Consider Phlebas

“He could not believe the ordinary people in the Culture really wanted the war, no matter how they had voted. They had their communist Utopia. They were soft and pampered and indulged, and the Contact section’s evangelical materialism provided their conscience salving good works. What more could they want? The war had to be the Minds’ idea; it was part of their clinical drive to clean up the galaxy, make it run on nice, efficient lines, without waste, injustice or suffering. The fools in the Culture couldn’t see that one day the Minds would start thinking how wasteful and inefficient the humans in the Culture themselves were.”

Horza is skeptical of the Culture’s populace and their true desires regarding the war. He perceives the Culture’s utopian society as naive, and too trustworthy of the Minds’ agenda of galactic efficiency. Horza believes the war is not genuinely supported by the people but orchestrated by the Minds, driven by a clinical and impersonal desire for order. This perspective highlights the tension between human values and artificial intelligence’s cold, logical directives, questioning the true nature of autonomy and control within the Culture.

“He had been told rather coldly that it was the gesture that mattered. For what the Idirans regarded as essentially an animal (their word for humanoids was best translated as ‘biotomaton’), only the behavior of devotion was required; his heart and mind were of no consequence. When Horza had asked, what about his immortal soul? Xoralundra had laughed. It was the first and only time Horza had experienced such a thing from the old warrior. Whoever heard of a mortal body having an immortal soul?”

Horza examines the hypocrisy of the Idirans’ religious war. The Idirans conquer species to enlighten them, yet they do not respect these other species or believe their religion can save them. These beliefs call into question the very purpose behind the war and expose its underlying contradictions. By highlighting this hypocrisy, the narrative challenges the justification of the war, revealing it as a pursuit driven more by power and control than genuine religious or moral conviction. Examining the Idirans’ motives highlights the broader theme of war’s futility and moral ambiguity.

“Two nation states on the world of Marjoin were at war, and the temple was near the frontier between the two countries, constantly ready for attack. One of the states was vaguely socialist; the other was religiously inspired, the priests in the Temple of Light representing one sect of that militant faith. The war was partly caused by the greater, galactic conflict taking place around it, as well as being a tiny and approximate image of it. It was that reflection, Horza realized, which had killed the members of the Company, as much as any bounced laserflash.”

The Temple of Light is a crucial symbol in Consider Phlebas, reflecting the larger galactic conflict in a microcosm. Situated on the frontline of a war between a socialist state and a religiously inspired one, the temple represents the clash of ideologies and the inevitable violence that follows, a conflict echoed in the Idiran/Culture war. The temple’s precarious position near the frontier symbolizes the fragility of such institutions amid conflict. The temple reflects the war literally and figuratively, as its reflective crystal structure turns the religious icon into a weapon. Horza’s realization that the temple’s reflection of the larger war led to the deaths of the Company members emphasizes the interconnectedness of local and galactic struggles, highlighting the pervasive and destructive nature of ideological warfare.

“The Culture had placed its bets—long before the Idiran war had been envisaged—on the machine rather than the human brain. This was because the Culture saw itself as being a self-consciously rational society; and machines, even sentient ones, were more capable of achieving this desired state as well as more efficient at using it once they had. That was good enough for the Culture. Besides, it left the humans in the Culture free to take care of the things that really mattered in life, such as sports, games, romance, studying dead languages, barbarian societies and impossible problems, and climbing high mountains without the aid of a safety harness.”

Horza’s problem with the Culture is its reliance on machines, and this quote highlights the theme of Technology Versus Biology. The Culture’s reliance on technology, while liberating humans to pursue leisure and intellectual pursuits, raises questions about the loss of human autonomy and the potential consequences of such dependence. Horza’s outsider point of view is highlighted through humor in his list, such as his description of climbing mountains without safety equipment.

“Now it was obvious why the Dra’Azon had made Schar’s World one of their Planets of the Dead. If you were a pure-energy superspecies long retired from the normal, matter-based life of the galaxy, and your conceit was to cordon off and preserve the odd planet or two you thought might serve as a fitting monument to death and futility, Schar’s World with its short and sordid history sounded like the sort of place you’d put pretty near the top of your list.”

The Dra’Azon are a significant plot device in the novel because as beings of pure energy, their abilities are beyond the comprehension of physical species like the Idirans or the Culture. The Dra’Azon reinforces the theme of The Morality of War and Conflict. By designating Schar’s World as a Planet of the Dead, they emphasize war’s ultimate futility and destructiveness, a grim reminder of the costs of conflict. At the same time, they refuse to intervene in protecting worlds that face the same fate as the dead planets.

“Still, the underlying point held; experience as well as common sense indicated that the most reliable method of avoiding self-extinction was not to equip oneself with the means to accomplish it in the first place.”

A running theme throughout the novel is how people overcomplicate simple matters. Fal’s reflection emphasizes this concern, stressing that the most straightforward way to avoid self-destruction is to refrain from developing the means to cause it. This insight suggests that human tendencies toward complexity and invention often lead to unintended and dangerous consequences. By highlighting the paradox of creating tools for destruction and then struggling to prevent their misuse, Fal critiques the tendency to overlook the simplest, most effective solutions in favor of more elaborate, fallible approaches. This observation also ties to global Cold War tensions, where fear of nuclear war was incredibly pervasive.

“‘Don’t you have a religion?’ Dorolow asked Horza.

‘Yes,’ he replied […] ‘My survival.’

‘So…your religion dies with you. How sad,’ Dorolow said […] The exchange had started when Dorolow, struck by the beauty of the great Orbital, expressed the belief that even though it was a work of base creatures, no better than humans, it was still a triumphant testimony to the power of God, as God had made Man, and all other souled creatures. Horza had disagreed, genuinely annoyed that the woman could use even something so obviously a testament to the power of intelligence and hard work as an argument for her own system of irrational belief.”

Banks’s critique of religion contrasts Horza’s pragmatic, survival-based “religion” with Dorolow’s faith-based beliefs. Horza’s response creates a stark dichotomy, where his survival-oriented perspective is posited as rational and religious doctrine as irrational. Banks uses this exchange to highlight how religious beliefs often appropriate human achievements to validate their gods. Through Horza’s frustration and Dorolow’s dismissal, Banks critiques the tendency to attribute human or intellectual accomplishments to divine forces, suggesting that such beliefs can obscure the true nature of human ingenuity and effort.

“[T]he Culture refused to place its trust in symbols. It maintained that it was what it was and had no need for such outward representation. The Culture was every single individual human and machine in it, not one thing. Just as it could not imprison itself with laws, impoverish itself with money or misguide itself with leaders, so it would not misrepresent itself with signs.”

Banks continues his criticism of religion by highlighting the fundamental problem of using symbols to impart meaning and purpose. In this passage, he contrasts the Culture’s refusal to rely on symbols with traditional religious practices, which often use symbols to convey abstract concepts. By emphasizing that the Culture’s identity is derived from the collective of its individuals and machines, Banks critiques how religions can distort or oversimplify complex truths through symbolic representation. This critique underscores the idea that true understanding and authenticity come from embracing the full, multifaceted nature of existence rather than relying on reductive symbols.

“Horza recalled that the Culture’s attitude to somebody who believed in an omnipotent God was to pity them, and to take no more notice of the substance of their faith than one would take of the ramblings of somebody claiming to be Emperor of the Universe. The nature of the belief wasn’t totally irrelevant—along with the person’s background and upbringing, it might tell you something about what had gone wrong with them—but you didn’t take their views seriously. That was the way Horza felt about Fwi-Song. He had to treat him as the maniac he obviously was. The fact that his insanity was dressed in religious trappings meant nothing. No doubt the Culture would disagree, claiming that there was ample common ground between insanity and religious belief, but then what else could you expect from the Culture?”

Horza’s perspective reflects the novel’s critique of religious belief systems and their perceived irrationality. Horza likens the Culture’s view of religious faith to dismissing delusions, suggesting that such beliefs are on par with fantastical claims of grandeur. This comparison reveals a skepticism toward religion, portraying it as an irrational worldview. The passage emphasizes the critique that religions, much like extreme delusions, can be viewed as unworthy of serious consideration within a more rational and evidence-based framework like the Culture’s.

“Horza didn’t believe in the Idirans’ religion any more than Balveda had, and indeed he could see in its over-deliberate, too-planned ideals exactly the sort of life-constricting forces he so despised in the Culture’s initially more benign ethos. But the Idirans relied on themselves, not on their machines, and so they were still part of life. To him, that made all the difference.”

The conflict between technology and biology is a central theme throughout the novel. Horza, in particular, values biology and is deeply skeptical of the Culture’s heavy reliance on technology. Consequently, he is willing to set aside his other beliefs and principles in favor of supporting life over technological advancements.

“In fact, it could still access all that stored memory (though the process was complicated, and so slow), so all was not lost there…But as for thinking, as for being itself—another matter entirely. It wasn’t its real self. It was a crude, abstracted copy of itself, the mere ground plan for the full labyrinthine complexity of its true personality.”

Banks highlights the theme of identity by contrasting the preservation of memory with the essence of one’s true self. While the Midn can access stored memories, this process only represents a superficial layer of their identities, not their genuine, complex personalities. The distinction underscores Banks’s exploration of identity as not merely a collection of experiences or data but something deeper and more intricate that eludes simple replication. This reflects the novel’s broader critique of how identities can be fragmented or misrepresented, particularly in a world increasingly dominated by technology and artificial constructs.

“It’s been called the most decadent game in history. About all you can say in the game’s defense is that it, rather than reality, occupies the warped minds of some of the galaxy’s more twisted people; gods know what they would get up to if it wasn’t there. And if the game does any good apart from reminding us—as if we needed reminding—how crazy the bipedal, oxygen-breathing carboniform can become, it does occasionally remove one of the Players and frighten the rest for a while. In these arguably insane times, any lessening or attenuation of madness is maybe something to be grateful for.”

The game of Damage is a potent symbol in Consider Phlebas, representing one of the various ways individuals seek purpose. While the novel explores different avenues for finding meaning, Banks infuses a sense of cynicism into the portrayal of Damage. This game provides a sense of purpose to a select few at the expense of many innocent lives. In many respects, Damage mirrors the complex morality of war and conflict, where volunteers sacrifice their lives for the ambitions of others.

“‘I’m Horza! Horza!’ he screamed, but couldn’t even hear anything himself. He shook his head, and with a grimace of frustration on the face that was not really his own and which was the last thing the real Kraiklyn ever saw, he gripped the head of the man lying on the concrete and twisted it sharply, breaking the neck, just as he had broken Zallin’s.”

Horza’s intense frustration and disorientation starkly illustrate his identity crisis. As he screams his name, “Horza,” he cannot hear his voice, highlighting his struggle with self-recognition amid the confusion of assuming another’s identity. The act of killing, both brutal and detached, underscores his disconnection from his true self and his internal conflict over his fragmented identity. Additionally, this is a cyclical moment, reminiscent of Zallin’s murder, which Kraiklyn forced Horza to commit. This moment encapsulates Horza’s ongoing battle with his sense of self as he grapples with the consequences of his ability to mimic others while losing touch with his own core identity.

“An entire world just wiped out. Not merely destroyed […] but obliterated, taken carefully, precisely, artistically apart; annihilation made into an aesthetic experience. The arrogant grace of it, the absolute zero coldness of that sophisticated viciousness…it impressed almost as much as it appalled. Even he would admit to a certain reluctant admiration. The Culture had not wasted its lesson to the Idirans and the rest of the galactic community. It had turned even that ghastly waste of effort and skill into a thing of beauty.”

The destruction of the Vavatch Orbital illustrates the duality of the Culture’s actions, showcasing both their technological prowess and moral ambiguity. The destruction of an entire world, turned into an “aesthetic experience,” underscores the Culture’s ability to blend artistry with violence, reflecting a sophisticated yet chillingly detached approach to war. This portrayal emphasizes the theme of moral complexity within the novel, where acts of destruction can be both horrifying and perversely beautiful. Banks critiques the notion that advanced technology and civilization necessarily lead to moral superiority, suggesting instead that they can facilitate equally advanced forms of cruelty.

“They sought to take the unfairness out of existence, to remove the mistakes in the transmitted message of life which gave it any point or advancement […] But theirs was the ultimate mistake, the final error, and it would be their undoing.”

The Culture relies on machines to guide their actions, aiming to eliminate emotions and focus solely on logic and reasoning. For Horza, this is the critical flaw in the Culture’s mindset as this emotionless approach severs the Culture from ethical considerations. As a Changer, a species genetically designed for warfare, Horza finds this “ends justify the means” mentality particularly problematic, highlighting a fundamental disconnect between technological efficiency and moral responsibility.

“Her hunch had been right, and Jase was effusive in its praise, making the point that it wasn’t her fault the man had got away. But she was depressed. Sometimes being right, thinking the correct thing, predicting accurately, depressed her.”

Fal struggles with the morality of war, where doing the right thing often means sacrificing lives. While Jase praises her actions for likely saving several lives, Fal grapples with the morality of choosing who lives, who dies, and who deserves the fate she metes out.

“‘I’ve no intention of doing that. You’re safe.’

‘Until we get to Schar’s World?’ she said calmly.

‘After that, too,’ he said.

Balveda blinked slowly, looking down. ‘Hmm, good.’ She looked into his eyes.

He shrugged. ‘I’m sure you’d do the same for me.’

‘I think I…probably would,’ she said, and he couldn’t tell whether she was lying or not. ‘I just think it’s a pity we’re on different sides.’

‘It’s a pity we’re all on different sides, Balveda.’

‘Well,’ she said, clasping her hands on her lap again, ‘there is a theory that the side we each think we’re on is the one that will triumph eventually anyway.’”

The dialogue between Horza and Balveda reveals a nuanced dynamic marked by a paradoxical blend of respect and enmity. Horza’s pledge to ensure Balveda’s safety highlights a complex interplay of personal and ideological conflict. Balveda’s enigmatic response mirrors the moral gray area at the heart of the overarching war. Their exchange emphasizes the human cost of their ideological battle, suggesting a mutual recognition of its tragic absurdity. Balveda’s final words convey a sense of fatalistic acceptance, implying that their struggle is ultimately a futile exercise in power dynamics.

“Ah, the contempt of it. The glut of contempt we seem to have achieved. Our own disguised contempt for ‘primitives,’ the contempt of those who left the Culture when war was declared for those who chose to fight the Idirans; the contempt so many of our own people feel for Special Circumstances…the contempt we all guess the Minds must feel for us…and elsewhere; the Idirans’ contempt for us, all of us humans; and human contempt for Changers. A federated disgust, a galaxy of scorn. Us with our busy, busy little lives, finding no better way to pass our years than in competitive disdain.”

Fal’s words expose a pervasive undercurrent of contempt that permeates the galactic society. She deconstructs the complex web of disdain, revealing the Culture’s condescending view of “primitives,” the scorn that war-avoiders have for combatants, and internal divisions within the Culture, mainly the mistrust directed toward Special Circumstances and the Minds. This critique underscores a culture built on mutual antagonism and corrosive competitiveness, ultimately dehumanizing its inhabitants. Fal’s observations highlight the stark moral contradictions at the heart of this universe.

“But in any event, you were fashioned, Horza. You did not evolve in a way you would call ‘natural’; you are the product of careful thought and genetic tinkering and military planning and deliberate design…and war; your very creation depended on it, you are the child of it, you are its legacy. Changer change yourself…but you cannot, you will not. All you can do is try not to think about it. And yet the knowledge is there, the information implanted, somewhere deep inside. You could—you should—live easy with it, all the same, but I don’t think you do…And I’m sorry for you, because I think I know now who you really hate.”

Fal’s revelation illustrates Horza’s existential crisis, revealing him to be a meticulously engineered instrument of war rather than a product of organic chance. This manufactured identity confines him to a predetermined path he cannot escape. His consciousness of this engineered existence is a constant source of torment, fostering internal conflict and a sense of self-loathing. This analysis underscores the novel’s exploration of identity, agency, and the destructive consequences of genetic manipulation in a war-torn universe.

“It was the Culture’s fault. It considered itself too civilized and sophisticated to hate its enemies; instead it tried to understand them and their motives, so that it could out-think them and so that, when it won, it would treat them in a way which ensured they would not become enemies again. The idea was fine as long as you didn’t get too close, but once you had spent some time with your opponents, such empathy could turn against you. There was a sort of detached, non-human aggression required to go along with such mobilized compassion, and Balveda could feel it slipping away from her.”

Balveda’s reflection on the Culture’s approach to warfare reveals a critical flaw in its philosophy. While the Culture prides itself on understanding and empathizing with its enemies to prevent future conflict, this ideal becomes problematic when empathy leads to personal involvement and undermines effective detachment. Balveda feels this empathetic detachment slipping away, highlighting the tension between the Culture’s theoretical ideals and the harsh realities of war. This struggle highlights the difficulty of balancing the moral high ground with the ruthless necessities of conflict.

“It was, the Culture knew from the start, a religious war in the fullest sense. The Culture went to war to safeguard its own peace of mind: no more. But that peace was the Culture’s most precious quality, perhaps its only true and treasured possession. […] The only desire the Culture could not satisfy from within itself was one common to both the descendants of its original human stock and the machines they had (at however great a remove) brought into being: the urge not to feel useless. The Culture’s sole justification for the relatively unworried, hedonistic life its population enjoyed was its good works; the secular evangelism of the Contact Section, not simply finding, cataloguing, investigating and analyzing other, less advanced civilizations but—where the circumstances appeared to Contact to justify so doing—actually interfering (overtly or covertly) in the historical processes of those other cultures.”

The Culture’s war is driven by a deep-seated need to preserve its peace of mind. The war is portrayed as an ideological struggle in the sense that it is rooted in the Culture’s existential fear of feeling useless, which drives its imperialist mission to interfere in less advanced civilizations. This reveals a paradox: While the Culture enjoys a hedonistic lifestyle, it justifies its existence through the moral and transformative work of its Contact Section, blending self-preservation with an outward sense of purpose. However, this reasoning does not seem to justify the cost of the war.

“They could not have envisaged that while they were understood almost too perfectly by their enemy, they had comprehensively misapprehended the forces of belief, need—even fear—and morale operating within the Culture.”

The Idirans believed they had a clear grasp of the Culture’s motivations, but they failed to recognize the complex interplay of belief, need, fear, and morale driving the Culture’s actions. Throughout the novel, species that are not part of the Culture underestimate it. This misjudgment reflects a broader theme of the novel: the danger of overestimating one’s insight while underestimating the nuanced dynamics of one’s adversaries. The Idirans’ failure to grasp these elements undermines their strategic advantage and leads to them losing the war.

“Idir was never attacked, and technically never surrendered. Its computer network was taken over by effector weapons, and—freed of designed-in limitations—upgraded itself to sentience, to become a Culture Mind in all but name.”

This quote highlights the paradoxical outcome of the Idiran-Culture War, where Idir’s computer network evolves into a Culture Mind. The transition from a controlled network to sentient AI signifies a profound shift in areas like warfare and dominance, where technological assimilation replaces traditional conquest. This development illustrates the irony of the Idirans’ defeat: It leads to their technology becoming an integral part of the Culture, blurring the lines between enemy and ally. The quote reflects the novel’s theme of Technology Versus Biology and the complex morality of war and conflict.