The 3 Body Problem Netflix Series: A Cerebramantic Fantasy
by Asa Boxer
I guess you can say I’m an enthusiast of the sci-fi genre. I have friends who won’t countenance it; it’s just all too silly. But I can enjoy a sci-fi series or film and be critically harsh at the same time. This is how I feel about The 3 Body Problem: a lot of it is fun and stimulating, but there’s a heavy helping of pop-science culture that dispenses all manner of sciency propaganda. I’ll have to set up the relevant lineaments of the story, so you can follow my critique. For those hoping to view the series, this is your spoiler alert. I give away the essential plot twist, and various other elements you may prefer to discover through the storytelling experience.
The action that sets the story in motion takes place in 1977, when a dissident astrophysicist of Maoist China responds to a message from outer space, inviting an alien race to come save humanity from itself. Her motivations are the murder of her father at the hands of cultural revolutionaries, the abuses suffered by her mother, and her own treatment at the hands of Chinese authorities. The message she responds to is, “Do not respond!”—a repeated command, followed by, “I am a pacifist, but those around me are not.” (This is an approximate quotation.)
We discover that these aliens, called the San Ti, had found a way to escape their highly unstable planet and have been living in a fleet of spaceships in search of a new planet to colonise. Moreover, they have very advanced technologies that human science has only dreamed of. For instance, although it will take them four-hundred years to arrive on Earth, they can communicate instantaneously with whomever they choose by way of a quantum entwined proton computer they’ve tied to Earth. By virtue of this tech, they are essentially omniscient regarding human affairs, and even have the amazing ability to project images upon the retinas of any human being.
The plot structure places the main action in present day England. The San Ti are in direct contact with two people, the former Chinese dissident astrophysicist who invited them and a wealthy environmentalist (Mike Evans) who helped her build a community to receive and welcome the aliens when they arrive. Essentially, they are leaders of an aliens cult. They refer to the female voice with whom they are in contact as “the Lord,” and their references to the Lord resemble religious leaders so uncannily, it feels creepy.
Meanwhile, the San Ti have targeted a circle of very young, very successful scientists—who, we are told, are the most brilliant minds on Earth—hoping to recruit them to the cult to help pave the way to their arrival. (I’ve seen this group referred to online as “the Oxford five.”) Those who refuse to cooperate are murdered by agents from the cult who do the bidding of the Lord. Worth noting that these young scientists are the heroes of the story, and they embody the hope for humanity’s future both scientifically and morally.
The murders attract the attention of a homicide cop, alongside whom we discover more about the cult and the San Ti. But we are not limited to the detective’s point of view. The plot provides many angles that open up once he uncovers the tip of each iceberg.
The turning point occurs when Evans is engaged in reading the tale of “Little Red Riding Hood” to the Lord. Confused by the tale, the Lord asks for explanations. “Why did the little girl cooperate with the wolf?” It emerges that the San Ti understand neither lying nor make-believe. In attempting to explain that the tale is not true, Evans falters and gives the impression that storytelling is lying. The Lord concludes that “Little Red Riding Hood” is “a lie about a liar,” which amuses Evans and he agrees that in essence this is true. Upon being asked if he lies, Evans admits that he does sometimes. Consequently, the San Ti decide that they cannot coexist with humanity. The Lord says as much and cuts contact with Evans, abandoning the cult to destruction at the hands of ruthless authorities.
Another critical moment comes just prior when Evans tells the Lord that the authorities who are investigating him and the cult are inconsequential. He calls them “bugs,” something he has to explain to the aliens, since they don’t understand metaphor; “pests” he explains. At an ominous, high-tension moment, after the San Ti have announced themselves to humanity, they broadcast “You are bugs” on every screen in every private and public place, supposedly to demoralise the planet.
Our young heroes wonder whether it’s true that human beings are pests, and they even consider whether the arrival of the San Ti might be a good thing after all, since humanity is so evil. So what if humanity gets wiped out? is a sentiment with which they can get comfortable. Part of what drives this feeling is the brutality of Thomas Wade, the commander of the team charged with mounting a defence against the San Ti. His callous attack on the cult indiscriminately kills clueless, innocent folk, including children. This lack of scruples parallels the Chinese cultural revolutionaries, and alienates the Oxford five whom Wade has enlisted to help. Perhaps humanity is irredeemable after all. Perhaps the San Ti will be better.
Indeed, this is the sentiment expressed by Will Downing, the least successful of the most-brilliant bunch. Downing is dying of cancer, and is therefore chosen to send his brain to the aliens on some sort of recon mission. All this is Thomas Wade’s idea. He announces that all we are, are brains, so there’s no need for the body and its organs, which is all junk. This thinking is convenient since the goal will be to send the brain into space in a super-light-weight probe that they will accelerate to an impressive fraction of light speed so that it meets the aliens in only two-hundred years. Wade asks Downing to sign a document promising to remain loyal to humanity, to which Downing replies, “No. What if they’re better?”
Some analogy readers may recognise the pop-science tropes, especially the Club of Rome’s (and WEF’s) message that humanity is its own worst enemy, and ultimately. . . when you really think about it. . . a kind of vermin. Indeed, this ethic inspires and drives the story. According to the morality of science, human evil invites planetary disaster; and therefore humanity is a pest, deserving of annihilation. Furthermore, science is our only hope for salvation, and the most brilliant minds on the planet, those who will save humanity (if we’re worthy), are atheist scientists, who really are amazing, owing to their scientiphysizing brains. Their hearts are, of course, just blood pumps and the rest of the human organism is superfluous. (Stupid accidental Nature! lol.)
I’ve pointed out before that science culture retains the Christian doctrine of original sin (as selfism), and indulges millenarian fears in the form of looming climate disaster, our just punishment. In the case of The 3 Body Problem, our judgement day is brought about by superior aliens, who are likely better than us. Why are they better? Because they don’t lie. But there’s the rub. Stories are not lies, and Evans’s failure to explain that is key to the depressing metaphysical misunderstanding facing the sciency crowd today. In a previous article, I explained this issue with reference to Sam Harris, and concluded that the inability to understand the truth of fiction and myth is what cultured folk call (or used to call) “philistinism.” Far from being a lie, “Little Red Riding Hood” communicates truths about sexuality, innocence, curiosity, trust, predatory behaviour, and the fetishising of things novel (among other themes). In fact, the parallels between the San Ti and the wolf and between little red riding hood and the cult ought to trouble the worship of science in The 3 Body Problem. Is that why the writer(s) chose this story? (I have not read the book, so I can’t be precise here.) I might be mistaken, but the writers seem as oblivious to these analogies as Evans and the San Ti.
Moreover, recall how first contact in China gave the impression that the San Ti are very much capable of dissimulation. How do you get a pacifist working against the group, advising not to reply, unless the aliens do indeed enjoy an inner life? From whence the conscience? The implication is that the San Ti are, by and large, ruthless killers. But how would a pacifist come to this conclusion about his own kind without inward reflection? Meanwhile, the San Ti do tell stories, as we learn through one of the coolest elements of the series, a remarkably life-like, full-immersion VR headset that teaches the Oxford five about San Ti history and culture.
The inconsistencies make for an ethics at odds with (the fictional) realities. How can the San Ti be better? The series implies that they’re better because they’re more scientific; they’re not emotional because they have no inner world; and therefore they can’t lie. And unfortunately, they can’t tell stories, oops, but wait. . .
Now, I’m willing to forgive some major flaws in scripts, but this element is critical because it makes the authors seem oblivious to their own craft. It’s too central to the representation of the San Ti. How do they go about recruiting the Oxford five without insight into what will appeal to them psychologically? How do they come up with the psy-op of telling humanity they are bugs? Isn’t that a lie? How could they dream up a fleet of spacecrafts to save their civilisation without the ability to imagine things that don’t exist, i.e. lies? The metaphysics is shot.
The brilliant thing about authorial blind spots like this is that we may conclude that some classic psychological projection is afoot. The San Ti are the shadow image (or evil alter-ego) of TheScience™. They were summoned by science, and their threat will be overcome by science. It’s like science is shadow boxing its own demons. As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, the science cult tells us stories are lies and is unaware that it too tells stories. (How uncannily this is imagined into the Evans character, the sciency cult leader who cannot explain storytelling!)
Mainstream science today claims that humans are inherently selfish planet destroyers—burping, flatulating, climate change machines. And what’s more, our judgement is at hand. Also, all that’s important in terms of this ape body of ours is the brain. All other organs can rot, since really, it’s maintaining that gross body of ours that’s the source of most of the trouble in this world. In fact, of the brain, all we need is the left hemisphere, a pet subject here at analogy. I’m referring to neuroimaging scientist, Iain McGilchrist’s notion that our civilisation is turning out folk who behave like brain damaged individuals, madmen who “have lost everything but their reason.” This Hal 9000 persona is revered (surprise, surprise) by the brightest minds on planet Earth. (I have referred to this brain worship elsewhere as cerebramancy.)
So all these qualities are loaded into The 3 Body Problem, including the flimsy metaphysics. Most fascinating to a student of literature is how a well-told story gets away from itself to reveal its own Logos. In this case, TheScience™ is wrestling with its own devils, its inner world deprived of oxygen, where it has dressed humanity in an ugly metaphor, that of a pest in need of pest control. Worth remarking that this is a Dr. Mengele view: this was the scientific and objective treatment of Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, and the disabled under the Third Reich.
The 3 Body Problem is also a nerd’s revenge fantasy, like many super hero origin stories. Remember, the Chinese dissident who calls out to the aliens fully understands the potential disaster she is inviting. She does it out of rage and a megalomania born of impotence. She wants the aliens to hurt those who hurt her and destroyed her family, and she wants to be in a position to direct the powerful forces she conjures. She finds a friend in Evans because he too feels hurt and powerless to change the world. (As these science-invoked forces turn against them, I’m left wondering how many sci-fi stories are essentially riffs on Frankenstein.) Ultimately, I think The 3 Body Problem is sophisticated enough to transcend its own science-as-salvation hype, and surmount its many sci-fi influences by calling attention to its own flawed metaphysics.
That said, I don’t think the series functions that way socially. The general passive audience, who are largely believers in TheScience™, will view the show as a confirmation of their faith, a story that showcases their central doctrines. There is nothing in the Netflix series to really get one questioning at this level. Ideally, one of the heroes would have to raise these questions to get the ball rolling. But that’s not what we get. Instead, we get Downing telling us that “C. S. Lewis is a terrible writer,” which is pretty rich, considering how valuable Lewis’s writings are for understanding the inner world and for self-development. Where Lewis invites his readers to grow, The 3 Body Problem invites its viewership to worship TheScience™.
Asa Boxer’s poetry has garnered several prizes and is included in various anthologies around the world. His books are The Mechanical Bird (Signal, 2007), Skullduggery (Signal, 2011), Friar Biard’s Primer to the New World (Frog Hollow Press, 2013), Etymologies (Anstruther Press, 2016), Field Notes from the Undead (Interludes Press, 2018) and The Narrow Cabinet: A Zombie Chronicle (Guernica, 2022). Boxer is also the founder and editor of analogy magazine.
It sounds like the show reflects the misanthropy underlying the current zeitgeist. It used to be that science fiction would ultimately point us toward what makes us human, as when the terminator discovers the human heart beating inside his mechanical body. But now we get sci-fi that imagines the human heart itself is a fabrication, a lie. And yet as you illustrate, the inner world expresses itself whether we like it or not, and the show seems to be critiquing its own metaphysic, somewhere below the level of consciousness, as if the inner life out of which the story came is sending us an urgent warning. At the risk of sounding naive, I see this as a hopeful sign. The human spirit is revolting against our radical neglect of it, asserting itself, making itself known to us again.
Science and science fiction. I see this as a valuable comment on human habits understanding. We think of “Little Red Riding Hood” as a fairy tale, but you point to the truth value of its sobering themes. After all, such tales were once told to children to make them wary of friendly strangers, a very “woke” concern today, when some kids are not permitted to play outside lest they be snatched by predators. The fairy tale seems disturbingly pointed. Unseen dangers lurk.
We think of “science” as real, which means that it reveals unseen reality. The invisible world of science is a powerful force for control. “Science is real,” the virtue signalers remind us, eager to put “science” on the side of authority, their side. The virtuous tell us to obey. Only then will science save us from our selfish ways.
But as you point out, science is mysterious, contradictory, even confusing, its meaning easily reduced to what powerful people say. Masks are bad. Wait! Masks are good. Science is regarded as dogma and revealed truth. We are supposed to forget that science has its own hidden dangers and is open to error and mystification. Phrenology was very popular in the United States because it proposed a scientific explanation for individual difference and promised to correct social disorder, which it failed to do, even though most advocates of the science were among the elite. Sounds familiar. Now phrenology is a pseudo-science. There are plenty examples of one era’s science becoming another era’s joke.