In Praise of a Line, 2: On Goodness and The Sirens of Titan

“Life was like that, Unk told himself tentatively—blanks and glimpses, and now and then maybe that awful flash of pain for doing something wrong.” - Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan

Goodness. What is it and where does it derive? Is it an attribute born of mind or spirit? Universally inherent or naturally selected? Learned or inherited?

One's sense of morality is of course influenced by many factors: genetics, trauma, family, experience, biology, religion, and so on. But in my current reading (and watching!) I have been fascinated by the social construct of goodness. How does culture as a whole influence our collective perception of the definition? And why does it suddenly feel more important than ever to appear as good to others, almost religiously? Does an emphasis on perception override any inherent value? And what kind of harms are we willing to inflict on others (i.e., collective shaming; virtual stone throwing; en masse Scarlet Lettering; etc.) in order to be perceived as good by our communities?

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Kurt Vonnegut was a science fiction writer of wry observation and dry comedy. He ultimately wrote about morality and the human condition. His novels are philosophical, political, and pointed. The Sirens of Titan in particular takes aim at enduring themes: free will, the purpose of an individual within a collective, space travel, machine intelligence, wealth, class, and human connection. It remains timely though published in 1959.

Which brings us to the line: “Life was like that, Unk told himself tentatively—blanks and glimpses, and now and then maybe that awful flash of pain for doing something wrong (p. 101).” Of course, the character of Unk (previously known as Malachi Constant), is trapped on Mars with an antenna implanted in his brain. Unk’s memory and identity have been wiped clean, as well as any internal moral compass; the antenna serves to condition his behavior via pain elicited electronically by a commander on Mars named Boaz.

In the novel, events on Mars and earth alike are seemingly determined by one eccentric billionaire named Winston Niles Rumfoord. After being sucked into a kind of energy wave phenomenon while exploring space (Elon Musk-style), Rumfoord acquires the ability to see across time—most notably into the future—while being rendered immaterial; he thus materializes on earth for short periods of time only. He eventually plots to colonize Mars with a cadre of desperate Earthlings (Unk—a rich and powerful man once himself—included) in a scheme to impel the world toward universal brotherhood. His brainwashed, scarce, and untrained Martian army is commanded to wage pointless and futile war on Earth. In short, a few sad Martians are callously discarded in service of (one billionaire’s perception of) a “certain” future, one he determined as good. Does this sound at all familiar? Zuckerberg-ish, even?

There is, of course, more to the novel and plot than can possibly be examined here. But for the purpose of this essay, we will focus on Rumfoord's acquired power and his wielding of it. With novel insight into a future, Rumfoord deemed his actions, regardless how heinous, to be pre-determined, destined. Any Martian suffering at his hands—particularly that of Unk’s— no matter the severity, was seen as necessary to the greater good. With attained power and privilege, he led a puppet show accordingly. Small spoiler alert: in the end Rumfoord was being manipulated too. So, it begs questions: How do we find meaning in a life with little control over the systems we are forced to occupy? Do we have agency?

The predicament on Mars struck me as oddly analogous to present-day Silicon Valley. The leaders of Big Tech continuously threaten the most basic tenets of being human under a guise of “innovation”. Theirs is a “certain” future that actually isn’t predetermined at all. Our technological landscape is not a product of inevitable evolution, as they urge us to believe; technology is shaped by individuals and holds the potential to be altered, regulated, fixed. Indeed, the long-term consequences of these creations remain uncertain. So why do the web's architects wipe their hands of the suffering they build?

Consider Peter Thiel (early investor of Facebook, founder of PayPal) and his obsession with mimetic theory, a philosophy that essentially deduces all human behavior to imitation and envy. Thiel believes in the power of monopoly—that a consolidated entity controlling any one sector is healthy and natural. (Hello, Facebook, Instagram, and now…Threads!) While much of the political discourse online tends to center on the various ills of Capitalism (a conversation that can seem paradoxical being had on social media, given these platforms are some of the worst incarnations of Capitalism), what will be said of the absolute power we’ve handed the creators of our online universe? Not to mention the unfettered access to our brain chemistry. Why are their philosophies and world views free to shape our own without the same level of pushback?

The puppetry is insidious by design. Like a Twitter “trend” that helps frame one’s perception of a “consensus;” or a particular vein of political ad that continuously pops up on dad’s Facebook feed; or the ordering of one's Google search. Such manipulation has only worsened in their attempt to tackle “misinformation,” an online issue they birthed and allowed to proliferate. So how do we keep in check this unregulated power? As Shoshana Zuboff writes, “Who decides who decides?”

If one is looking for agency, it exists in questioning. Naturally, we rarely question structures that feel too monumental to change. Those holding power take advantage of the ensuing fatigue. It’s almost as if our moral compass has been wiped clean and our behavior conditioned through pain (often wielded by our fellow man, also conditioned to do so), guided by an incomplete vision of a few eccentric billionaires. Indeed, Mark Zuckerberg and Larry Page do not view their platforms as strictly social or informative—they see them as equal to, if not more powerful than government and have repeatedly said so. If democracy is an iteration of a nation’s free will, this should prompt alarm.

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In the novel, Vonnegut seems to argue in part that one’s purpose within a system can be found in both intimate connection and individualism. It could be interpreted like this: as the algorithm extrapolates to consume rather than connect, we must either shift our attention to those around us or become more intentional. It's silly to think that such a foundational concept like connection through a physical community (i.e. neighbors, classmates, family, even fellow commuters!) has become an analog idea; but being present and open to those around us endures as the best path to authentic and diverse relationships. Though it’s not impossible to find true connection online, it does require intentionality. Until we build something better, our social platforms will continue to hive as opposed to broaden. To avoid the distraction and isolation, an absurd amount of mindfulness and discipline is required. (Which I, for one, do not possess.)

Vonnegut also seems to argue for individualism within a greater collective. As the novel unfolds, various characters lose everything only to regain purpose in their own small and singular ways. Richness blooms from their individual path, as they connect to a particular thing or place (often found in nature) that another may deem insignificant. And still, each is affected by the other's choice; there is no will that can separate one from the whole. (It's worth reading the book to learn about Harmoniums, a species I wish existed.)

It can seem strange to reckon with the idea that our right to think, to hold preference, is under attack, but as Silicon Valley discovers more ways to “hack” our brains without consent, it will become even more difficult to distinguish our thoughts from that of a machine’s. Consider how much time we spend scrolling; is the algorithm we see reality? Or has our perception been overwhelmingly influenced by an algorithm?

Indeed, it falls upon us to ensure we aren’t simply existing and relating to each other inside a billionaire’s haze, one that resembles something of Unk’s “blanks and glimpses.” Our antennas will only grow smaller, more imperceptible, until of course that awful flash of pain for doing something wrong.

More on Goodness, to be continued in Part Two (featuring thoughts inspired by Zadie Smith and films like Primal Fear and Capote). And for more reading on how the above influences our economic structures, my essay on Shoshana Zuboff’s The Age of Surveillance Capitalism may be found here.

Sources and Reading List:

1. Vonnegut, Kurt. The Sirens of Titan. The Dial Press, 2009. 2. “Silicon Valley isn’t just disrupting democracy—it’s replacing it.” QZ Magazine, 2017. 3. Adrian Daub, What Tech Calls Thinking. 4. Shoshana Zuboff, The Age of Surveillance Capitalism.