John Swinney could be sent on a fact-finding mission to SpaceX to see the benefits of such endeavours, but in my day we just watched Terminator 2 to learn how the world will end.

Unsurprisingly, given Musk’s well-publicised fear of self-aware machines bringing about the end of mankind, Ad Astra places a heavy emphasis upon the threat posed by intelligent code. “We run simulations that include AI, which is a huge issue the kids are going to deal with in their lifetime,” stressed Ad Astra headteacher Joshua Dahn, solemnly.

Recently released tax documents have revealed intriguing details about what actually takes place inside Ad Astra, beyond drumming the fear of imminent machine apocalypse into children, who, it is assumed, are also being taught that wise master Elon is currently working tirelessly to save humanity from such a fate.

Although the school has been known about for some time, it is still shrouded in secrecy, with no social media accounts or even a specific application process. Lessons range from constructing weather balloons to, yes, learning how to use a flamethrower. Last year, 400 American families tried to secure one of the hallowed 12 disciple placements. Jesus Christ indeed.

Musk has said he created Ad Astra to “exceed traditional school metrics on all relevant subject matter through unique project-based learning experiences” and that he’ll teach “how to regulate different AI teams, nation states and corporations. Kids are fascinated about these sorts of things”. Again, it seems a quick screening of Terminator 2 would save a lot of time, energy and money.

Ad Astra has no need to make financial savings, however, being entirely funded by Musk to the tune of £359,000 in 2014 and 2015. Students are also quickly introduced to lessons in wealth-accumulation and management using their very own currency – the Astra. They can even opt out of subjects they don’t enjoy. There are few formal assessments and no-one gets graded. It’s the school where everyone is special …so no-one is special.

Musk has previously explained why his vision for education does away with the traditional grade structures. “They weren’t doing the things I thought should be done. I thought, well, let’s see what we can do. Maybe creating a school would be better.” And what could be better than creating a self-contained ‘cult of Musk’ fuelled by fears of an inevitable machine apocalypse?

As bizarre as all this seems, Ad Astra was actually a predictable creation. This new school/church simply follows Musk’s trend of reinventing dilapidated structures, an addiction likely sparked off by his particularly impressive hair transplant. Maybe John Swinney should give him a call after all – about the future of Scottish schooling, that is.