10.13125/2039-6597/3364
This study represents as an attempt to make sense of a rather curious coincidence. In Philip K. Dick's novel A scanner darkly (1973-1977), a character named Tony Amsterdam experiences a mystical vision after an acid trip. God appears to him in the form of «showers of colored sparks, like when something goes wrong with your TV set». In the same year 1973, a young Bill Viola creates Information, a work of video art featuring showers of colored sparks that are eerily similar to the ones seen by Tony Amsterdam.On the one hand, this article investigates the cultural substratum that the two works have in common vis-à-vis their construction and use of abstract video; it is upon such a substratum that this bizarre coincidence depends. On the other hand, it aims to explore how the speculative use of screens and telecommunication technologies can mediate the religious, the sacred, and, most of all, the mystical.The first two sections examine Tony Amsterdam’s experience in the context of A scanner darkly, discussing its relation to mysticism, to other episodes in the novel and to Dick’s biography. In section three, I interpret Information as a self-reflexive work of meta-video, proposing to read its aesthetic effect as the result of an electronic ouroboros: a circular video system in which input and output are coincident. Section four bridges the two works by reading them in the light of Jeffrey Sconce’s notion of ‘electronic elsewhere’ (2000) and John Durham Peter’s reflections on the idea of communication (1999). Finally, section five proposes a parallel between the semiotics of visual perception in A scanner darkly and the semiotics of Viola’s abstract video art
application/pdf
2039-6597
3364
16
en
Mattia Petricola
Between
psychedelics
Watching God in the electronic noise: Philip K. Dick, Bill Viola, and the (video) art of speculative fiction
Text.Serial.Journal
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between
8
Essay
2018-11-30
2018-06-01
2018-12-02
2018-12-02
1
Mattia Petricola
2018/11/30
10.13125/2039-6597/3364
University of Bologna/University of Paris-Sorbonne
2039-6597
16
psychedelics
en
Watching God in the electronic noise: Philip K. Dick, Bill Viola, and the (video) art of speculative fiction
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between/article/download/3364/3077
8
 Watching  God  in  the  electronic  noise:  
  Philip  K.  Dick,  Bill  Viola,  and  the  
  (video)  art  of  speculative  fiction  
                                  Mattia  Petricola  


                                    Introduction  
       This  study  began  as  an  attempt  to  make  sense  of  a  rather  curious  
coincidence.  In  1973,  in  Fullerton,  Florida,  Philip  K.  Dick  is  working  on  
one  of  his  most  accomplished  novels:  A  Scanner  Darkly.  In  the  narrative,  
a  character  named  Tony  Amsterdam  experiences  a  mystical  vision  after  
an   acid   trip.   God   appears   to   him   in   the   form   of   «showers   of   colored  
sparks,  like  when  something  goes  wrong  with  your  TV  set»  (Dick  2011:  
241).  This  passage  transforms  the  noise  patterns  caused  by  an  electronic  
malfunction  in  a  TV  set  into  the  visual  medium  of  a  mystical  experience.  
However,  noise  patterns  and  screen  malfunctions  are  also  at  the  basis  of  
abstract  and  conceptual  video  art  in  the  late  ’60s  and  early  ‘70s.  It  is  not  
entirely   surprising,   then,   that   one   night   in   the   same   year   1973,   in  
Syracuse,   New   York,   a   young   Bill   Viola   creates   a   work   of   video   art  
featuring   showers   of   colored   sparks   that   are   eerily   similar  to  the   ones  
seen  by  Tony  Amsterdam.  Viola  will  name  it  Information.  It  is  the  result  
of  a  never-­‐‑before-­‐‑attempted  experiment  on  a  video  system—or  rather,  
the  result  of  a  never-­‐‑before-­‐‑attempted  mistake—that  will  soon  become  
part  of  the  canon  of  video  art.  
       My  aim  is  not  to  propose  a  philological  relation  between  the  novel  
and  the  video.  I  would  rather,  on  the  one  hand,  investigate  the  cultural  
substratum   that   the   two   works   have   in   common   vis-­‐‑à-­‐‑vis   their  
construction   and   their   use   of   abstract   video,   since   it   is   upon   such   a  



Between, vol VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise



substratum  that  this  bizarre  coincidence  depends.  On  the  other  hand,  I  
aim   to   explore   how   the   use   of   screens   and   telecommunication  
technologies  in  a  work  of  speculative  fiction  can  mediate  the  religious,  
the  sacred,  and  the  mystical.  
       The   first   two   sections   of   this   essay   examine   Tony   Amsterdam’s  
experience   in   the   context   of   A   scanner   darkly,   discussing   its  relation   to  
mysticism,   to   other   episodes   in   the   novel   and   to   Dick’s   biography.   In  
section   three,   I   interpret   Information   as   a   self-­‐‑reflexive   work   of   meta-­‐‑
video,  proposing  to  read  its  aesthetic  effect  as  the  result  of  an  electronic  
ouroboros:   a   circular   video   system   in   which   input   and   output   are  
coincident.  Section  four  bridges  the  two  works  by  reading  them  in  the  
light  of  Jeffrey  Sconce’s  notion  of  ‘electronic  elsewhere’  (2000)  and  John  
Durham  Peter’s  reflections  on  the  idea  of  communication  (1999).  Finally,  
section   five   proposes   a   parallel   between   the   semiotics   of   visual  
perception  in  A  scanner  darkly  and  the  semiotics  of  Viola’s  abstract  video  
art.  

    Making  sense  of  video,  making  sense  through  video  
       Dick  wrote  the  first  draft  of  A  Scanner  Darkly  from  February  to  April  
1973.  Two  years  later,  under  the  supervision  of  editor  Judy-­‐‑Lynn  Rey,  
the   novel   underwent   a   thorough   revision   (Sutin   2005:   202).   In   those  
years,  Dick  was  unanimously  acclaimed  as  a  member  of  the  American  
pantheon   of   science   fiction   authors,   but   longed   for   recognition   as   a  
mainstream   novelist.   He   envisioned   Scanner   as   the   novel   that   would  
have   granted   him   such   recognition.   However,   his   ambitions   were  
ultimately  frustrated:  Scanner  was  published  by  Doubleday  as  a  science  
fiction  novel  in  1977.  
       Despite  being  set  in  the  near  future  of  a  1994  Los  Angeles,  Dick’s  
novel  is  anything  but  futuristic  in  a  science  fictional  sense.  Except  for  the  
presence  of  a  technologically  advanced  surveillance  apparatus,  Scanner  
represents   the   Californian   subculture   of   which   Dick   himself   was   a  
member.   Bob   Arctor,  the   novel’s   protagonist,   is   a   junkie   addicted   to   a  




2
                                               Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



drug   called   substance-­‐‑D   (Death)1.   But   Bob   is   also   an   undercover   narc  
agent:   he   goes   by   the   name   Fred   and   his   mission   is   to   trace   back   the  
production   of   substance-­‐‑D   to   its   source.   In   a   move   that   is   typical   of  
Dick’s   fiction,   Fred   ends   up   spying   on   Bob   (that   is,   on   himself)   by  
installing   holo-­‐‑scanners   (video   cameras)   in   the   house   where   he   lives  
with   two   friends   and   is   regularly   visited   by   his   girlfriend   Donna.   As  
substance-­‐‑D  deteriorates  Bob-­‐‑Fred’s  mind,  the  two  hemispheres  of  his  
brain   stop   communicating   and   he   gradually   becomes   unable   to  
distinguish  between  Bob  the  junkie  and  Fred  the  narc  agent.  Page  after  
page,  he  is  more  and  more  aware  of  the  collapse  of  his  identity.    
     In  desperate  need  of  anchoring  himself  (or  rather,  his  selves)  to  a  
source  of  objectivity,  Bob-­‐‑Fred  interrogates  the  nature  of  the  scanners’  
vision:  

         What  does  a  scanner  see?  he  asked  himself.  I  mean,  really  see?  
      Into  the  head?  Down  into  the  heart?  Does  a  passive  infrared  scanner  
      like  they  used  to  use  or  a  cube-­‐‑type  holo-­‐‑scanner  like  they  use  these  
      days,   the   latest   thing,   see   into   me—into   us—clearly   or   darkly?   I  
      hope  it  does,  he  thought,  see  clearly,  because  I  can'ʹt  any  longer  these  
      days  see  into  myself.  (Dick  2011:  192)2  



      1
           Hickman  (2009)  sees  A  Scanner  Darkly  as  one  the  most  eminent  examples  
of  the  ‘drug  dystopia’,  tracing  the  history  of  this  subgenre  of  dystopian  fiction  
from  1932  to  1980.  
       2
           Bob-­‐‑Fred’s  questions  echo  a  passage  from  a  speech  that  Dick  delivered  
at  the  University  of  British  Columbia  in  February  1972,  exactly  one  year  before  
beginning  the  work  on  Scanner:  «“We  see  through  a  glass  darkly,”  Paul  in  1  
Corinthians—will  this  be  someday  be  rewritten  as,  “We  see  as  into  a  passive  
infrared  scanner  darkly?”  A  scanner  that  as  in  Orwell’s  1984,  is  watching  us  
all  the  time?  […]  This,  for  me,  is  too  pessimistic,  too  paranoid.  I  believe  1  Co-­‐‑
rinthians  will  be  rewritten  this  way:  “The  passive  infrared  scanner  sees  into  us  
darkly”—that  is,  not  well  enough  really  to  figure  us  out.  Not  that  we  ourselves  
can  really  figure  each  other  out,  or  even  our  own  selves.  Which,  perhaps,  too,  
is  good;  it  means  we  are  still  in  for  sudden  surprises»  Dick  1995:  208,  italics  in  
the  original  text.  


                                                                                                  3
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise



     A   few   pages   later,   Bob-­‐‑Fred   is   diagnosed   with   irreversible   brain  
damage  resulting  from  the  abuse  of  Substance-­‐‑D.  He  makes  sense  of  his  
condition  through  the  words  of  Saint  Paul  in  1  Corinthians  13:12  («For  
now   we   see   through   a   glass   darkly»   in   the   1560   Geneva   Bible3),   a  
reference  that  haunts  the  narrative  since  its  very  title:  

         [A   psychologist:]   "ʺIt   is   as   if   one   hemisphere   of   your   brain   is  
      perceiving   the   world   as   reflected   in   a   mirror.   Through   a   mirror.  
      See?  So  left  becomes  right,  and  all  that  that  implies.  […]”  
         "ʺThrough  a  mirror,"ʺ  Fred  said.  A  darkened  mirror,  he  thought;  a  
      darkened   scanner.   And   St.   Paul   meant,   by   a   mirror,   not   a   glass  
      mirror—they   didn'ʹt   have   those   then—but   a   reflection   of   himself  
      when   he   looked   at   the   polished   bottom   of   a   metal   pan.   […]   And  
      they  didn'ʹt  have  cameras  in  those  old  days,  and  so  that'ʹs  the  only  
      way  a  person  saw  himself:  backward.  
         I  have  seen  myself  backward.  (Dick  2011:  220)  

      In  the  end,  when  he  is  close  to  brain  death  and  no  more  capable  of  
understanding   what   happens   to   him,   Bob-­‐‑Fred   undergoes   one   last  
change  of  identity:  he  is  now  Bruce,  a  rehab  patient  hosted  by  the  New  
Path  Clinic.  What  Bruce  doesn’t  know,  is  that  the  destruction  of  his  brain  
was   part   of   a   broader   police   conspiracy,   orchestrated   by   his   girlfriend  
Donna—an   undercover   agent   herself—and   aimed   at   infiltrating   New  
Path,  because  it  is  there  that  substance-­‐‑D  is  being  produced.  
      After   Peter   Fitting’s   classical   study   (1983),   that   interprets   the  
schism   Fred-­‐‑Bob   as   embodying   the   conflict   between   “freaks”   and  
“straights”  in  contemporary  US  society,  critical  readings  of  Scanner  have  
tended   to   focus   mostly   on   representations   of   paranoia   and   state  
surveillance4.   In   a   recent   article,   Jennifer   Rhee   defines   the   novel   as   «a  

      3
          The  King  James  Version  will  add  a  comma  after  «glass».  
      4
          Representations  of  police  states  and  disturbing  surveillance  strategies  
had  already  been  at  the  heart  of  Dick’s  previous  novel,  Flow  my  tears,  the  po-­‐‑
liceman  said  (written  in  1970  and  published  four  years  later).  Both  themes  can  
also   be   found   in   Counter-­‐‑Clock   World   (1967),   Do   Androids   Dream   of   Electric  
Sheep?  (1968),  Galactic  Pot-­‐‑Healer  (1969),  and  Our  Friends  from  Frolix-­‐‑8  (1970).  


4
                                             Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



scathing   examination   of   surveillance,   conspiracy,   and   drug   addiction  
and  their  effects  on  the  post-­‐‑war  subject»  (2017:  134)5.    
         From   a   different   perspective,   Anthony   Enns   (2006)   provides  
valuable   insights   into   Dick’s   uses   and   representations   of   technology  
outside  the  domain  of  state  surveillance.  His  analysis  of  Scanner  shows  
how   media   technologies   participate   in   the   novel’s   construction   of   the  
concepts   of   mind,   brain,   and   consciousness,   tracing   «Arctor'ʹs   split  
subjectivity»  back  to  psychologist  Robert  E.  Ornstein’s  «notion  of  dual  
personalities   existing   within   the   same   brain,   which   function   as  
independent   communication   networks   modeled   on   information  
technologies»  (Enns  2006:  80).  
         None  of  these  readings,  however,  has  attached  great  importance  to  
the  specific  role  played  in  the  novel  by  the  representation  of  video,  both  
as   a   medium   and   as   a   set   of   technologies.   The   focus   on   video   as   the  
instrument  of  a  pervasive  police  state  seems  to  have  obscured  another  
semiotic   function   of   the   medium:   that   of   mediating   the   characters’  
mental  states.  I  would  propose,  then,  to  read  Scanner  as  an  investigation  
into  how  electronic  media,  in  general,  and  video,  in  particular,  actively  
participate   to   the   construction   of   experience   and   reality,   while  
intersecting   with   and   competing   against   parallel   constructions  
elaborated   by   mental   illness   and   drug-­‐‑induced   altered   states   of  
consciousness.  
         This   is   where   Tony   Amsterdam’s   vision  of   God   comes  in.  Donna  
relates  it  to  Bob  during  his  last  moments  of  lucidity,  just  before  driving  
him  to  the  New  Path  recovery  center:  




      5
           Drawing  on  earlier  readings  of  Scanner  by  Freedman  (1984)  and  Palmer  
(2003),  Rhee  argues  that  the  novel’s  conceptual  core  resides  in  the  representa-­‐‑
tion  of  the  loss  of  agency  under  the  oppression  of  state  surveillance,  conspir-­‐‑
acy,  and  drug  addiction,  and  of  its  subsequent  recovery  through  the  practice  
of  counter-­‐‑surveillance.  By  ultimately  becoming  a  living  camera  for  the  feds,  
Bruce  regains  the  possibility  to  act  in  the  world  despite  his  deteriorated  mental  
state.    


                                                                                              5
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise



          She   thought   then   of   a   guy   she   had   known   once   [Tony  
      Amsterdam],   who   had   seen   God.   […]   He   had   seen   God   in   a  
      flashback  after  an  acid  trip;  he  had  been  experimenting  with  water-­‐‑
      soluble  vitamins,  huge  doses  of  them.  The  orthomolecular  formula  
      that  was  supposed  to  improve  neural  firing  in  the  brain,  speed  it  up  
      and   synchronize   it.   With   that   guy,   though,   instead   of   merely  
      becoming   smarter,   he   had   seen   God.   It   had   been   a   complete  
      surprise  to  him.  
          “Did  he  say  what  it  was  like?”  
          “Sparks.  Showers  of  colored  sparks,  like  when   something  goes  wrong  
      with  your  TV  set.  Sparks  going  up  the  wall,  sparks  in  the  air.  And  
      the   whole  world   was   a  living   creature,  wherever   he  looked.   And  
      there  were  no  accidents:  everything  fitted  together  and  happened  
      on  purpose  […].  And  then  he  saw  a  doorway.  […]  Outlined  in  vivid  
      red  and  gold  light,  he  said.  As  if  the  sparks  had  collected  into  lines,  
      like  in  geometry.  And  then  after  that  he  never  saw  it  again  his  whole  
      life,   and   that’s   what   finally   made   him   so   fucked   up.”  (Dick   2011:  
      240-­‐‑241,  italics  mine)  

      Behind   the   door   created   by   the   colored   sparks,   Tony   Amsterdam  
sees  the  shores  of  ancient  Greece:  «[Donna:]“There  was  moonlight  and  
water,  […]  and  a  shore,  a  beach  of  an  island.  He  was  sure  it  was  Greece,  
ancient  Greece.  He  figured  out  the  doorway  was  a  weak  place  in  time,  
and  he  was  seeing  back  into  the  past»  (ibid.:  242).  In  Tony  Amsterdam’s  
mystic   state   of   consciousness,   God   appears   in   a   visual   form   whose  
description  is  mediated  by  the  malfunction  of  a  TV  set.  As  I  will  try  to  
show,  such  malfunctions  lie  at  the  foundation  of  the  practice  of  abstract  
and  conceptual  video  art.  

                Between  hallucination  and  mysticism  
       Before  analyzing  Tony’s  experience  and  the  similarities  that  link  it  
to   the   world   of   video,   certain   caveats   are   in   order.   Two   questions,   in  
particular,   need   to   be   addressed:   in   what   sense   can   Amsterdam’s  
experience   be   defined   as   mystical?   And   why   should   we   pay   all   this  
attention   to   a   story   pertaining   to   a   character   about   whom   we   know  



6
                                               Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



nothing  and  related  by  a  character  whose  job  ultimately  consists  in  lying  
to  others?  In  other  words:  why  should  we  take  this  account  seriously?    
       We   can   start   answering   the   first   question   by   observing   that   the  
account   of   Tony’s   experience   made   by   Donna   seems   to   meet   Bernard  
McGinn’s  classic  definition  of  mysticism:  «a  special  consciousness  of  the  
presence  of  God  that  by  definition  exceeds  description  and  results  in  a  
transformation   of   the   subject   who   receives   it»   (McGinn   1998:   26).  
McGinn,  however,  formulated  his  definition  in  a  vast  yet  precise  context:  
the  study  of  Christian  mysticism.  In  order  to  broaden  its  scope,  it  could  
be   integrated   with   the   transversal   definition   that   William   A.   Richards  
provides  at  the  beginning  of  his  psycho-­‐‑medical  study  of  entheogens:    

         this   term   [mysticism]   denotes   a   form   of   consciousness   that  
      vividly  remains  in  the  memory  banks  of  those  who  witness  it  (or  
      claim  to  die  into  it  and  be  reborn  afterward)  […].  All  of  the  great  
      world  religions  have  words  that  point  toward  this  highly  desired  
      and   valued   state   of   spiritual   awareness,   such   as   samadhi   in  
      Hinduism,  nirvana  in  Buddhism,  sekhel  mufla  in  Judaism,  the  beatific  
      vision  in  Christianity,  baqá  wa  faná  in  Islam,  and  wu  wei  in  Taoism.  
      Although   there   may   well   be   room   for   infinite   variations   in   the  
      nature  and  descriptions  of  individual  reports  of  these  experiences,  
      […]  the  research  with  psychedelic  substances  surveyed  in  this  book  
      strongly   supports   the   reality   of   a   common   core   of   characteristics  
      […]   which   reliably   includes   descriptions   of   (1)   Unity,   (2)  
      Transcendence   of   Time   and   Space,   (3)   Intuitive   Knowledge,   (4)  
      Sacredness,   (5)   Deeply-­‐‑Felt   Positive   Mood,   and   (6)   Ineffability.  
      (Richards  2015:  23)  

      It   may   be   worth   noting   that   both   McGinn   and   Richards   prefer  
defining  mysticism  in  terms  of  consciousness  («a  special  consciousness»,  
«a  form  of  consciousness»)  rather  than  in  terms  of  experience,  so  as  to  
emphasize  its  fundamentally  mental  nature6.  

      6
         «It  is  my  conclusion  that  these  incredibly  beautiful,  awe-­‐‑inspiring,  and,  
for  some,  terrifying  experiences  are  best  understood  not  as  being  “within  the  
drugs,”   but   rather   as   being   within   our   own   minds»   Richards   2012:   25,   italics  


                                                                                                   7
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise



       On  the  other  hand,  the  state  of  consciousness  in  which  Tony  finds  
himself  could  be  compared  with  the  shamanic  spirit  flight  as  interpreted  
by  Mircea  Eliade  (2015),  who  «contends  that  the  true  shaman’s  trance  is  
the   visionary   ecstasy   of   spirit   flight,   or   the   shamanic   journey.   In   this  
trance   state,   the   shaman’s   soul   journeys   into   the   spirit   realm   and   the  
shaman   sees   or   has   visions   of   ascending   and   descending   to   other  
worlds»   (Pratt   2007:   xxxiv).   Yet,   in   her   introductory   essays   to   An  
Encyclopedia   of   Shamanism,   Pratt   contends   that   the   shamanic   journey  
must  present  a  number  of  further  characteristics  in  order  to  be  defined  
as  such  from  an  anthropological  perspective.  The  journey,  Pratt  argues,  
occurs  within  the  frame  of  a  highly  formalized  ritual;  it  presupposes  the  
ability   to   experience   states   of   trance   and   ecstasy   while   remaining   in  
control   of   the   experience   itself;   and,   even   more   importantly,   the   spirit  
flight  is  always  performed  in  order  to  serve  someone—be  it  the  whole  
community  or  an  individual  client—,  by  accomplishing  a  very  practical  
task  in  the  spirit  world7.  
       If  it’s  true  that,  during  his  journey,  Tony  actually  feels  transported  
to  another  ‘world’  (the  shores  of  ancient  Greece),  his  ‘spirit  flight’  lacks  
all  the  other  traits  that  would  make  it  a  shamanic  journey:  he  watches  in  
awe  without  having  any  precise  task  to  accomplish  and  has  no  control  
over   his   state   of   consciousness.   On   the   contrary,   such   lack   of   mastery  
appears   to   be   typical   of   mysticism,   in   general,   and   of   Christian  
mysticism,   in   particular.   In   its   being   irrevocably   unique,   utterly  
overwhelming  and  absolutely  impossible  to  replicate,  Tony’s  experience  
seems   to   be   attainable   only  through   the   inscrutable   workings   of   some  


mine).   On   the   relation   between   entheogenic   substances   and   mysticism,   see  
also   Smith   2003.  For   advances   in   the  field   from   the   perspective   of   neurosci-­‐‑
ence,  see  Cole-­‐‑Tuner  2014.  
       7
           «Not  every  journey  is  a  shamanic  journey,  […]  because  entering  into  a  
journey  does  not  fulfill  the  criteria  for  a  shamanic  trance  state.  Human  beings  
enter  trance,  have  deep  lucid  dreams,  and  experience  other  unexplained  spon-­‐‑
taneous  events.  It  is  their  nature.  What  distinguishes  someone  as  a  shaman  is  
whether  the  individual  can  do  anything  with  the  trance  state  and,  more  im-­‐‑
portant,  whether  or  not  he  or  she  can  do  anything  for  others»  Pratt  2007:  xxxiv.  


8
                                                  Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



sort  of  divine  grace.  In  sum,  we  can  consider  Tony  Amsterdam’s  vision  
as   being   mystical   according   to   Richard’s   transversal   definition,   while  
being  connoted  in  a  Christian  sense.  Even  so,  another  question  remains:  
even   if   the   account   matches   specific   definitions   of   mysticism,   why  
should  we  take  in  serious  consideration  a  simile  between  the  apparition  
of  God  and  a  broken  TV  set?  
       I  would  propose  two  answers:  the  first  one  is  based  on  the  novel’s  
internal  semiotics;  the  second  one  refers  to  significant  elements  of  Dick’s  
biography  that  find  a  fictional  re-­‐‑elaboration  in  Scanner.  From  an  intra-­‐‑
narrative  perspective,  one  can  remark  that  Tony  Amsterdam’s  vision  is  
not   the   only   drug-­‐‑induced   encounter   with   the   divine   that   occurs   in  
Scanner.  Two  chapters  before,  a  dear  friend  of  Bob-­‐‑Fred’s,  Charles  Freck,  
experiences   an   ultramundane   vision   as   the   consequence   of   a   failed  
suicide  attempt  through  overdose:  

          The   capsules   were   not   barbiturates,   as   represented.  They  were  
      some  kind  of  kinky  psychedelics  […].  
          The   next   thing   he   [Freck]   knew,   a   creature   from   between  
      dimensions   was   standing   beside   his   bed   looking   down   at   him  
      disapprovingly.  
          The  creature  had  many  eyes,  all  over  it,  ultra-­‐‑modern  expensive-­‐‑
      looking   clothing,   and   rose   up   eight   feet   high.   Also,   it   carried   an  
      enormous  scroll.  
          "ʺYou'ʹre  going  to  read  me  my  sins,"ʺ  Charles  Freck  said.  
          The  creature  nodded  and  unsealed  the  scroll.  
          Freck   said,   lying   helpless   on   his   bed,   "ʺand   it'ʹs   going   to   take   a  
      hundred  thousand  hours."ʺ  
          Fixing   its   many   compound   eyes   on   him,   the   creature   from  
      between   dimensions   said,   "ʺWe   are   no   longer   in   the   mundane  
      universe.   Lower-­‐‑plane   categories   of   material   existence   such   as  
      'ʹspace'ʹ   and  'ʹtime'ʹ   no  longer  apply  to  you.  You  have  been  elevated  
      to  the  transcendent  realm.  Your  sins  will  be  read  to  you  ceaselessly,  
      in  shifts,  throughout  eternity.  The  list  will  never  end."ʺ  
          […]  Charles  Freck  thought,  At  least  I  got  a  good  wine.  (Dick  2011:  
      195-­‐‑196)    




                                                                                                         9
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise



           It  is  easy  to  recognize  the  almost  solemn  gravity  of  Donna’s  account  
when   contrasted   to   the   ruthlessly   grotesque  tone   of   this   vision,   a   tone  
achieved   through   the   ironic   juxtaposition   of   opposites.   The   «creature  
from   between   dimension»   unmistakably   evokes   H.P.   Lovecraft’s8  
terrifying   mythologies;   at   the   same   time,   it   is   rendered   ridiculously  
human   by   his   «ultra-­‐‑modern   expensive-­‐‑looking   clothing».   Freck   finds  
himself  outside  space  and  time,  in  the  supposedly  solemn  atmosphere  
of  the  last  judgment,  only  to  realize  that  he  is  just  hallucinating.  The  only  
sensible   thing   to   do,   at   this   point,   is   drinking   wine   until   the   final  
judgement  is  over.  
           However,  there  is  another,  more  important  reason  why  the  reader  
should   consider   Tony’s   vision   as   something   more   than   a   mere  
hallucinatory  trip  gone  a  little  too  far.  As  it  was  said  before,  Scanner  was  
written  in  1973  and  thoroughly  revised  in  1975.  But  in  1975  Philip  Dick  
was   not   the   same   person   who   had   written   the   first   draft   two   years  
before.   Because   in   February   and   March   1974,   Dick   himself   had  
experienced  a  series  of  visions  and  auditions  commonly  referred  to  as  
“2-­‐‑3-­‐‑74”.  He  would  then  spend  the  rest  of  his  life,  from  1974  to  his  death  
in   1982,   trying   to   make   sense   of   these   experiences9.   The   results  of  this  




       8
            An  author  to  whom  Dick  plays  heartfelt  homage  in  The  Three  Stigmata  
of  Palmer  Eldritch  by  using  the  adjective  “eldritch”  (defined  as  «weird,  ghostly,  
unnatural,   frightful,   hideous»   by   the   OED   Online—last   accessed   November  
2018),  probably  the  most  distinctive  of  Lovecraft’s  style,  as  the  title  character’s  
surname.  
        9
            «Be  forewarned  that  Phil’s  experiences  during  this  time  simply  do  not  
fall   into   a   neat,   overarching   pattern   […].   They   include   moments   of   doubt,  
panic,  and  anguish  such  as  to  make  them  seem  all  too  human.  But  there  are  
also  times  of  startling  sublimity,  not  to  mention  sheer  breathtaking  wonder.  
They  neither  prove  that  Phil  was  crazy,  nor  do  they  establish  the  existence  of  
a  Saint  Phil.  In  fact,  the  2-­‐‑3-­‐‑74  experiences  resemble  nothing  so  much  as  a  way-­‐‑
ward  cosmic  plot  from  a  Phil  Dick  SF  novel—which  is  hardly  surprising,  given  
who  the  experiencer  was»  Sutin  2005:  209.  


10
                                               Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



eight-­‐‑year-­‐‑long   hermeneutic   effort   are   four   novels10   and   an   immense  
collection  of  notes  and  letters:  the  so-­‐‑called  Exegesis  (Dick  2002).  
      From   a   philological   perspective,   the   Exegesis   represents   an  
invaluable   resource   for   mapping   the   two   phases   of   Scanner’s  
elaboration.  In  the  case  of  Tony’s  vision,  we  may  not  be  able  to  trace  the  
simile  with  the  malfunctioning  tv  set  back  to  one  of  the  two  phases;  but  
we   know   that   the   mention   of   Tony’s   experiments   with   water-­‐‑soluble  
vitamins  is  the  fictionalized  re-­‐‑telling  of  a  home-­‐‑made  experiment  that  
Dick  conducted  on  himself  in  1974:  

          [After  the  first  experiences  of  2-­‐‑3-­‐‑74]  Phil  was  living  in  a  psychic  
      cauldron.  What  better  way  out  than  to  turn  up  the  heat?  He’d  read  
      of  new  psychiatric  research  indicating  that  massive  doses  of  water-­‐‑
      soluble   vitamins   improved   neural   firing   in   schizophrenics.   Phil  
      speculated   that,   for   an   ordinary   person,   such   vitamin   dosages  
      might  heighten  synchronous  firing  by  the  two  brain  hemispheres,  
      thereby   enhancing   both   left-­‐‑brain   practical   efficiency   and   right-­‐‑
      brain  imagination.  In  Psychology  Today  Phil  found  a  “recipe”.  […]  
      The  end  result,  as  stated  in  the  Exegesis:  “both  hemispheres  came  on  
      together,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life”.  (Sutin  2005:  212)  

     Thus,   in   a   biographical   perspective,   the   account   of   Tony  
Amsterdam’s  vision  incorporates  an  account  of  Dick’s  own  experiences  
referring   to   life-­‐‑changing   events   of   overwhelming   magnitude.   This  
further   demonstrates   that   the   account   should   not   be   disregarded   as  
unreliable   or   negligible,   but   rather   examined   as   a   key   site   for   the  
construction   of   meaning   in   the   novel.   I   will   try   to   explore   it,   from   a  
comparative  perspective,  through  the  lens  of  abstract  video  art.  




      10
            Radio   Free   Albemuth   (written   in   1976   and   appeared   postumously   in  
1985),   VALIS   (w.   1978,   published   in   1981),   The   Divine   Invasion   (w.   1980,   p.  
1981),  and  The  Transmigration  of  Tymothy  Archer  (w.  1981,  p.  1982).  


                                                                                                    11
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise




                  Information:  an  electronic  ouroboros  
      While  Philip  Dick  is  intent  on  writing  Scanner,  Bill  Viola  is  a  young  
student  at  the  University  of  Syracuse,  New  York,  on  the  other  side  of  the  
US.   He   is   at   the   very   beginning   of   his   career   as   a   video   artist   and   his  
aesthetic  research  seems  parallel  to  that  of  Nam  June  Paik11:  both  create  
conceptual   works   of   meta-­‐‑video   in   an   attempt   to   explore   the   visual  
‘matter’   of   their   medium—what   video   is   ‘really   made   of’.   This   is  
exemplified   by   Viola’s   Cycles   (1973),   in   which   «a   large   window   fan   is  
used   to   interrupt   the   scanning   process   of   a   broadcast   tv   image».   As   a  
result,   «the   fan   alternatively   masks   and   reveals   select   frames   of  
television,   and   simultaneously   demonstrates  the   illusory   nature   of  the  
image  as  a  beam  of  rapidly  scanning  light»  (Ross  -­‐‑  Sellars  1997:  42).  This  
manipulation   of   the   TV   image   clearly   reminds   the   prepared   TV   sets  
presented   by   Paik   in   Wuppertal   ten   years   before12.   Viola’s   early  
fascination   with   self-­‐‑reflexive   video   art   is   also   imbricated   with   his  
interest  in  structuralism13,  performance,  and  body  art.  This  is  evident  in  
Tape   I   (1972),   an   «attempt   to   stare   down   the   self»   that   perfectly  
encapsulates  Viola’s  early  poetics  of  video:    

            A  camera,  with  its  live  image  displayed  on  a  monitor  next  to  it,  
       is  seen  viewing  its  own  reflection  in  a  mirror  when  a  man  enters  the  
       room.  He  sits  in  front  of  the  mirror,  breaking  the  line  of  sight  and  
       thus   becoming   both   the   subject   and   the   object   of   a   self   portrait.  
       (Ibidem:  40)  

      Within  this  context,  Composition  “D”  and  Information  (both  created  
in  1973)  can  be  seen  as  the  culmination  of  the  research  that  Viola  devoted  

       11
            For  a  comprehensive  catalogue  of  Paik’s  oeuvre,  see  Hanhardt  2012.  
       12
            On  Paik’s  exhibition  and  its  founding  role  in  the  history  of  video  art,  
see  Neuburger  2009.  
       13
            «When  I  [Viola]  started  making  videos  I  was  caught  up  with  the  current  
issues  of  the  day,  structuralism  being  probably  the  most  dominant.  This  was  
in  the  early  1970s.  A  lot  of  my  work  ostensibly  started  out  by  trying  to  prove  
something,  much  like  a  scientist»  Nash  -­‐‑  Viola  2015:  155.  


12
                                                  Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



to   abstract   video14   in   his   student   years,   in   an   «attempt   to   reach   the  
fundamental   state   of   the   video   signal»   (ibidem:   41)   through   the  
manipulation   of   video   hardware   and   the   tv   set.   According   to   Viola  
himself,   this   culmination   coincided   with   the   beginning   of   a   radically  
new  aesthetic  research:  

          After   I   went   through   an   early   infatuation   period   with   the  
      technology,  I  obliterated  it—literally  and  metaphorically—in  1973  
      in  a  piece  I  called  Information.  I’ve  chosen  to  work  with  images  of  
      the  real  world,  camera  images,  recorded  outside  on  the  streets  or  in  
      the   mountains,   images   that   obviously   are   representations,   and  
      those  issues  are  now  very  current.  (Nash  -­‐‑  Viola  2015:  156)  

       His  concerns  for  video-­‐‑performativity  and  the  conceptual  aspects  
of   video15   will   not   disappear,   as   demonstrated   by   works   like   Il   Vapore  
(1975),  The  Reflecting  Pool  (1977-­‐‑79),  or  Reasons  for  Knocking  at  an  Empty  
House   (1983).   However,   from   the   early   ‘80s   to   today,   they   will   be  
progressively   absorbed   into   an   overarching   research   that   will   deploy  
along   two   intertwining   axes.   The   first   will   revolve   around   the   re-­‐‑
elaboration  of  Renaissance  painting—from  The  Greeting  (1995),  inspired  
by   Pontormo’s   Visitation,   to   The   Passions   (2003).   The   second   will   be  
centered  on  the  investigation  of  the  relation  between  life  and  death  and  
on  the  exploration  of  water  and  fire  as  intermediate  elements  between  
these  two  poles16.  From  Nantes  Triptych  (1992)  to  Ocean  Without  a  Shore  

      14
              On   the   notion   of   abstract   video,   see   the   essays   collected   in   Jennings  
2015.  
      15
            On  these  aspects  of  Viola’s  poetics,  see  Fargier  2014.  
       16
            For  a  comprehensive  overview  of  Viola’s  production,  see  the  catalogue  
edited  by  Hanhardt  –  Perov  (2015).  Other  major  exhibition  catalogues  include,  
among  others,  Ross  –  Sellars  1997  and  Neutres  2014.  On  the  dramaturgical  as-­‐‑
pects  of  Viola’s  works,  see  Valentini  2009.  Viola’s  re-­‐‑elaboration  of  Italian  art  
from  the  early  Renaissance  to  Mannerism  was  recently  explored  in  the  exhibi-­‐‑
tion  Bill  Viola.  Electronic  Renaissance  (Florence,  Palazzo  Strozzi;  see  Galasino  -­‐‑  
Perov  2017).  On  religion  and  spirituality  in  Viola,  see  the  essays  collected  in  
Townsend  2004  and  Bernier  2014.  


                                                                                                       13
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise



(2007),  from  the  monumental  Going  Forth  by  Day  (2002)  to  Martyrs  (2014),  
Viola’s   reflections   on   life’s  two   extremes  will   be   catalyzed   by   his   avid  
interest   in   both   Western   and   Eastern   spirituality   and   mysticism.   His  
works   of   video   art,   not   unlike   Dick’s   later   writings,   will   emerge   from  
and  interact  with  a  rich,  syncretistic  corpus  of  religious  knowledge.  
       However,   Information   is   far   removed   from   the   spiritual   concerns  
that  will  animate  Viola’s  later  production:  like  many  other  video  works  
of   that   period,   it   was   created   by   pure   accident.   To   understand   the  
aesthetics   that   this   work   unfolds,   one   must   know   exactly   in   what   the  
accident  consists  of:    

          Information   is   the   manifestation   of   an   aberrant   electronic  
      nonsignal  passing  through  the  video  switcher  in  a  normal  color  TV  
      studio,  and  being  retrieved  at  various  points  along  its  path.  It  is  the  
      result  of  a  technical  mistake  made  while  working  in  the  studio  late  
      one   night,   when   the   output   of   a   videotape   recorder   was  
      accidentally   routed   through   the   studio   switcher   and   back   into   its  
      own  input.  When  the  record  button  was  pressed,  the  machine  tried  
      to   record   itself.   The   resulting   electronic   perturbations   affected  
      everything  else   in   the   studio:   color   appeared   where   there   was   no  
      color  signal,  there  was  sound  where  there  was  no  audio  connected,  
      and  every  button  punched  on  the  video  switcher  created  a  different  
      effect.  (Viola  1995:  30)  

      Viola’s   mistake   causes   the   formation   of   «patterns   of   noise   and  
interference»  (Hanhardt  2015:  26)  on  the  color  TV  screen.  The  resulting  
video   image   consists   in   something   analogous   to   Tony   Amsterdam’s  
visual   description   of   God:   «showers   of   colored   sparks,   like   when  
something   goes   wrong   with   your   TV   set».   Even   if   the   video’s   title   is  
anything   but   semantically   close   to   the   mystic   or   the   supernatural  
imagination,  Viola  describes  the  effects  of  the  electronic  perturbations  as  
eerily   disquieting.   In   particular,   the   fact   that   color   and   sound   appear  
when  they  are  not  supposed  to  do  so  recalls  certain  topoi  of  the  medial  
uncanny  (Sconce  2000,  Botting  2015):  the  electronic  apparatus  seems  to  
be  animated  by  a  living  force  of  its  own.  



14
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        In  Information,  Viola’s  unintentional  manipulation  of  the  apparatus  
formed   by   the   video   recorder,  the   switcher,   and  the   TV   set   becomes   a  
work  of  meta-­‐‑video,  a  self-­‐‑reflexive  exploration  of  the  ‘nature’  of  video.  
However,  what  sets  apart  Information  from  other  works  of  meta-­‐‑video  is  
the   fact   that   it   achieves   self-­‐‑reflexivity   through   literalization:   the  
recorder   tries   to   record   itself.   The   input   and   the   output   are   perfectly  
coincident,  thus  generating  a  “nonsignal”  that  runs  in  circles,  endlessly  
recording-­‐‑replaying  itself.  A  snake  that  bites  its  own  tail.  An  electronic  
ouroboros.    
        Viola’s   use   of   the   term   “nonsignal”   is   particularly   accurate:   the  
electronic   signal   produced   by   the   recorder   is   actually   devoid   of  
information,  or   rather,  it   only   carries   the  command   “record”.   In  order  
for   the   signal   to   become   information-­‐‑rich,   the   recorder   should   be  
connected  to  a  video  source.  But  the  device  is  erroneously  connected  to  
itself,   so   the   “nonsignal”   is   transformed   into   a   flux   that   recycles   itself  
without  acquiring  any  new  information.  What  the  viewer  sees  on  screen,  
is  the  erratic  pattern  of  noise  resulting  from  the  elaboration  of  this  empty  
“nonsignal”  by  the  cathode-­‐‑ray  tube.    
        Nevertheless,   Viola   decides   to   paradoxically   name   Information   a  
video   showing   nothing   but   noise,   that   is,   a   video   made   only   of  
phenomena   that   interfere   with   the   transfer   of   information.   But   the  
paradox   is   only   apparent:   no   title   could   be   better   suited   to   a   work   of  
meta-­‐‑video.  By  naming  a  pattern  of  noise  Information,  the  video  is  made  
to   signify   its   very   absence   of   information.   The   nonsignal   does   not  
acquire   meaning   through   the   electronic   information   that   it   should  
normally  carry:  it  signifies  itself  and  only  itself,  and  the  noise  pattern  on  
the  TV  screen  stands  as  its  visual  signifier.  An  empty  signal  that  records  
itself:  the  degré  zéro  of  video.    
        In  the  light  of  these  observations,  one  can  affirm  that  God  appears  
to  Tony  Amsterdam  in  the  form  of  a  conceptual  work  of  video  art.  But  
what  is  the  actual  point  where  Tony’s  vision  meets  Viola’s  video?  In  the  
next   section,   I   will   try   to   demonstrate   that   they   meet   in   the   notion   of  
‘electronic  elsewhere’.  This  cultural  construct,  in  turn,  can  catalyze  the  
re-­‐‑conceptualization  of  a  shower  of  sparks  from  a  broken  TV  set  into  a  
mystical  experience.  


                                                                                               15
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise




A  common  ground:  staring  into  the  electronic  elsewhere  
     I  would  contend  that,  by  materializing  a  non-­‐‑signal  trapped  in  an  
electronic  ouroboros  on  a  TV  screen,  Viola  succeeds  in  providing  visual  
consistency  to  the  notion  of  ‘electronic  elsewhere’,  developed  by  Jeffrey  
Sconce  (2000)  in  his  study  of  haunted  media  in  order  to  account  for  the  
cultural   transition   of   specters   and   other   entities   from   the   realm   of  the  
supernatural  to  the  realm  of  telecommunications  based  on  electricity17.  
     Sconce’s   compelling   study   starts   from   the   observation   that  
electricity   has   always   been   culturally   conceptualized   not   as   a   mere  
source   of   energy   residing   in   this   world,   but   rather,   as   a   vital   force  
existing  in  an  immaterial  dimension,  parallel  to  our  own:  the  electronic  
elsewhere,   whose   particular   declinations   have   evolved   following   the  
evolution   of   telecommunications   and   information   technology.   As   a  
consequence,  from  the  telegraph  to  the  internet,  electronic  media  have  
become  the  perfect  cultural  tool  for  enabling  contact  with  ultramundane  
dimensions   inhabited   by   the   spirits   of   the   dead,   by   aliens   from   other  
galaxies,  and  by  every  sort  of  supernatural  creature.  

         What   exactly   is   the   status   of   the   worlds   created   by   radio,  
      television,  and  computers?  Are  there  invisible  entities  adrift  in  the  
      ether,   entire   other   electronic   realms   coursing   through   the   wired  
      networks   of   the   world?   Sound   and   image   without   material  
      substance,   the   electronically   mediated   worlds   of   telecommunica-­‐‑
      tion   often   evoke   the   supernatural   by   creating   virtual   beings   that  
      appear  to  have  no  physical  form.  
         […]  In  media  folklore  past  and  present,  telephones,  radios,  and  
      computers  have  been  similarly  “possessed”  by  such  “ghosts  in  the  
      machine,”   the   technologies   serving   as   either   uncanny   electronic  
      agents  or  as  gateways  to  electronic  otherworlds.  (Sconce  2000:  4)  

    In   the   light   of   Sconce’s   cultural   analysis,   it   could   be   argued   that  
Tony  Amsterdam’s  experience  of  a  video-­‐‑God  stems  from  the  construct  

         I  have  applied  the  framework  outlined  in  this  chapter  to  a  comparative  
      17

study  of  video  in  horror  film  and  video  art  in  Petricola  2018.  


16
                                               Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



of   electronic   elsewhere.   At   the   same   time,   the   episode   represents   a  
significant  expansion  of  Sconce’s  framework  in  a  new  direction,  shifting  
it   from   the   supernatural   to   the   sacred.   While   Sconce   prefers   to   focus  
mostly  on  the  electronic  elsewhere(s)  inhabited  by  the  dead  and  on  the  
transcodification  of  human  consciousness  into  an  electrical  flux,  Scanner  
shows  that  the  electronic  elsewhere  can  also  become  the  vehicle  of  the  
sacred  and  the  mystical18.  
        However,  as  we  have  seen  both  in  Tony  Amsterdam’s  vision  and  
in   the   analysis   of   Information,   in   order   to   transform   a   tv   screen   into   a  
magic   door   towards   an   electronic   elsewhere,   one   must   manipulate   it,  
sabotage   its   everyday   pragmatics,   interfere   with   its   standard  
functioning.   How   can   we   account   for   this   necessity   from   a   cultural  
perspective?  I  would  like  to  answer  this  question  by  drawing  on  John  
Durham  Peters’  history  of  the  idea  of  communication  (1999).  At  the  end  
of   a   chapter   entitled   “Kafka   and   the   telephone”   (202),   he   briefly  
addresses   the   issue   of   electrical   breakdown   and   its   potential  
epistemological  consequences:  

         The  common  world  may  be  habitual  and  sound,  but  breakdown  
      allows   all   the   primal   uncanniness   to   return.   In   a   blackout,   or   the  
      telephone’s  suddenly  going  dead,  or  the  static  caught  between  the  
      stations,  we  discover  the  gaps,  not  the  bridges.  (Peters  1999:  205)  



      18
             Texts   thematizing   the   divine   are   not   absent  from   Sconce’s   reflection.  
However,  the  divine  is  never  addressed  as  an  element  entertaining  a  relevant  
and   specific  relation   to   the   idea   of   electronic   elsewhere.   From   Sconce’s   per-­‐‑
spective,  God’s  use  of  radio  communication  in  films  like  The  Next  Voice  You  
Hear  (1950)  and  The  Red  Planet  Mars  (1952)  is  the  expression  of  cultural  anxie-­‐‑
ties   related   to   radio’s   power   to   invade   «the   domestic   sanctity   of   the   entire  
American   public»   (Sconce   2000:   108).   As   concerns   television,   the   analysis   of  
televangelist  Robert  Tilton,  who  «frequently  invites  viewers  to  touch  the  TV  
screen  to  make  ‘direct’  contact  with  the  healing  power  of  his  cathode  hand»,  
proves  how  «broadcasters  create  and  exploit  the  medium’s  illusion  of  simul-­‐‑
taneity»  and  how  «this  sense  of  immediacy  has  made  the  ‘living  medium’  a  
prime  conduit  for  the  ‘living  world’»  (ibidem:  174).  


                                                                                                   17
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise



      In   the   light   of   Peter’s   observations,   Sconce’s   electronic   elsewhere  
can  become  accessible  to  our  perception  only  when  its  presence  ceases  
to  be  a-­‐‑problematic  and  obvious.  It  then  takes  the  form  of  a  gap,  a  void,  
a  tear  in  the  fabric  of  what  we  call  ‘reality’,  a  cognitive  discontinuity  that  
problematizes   our   perception   of   the   world   as   an   organic   continuum.  
Only  by  interfering  with  the  standard  use  of  telecommunication  devices  
we   can   transform   them   into   gateways   towards   other   planes   of   reality.  
This   is   why  the   electronic   substance  of  video   becomes   visible   to   Viola  
only  when  he  accidentally  causes  a  malfunction  in  a  recording  studio.  
This  is  why  Tony  Amsterdam  compares  his  vision  to  a  malfunction  in  
the  TV  set.    

                      Video-­‐‑God  and  the  video-­‐‑mind  
         In   the   previous   section,   I   have   argued   that   a   mystical   vision   in   a  
novel  by  Philip  K.  Dick  and  an  early  work  of  video  art  by  Bill  Viola  are  
brought   together   by   their   stemming   from   a   set   of   common   cultural  
premises  centered  on  the  notion  of  ‘electronic  elsewhere’.  I  will  now  try  
to  examine  a  second  possible  connection  between  the  two  texts,  another  
path  that  leads  from  Tony  Amsterdam’s  video-­‐‑God  to  Bill  Viola’s  video  
art.    
         This   path   becomes   visible   when   relating   the   «showers   of   colored  
sparks»   to   the   experience   of   another   character   in   Scanner,   namely,   the  
inventor   of   one   of   the   novel’s   very   few   science-­‐‑fictional   gadgets:   the  
scramble  suit.  By  transforming  the  whole  body  of  the  person  that  wears  
it  into  an  unrecognizable  video  surface,  it  represents  an  object  of  crucial  
importance   for   themathizing   the   role   of   this   medium   in   the   narrative.  
What  matters  most,  here,  is  that  the  invention  of  the  scramble  suit  is  the  
result  of  a  psychedelic  experience:    

        The   scramble   suit   was   an   invention   of   the   Bell   Laboratories,  
      conjured   up   by   accident   by   an   employee   named   S.A.   Powers.   He  
      had,   a   few   years   ago,   been   experimenting   with   disinhibiting  
      substances   affecting   neural   tissue,   and   one   night,   having  
      administered  to  himself  an  IV  injection  considered  safe  and  mildly  



18
                                              Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



      euphoric,  had  experienced  a  disastrous  drop  in  the  GABA  fluid  of  
      his   brain.   Subjectively,   he   had   then   witnessed   lurid   phosphene  
      activity   projected   on   the   far   wall   of   his   bedroom,   a   frantically  
      progressing   montage   of   what,   at   the   time,   he   imagined   to   be  
      modern-­‐‑day   abstract   paintings.   […]   [W]hen   Kandinsky   paintings  
      began   to   harass   him,   he   recalled   that   the   main   art   museum   at  
      Leningrad   specialized   in   just   such   nonobjective   moderns,   and  
      decided  that  the  Soviets  were  attempting  telepathically  to  contact  
      him.  (Dick  2011:  38)  

      This   passage   can   be   put   in   relation   to   the   analyses   in   the   above  
sections  in  a  number  of  ways.  First  of  all,  the  scramble  suit  is  invented  
by   mistake:   Powers   seems   to   participate   to   the   same   atmosphere   of  
enthusiastic   fervor   towards   video   technologies   that   animated   Bill  
Viola’s  research  in  the  early  1970s.  Secondly,  Powers  works  for  the  Bell  
Laboratories,   which   played   a   leading   role   in   the   creation   of   today’s  
notion   of   information19.   Thirdly,   Powers’   visions   are   identical   to  
Amsterdam’s   to   the   extent   that   they   are   both   the   result   of  
experimentation   with   substances   supposed   to   improve   neural  
efficiency.   Even   more   importantly,   in   describing   Powers’   visions,   the  
narrative  is  once  again  re-­‐‑elaborating  Dick'ʹs  own  experiences:    

          This   time   I   saw   perfectly   formed   modern   abstract   paintings,  
      which   I   later   identified   from   art   books   as   being   of   the   type  
      Kandinsky  developed.  There  were  literally  hundreds  of  thousands  
      of  them;  they  replaced  each  other  at  dazzling  speed  (Dick  2002:  96).  

      Dick  has  distributed  key  elements  of  his  recent  life,  charged  with  
high   emotional   value,   to   both   Powers   and   Amsterdam.   The   two  
episodes,  then,  are  clearly  connected.  
      The  novel  describes  Powers-­‐‑Dick’s  visions  as  occurring  in  the  form  
of  phosphene  activity,  that  is,  of  visual  perceptions  that  originate  within  
the  eye  itself  as  a  consequence  of  brain  stimulation:  they  do  not  depend  
on  the  perception  of  a  source  of  light  external  to  the  subject.  In  this  sense,  

      19
             On  the  history  and  evolution  of  information  theory,  see  Gleick  2011.  


                                                                                               19
Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise



phosphene   activity   is   fundamentally   different   from   ‘normal’   visual  
perception:   manipulated   by   disinhibiting   substances,   Powers’   brain  
generates  electrical  impulses;  his  eyes,  like  cathode  ray  tubes,  transform  
them  into  abstract  images.  In  Powers’  phosphenic  experience,  the  brain-­‐‑
eyes   system   appears   to   be   governed   by   the   same   semiotics   regulating  
the  recorder-­‐‑TV  set  system  in  Viola’s  work:  a  neural  ouroboros  in  which  
the  brain-­‐‑recorder  and  the  eyes-­‐‑cathode  ray  tubes  exchange  information  
without  the   catalyzing   action  of   light,   resulting   is   a   closed   circuit  that  
generates  abstract  images.  But  this  explanation  could  also  go  the  other  
way   around:   if   Power’s   experience   and   Viola’s   video   system   can   be  
conceptualized  as  analogous,  the  logic  governing  Information  is  nothing  
but  the  logic  of  phosphene  vision.  
      In  conclusion,  as  Donna’s  account  invites  us  to  endlessly  speculate  
over   the   true   meaning   of   Tony   Amsterdam’s   experience,   so   Bill   Viola  
invites   us   to   decipher   countless   potential   images   and   meanings   in  
Information’s   patterns   of   noise.   In   both   cases,   an   irreducible   margin   of  
mystery   remains   there   to   haunt   us.   It   is   probably   what   Philip   Dick  
would  have  wanted:  

           We  should  be  content  with  the  mysterious,  the  meaningless,  the  
      contradictory,  the  hostile,  and  most  of  all  the  unexplainably  warm  
      and  giving—total  so-­‐‑called  inanimate  environment,  in  other  words  
      very  much  like  a  person,  like  the  behavior  of  one  intricate,  subtle,  
      half-­‐‑veiled,  deep,  perplexing,  and  much-­‐‑to-­‐‑be-­‐‑loved  human  being  
      to   another.   To  be  feared   a   little,   too,   sometimes.   And   perpetually  
      misunderstood.  (Dick  1995:  208)  



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Bernier,  Ronald  R.  (ed.),  The  Unspeakable  Art  of  Bill  Viola:  A  Visual  Theol-­‐‑
    ogy,  Eugene  OR,  Pickwick  Publications,  2014.  
Botting,   Fred,   “Technospectrality:   Essay   on   Uncannimedia”,   Technolo-­‐‑
    gies  of  the  Gothic  in  Literature  and  Culture,  Ed.  Justin  D.  Edwards,  New  
    York-­‐‑London,  Routledge,  2015:  17–34.  



20
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                                             Between, vol. VIII, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)



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                                     Filmography  
Information,  Dir.  Bill  Viola,  30  min,  color,  sound,  1973.  



                                      The  author    
       Mattia  Petricola  
  
Mattia   Petricola   is   a   Ph.D.   student   in   comparative   literature   at   the  
University  of  Bologna  and  the  University  of  Paris-­‐‑Sorbonne.  His  work  
focuses  on  intermediate  states  between  life  and  death  in  literature  and  
cinema   from   E.A.   Poe   to   today.   His   research   interests   lie   at   the  
intersection  of  thanatology,  speculative  fiction,  and  cultural  studies.  He  
has  published  articles  on  Peter  Greenaway,  queer  hermeneutics,  and  the  
notion  of  spectrality  in  media  studies.  
  
       Email:  mattia.petricola@gmail.com  
         




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Petricola, Watching God in the Electronic Noise




                                               
                                        The  paper    
Date  sent:  31/05/2018    
Date  accepted:  30/10/2018  
Date  published:  30/11/2018  



                            How  to  quote  this  paper  
Petricola,  Mattia,  “Watching  God  in  the  electronic  noise.  Philip  K.  Dick,  
Bill   Viola,   and   the   (video)   art   of   speculative   fiction”,   Schermi.  
Rappresentazioni,   immagini,   transmedialità,   Eds.   F.   Agamennoni,   M.  
Rima,  S.  Tani,  Between,  VIII.  16  (2018),  http://www.betweenjournal.it/  




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