Octavia Butler's Survival Guide for Failed States
In Parable of the Sower and its sequel, Parable of the Talents, Octavia Butler presented a bizarrely prescient image of America's decline- and some thoughts on how it might be salvaged
[Spoilers will be contained herein, so if you haven’t read the books and plan to, you should read them and come back to this post. And you should read them.]
Last September, Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower reached the New York Times Bestseller List for the first time since it was published in 1993.
The politics surrounding the book’s sudden resurgence are complicated, and I will discuss them in a separate post, because the book and its sequel, Parable of the Talents, deserve a detailed discussion on their own merits, and my goal here is to analyze a bit of the political economy of this series and its philosophy, because there is so much to discuss here. Butler was a careful, researched thinker, and the series has a lot to say about the way belief systems form, how societies decay and how they emerge.
The Parable novels describe an America in the early 21st century that has declined as a result of the same social, environmental and political crises that were occurring in the ‘90s when the novel was written, with the simple assumption that they were allowed to fester and spread over the course of the intermittent thirty years between the novel’s writing and its imagined future. Cuts to the social safety net, a gutted and eventually retired public education system (a majority of Americans in Butler’s 2024 are illiterate), skyrocketing inequality, widespread drug abuse and runaway climate change have led to a society plagued by desperate poverty, premodern diseases, extremist religious and political ideologies, violent crime, exploitation to the point of the return of chattel slavery, and no sense of purpose or national unity. The rich have abandoned society, while the middle class have had to turn their neighborhoods into gated communities with walls and laser defense systems, but otherwise have tried to maintain a delusional sense of normalcy. People disappearing on their way to work become an increasingly common phenomenon, with pieces of their bodies turning up, killed by gangs, or cannibals, or by senseless, directionless individuals for no reason at all. Technology is used to pacify people- Butler predicts VR headsets (though she calls them Dreamasks), entertainment devices people use to escape their miserable reality, and more advanced forms of virtual reality depressed and bored rich people become utterly addicted to. A less subtle (and thankfully as yet unrealized) technology of control are slave collars, shock collars used to “lash” people with unspeakably painful electrical bursts when they misbehave their masters. She also predicts the way desperate times lead to fascism- detailing the rise of a far right evangelical president with the slogan “Make America Great Again” (another reason this series regained traction in 2020).
In one of these gated communities we see this world through the eyes of a teenager named Lauren Oya Olamina. The daughter of a Baptist priest and a “sharer”, possessing a disabling “hyperempathy” where she literally feels the pain and pleasure of others in her own body (inherited as a genetic defect due to her mother’s drug addiction). Through her diary entries she explains this world, her family, her community, and a religion she develops called Earthseed. Earthseed- which has more in common with Taoism than any Abrahamic religion- has two core premises- 1) the only universal constant is change; therefore, god is not a being, but the fact of change itself and 2) humans can’t avoid change, but they can shape it, and it is the destiny of the species to “take root among the stars,” spreading life to alien worlds. Olamina explains that Earthseed’s doctrine is only a set of observed truths about the world, a framework to understand the nature of reality so we can set about the work of bringing about this Destiny, to colonize space.
There is such a keen, common sense approach to both the downfall of American society in this particular dystopia, and to how a popular social movement might be built to reconstruct it. It’s not a blueprint, per se- Butler is careful to maintain skepticism toward her own heroine’s ideology, to question her fanaticism and willingness to sacrifice the lives of her friends and loved ones to it. This skepticism is communicated through almost every character who encounters it, and to her credit, Olamina welcomes skepticism and critical discussion of her worldview.
In Parable of the Talents, Butler has a lovely scene where Olamina’s brother Marcus attempts to refute Earthseed to a group of her followers with a Baptist sermon. Her followers offer mostly gentle, but pointed arguments against the Christian god (if this god changes his mind, then is he not also subordinate to change?), and her brother, expecting to have the totalitarian power of a priest, who’s flock accepts their analysis without question and basks in their mindless approval, is utterly unprepared for the dialogue. It’s a nice little motif illustrating the potency of democracy- the idea that through mature, critical discussion and debate, ideas can be narrowed down and honed to their best forms, and poor ones that demagogues might run away with can be quickly discarded. But it also embraces the idea of a focused ideology- people need some unifying values, and they need to share faith in some massive, constructive project beyond themselves and their immediate wellbeing to create a strong, purposeful movement. Butler suspects, I think rightly, that a positive, constructive revolutionary movement like this is necessary to carry people out of bad times, giving them the tools- ethics, community, purpose- to help themselves. The basis of organization, and therefore of prosperity and justice, is this basic framework of shared beliefs. Further, there is the idea that it is necessary to hold onto ideas we believe to be true no matter how hopeless our situation becomes, because as long as an idea (much like a seed) survives, there is always the potential for it to take root and spread.
Because the book follows Earthseed from its beginnings as an idea in a child’s mind, to a nascent cult smashed under the heel of a fascist president, and ultimately a massive organization with schools, orphanages, and communities all over the world, exercising substantial political influence if not actually controlling world governments (it’s never made clear exactly how powerful Earthseed becomes, except that it can afford to launch space shuttles), we see how Butler envisions the formation of movements on a molecular level. Olamina wins adherents one by one, by face to face discussion and by the example of her actions and her sheer refusal to set her beliefs aside. Earthseed communities take in children, offer education and protection, and later on even fund scientific research. They demonstrate the value of their ideas in practice.
There is an important core message here. In a way, it feels like Olamina, who is doubtless largely a reflection of Butler herself (a tall, plain-looking black woman who loves to write about big ideas), is a statement by Butler of the value of her own voice. Olamina is unique in not settling for adopting someone else’s worldview, but rather constructing her own, one that feels true to her and is developed to respond to the particular personal and global crises of her time. It is the product of common sense, an honest and objective appraisal of the observable world. Her god is not worshipped or loved, and it does not love back- it simply exists, a mindless fact of reality, no different from gravity or energy, but superior to them. There is something empowering about this belief system- change is inevitable, but it can be shaped, and it is incumbent upon us to do so, to participate in determining the course of our own lives, and those of our communities.
If there is a mistake in the formulation of this character, I do believe it lies in the ultimately authoritarian nature of Olamina’s character. In an interview at the end of my copy of Talents, Butler explains how she had to change her thinking on power to write the character sympathetically (emphasis added):
I hadn’t liked Olamina when I began Parable of the Sower because in order for her to do what she was bound to do, she had to be a power-seeker and it took me a long time to get over the idea that anyone seeking power probably shouldn’t have it.
The problem, of course, is I think Butler’s original assessment was correct. There is a criticism of the corrupting nature of power, but it feels like an afterthought when applied to Olamina, who’s story is after all ultimately that of a leader’s rise to power. We see it in others- particularly Olamina’s brother Marcus, who goes from slave to hardline Christian pastor for the fascist Christian America organization, even after learning it held Olamina and her community in brutal slavery and separated her from her daughter. Somehow, though, Olamina is thought to be above this corrupting influence. There is no detailing of how Earthseed might be dirtying its hands in the process of rising to power. Olamina’s daughter Asha does maintain a heavy skepticism towards her mother- and this suspicious mother-daughter relationship is one of the most interesting and unfortunately underexplored aspects of the novel.
Much of Talents is written in Asha’s voice, and she has a very complex but ultimately skeptical outlook on her mother, loving her on some level but also recognizing her ability to manipulate people and bring them under her spell. Upon first meeting her (having been separated from her as an infant), Asha explains:
I wanted to get away from her. She was one of those people who sucked you in, made you like her, and only then let you see what she might really be like. She had millions of people convinced they were going to fly off to the stars. How much money had she taken from them while they waited for the ship to Alpha Centauri?
This skepticism is the closest the book comes to a really substantive critique of Olamina and of Earthseed, but it leaves us hints of where her religion may have fallen short: how much does Earthseed really accomplish? Has it done much to improve the world we see in the book; has it restored integrity to the political process, repaired the education system and cared for the poor? Has it empowered people to take control of their own lives? Or, in its race to achieve its heady goal, has it sacrificed its values and become complicit in the exploitation that gave rise to earth’s problems in the first place? Is it, as Christianity is portrayed in the series, a limiting ideology made for a desperate time, and which can only take people so far before it becomes a hindrance to progress? Has anyone been forced to adopt its doctrine against their will?
These questions are unanswered- not that Butler didn’t intend to answer them, but plans for a third novel in the series were cut short by her premature death, so we are left to speculate. But I would like to focus on a particularly thoughtful passage from Parable of the Talents:
There seem to be solid biological reasons why we are they way we are. If there weren’t, the cycles wouldn’t keep replaying. The human species is a kind of animal, of course. But we can do something no other animal species has ever had the option to do. We can choose: We can go on building and destroying until we either destroy ourselves or destroy the ability of our world to sustain us. Or we can make something more of ourselves. We can grow up. We can leave the nest. We can fulfill the Destiny, make homes for ourselves among the stars, and become some combination of what we want to become and whatever our new environments challenge us to become. Our new worlds will remake us as we remake them. And some of the new people who emerge from all this will develop new ways to cope. They’ll have to. That will break the old cycle, even if it’s only to begin a new one, a different one.
Earthseed is about preparing to fulfill the Destiny. It’s about learning to live in partnership with one another in small communities, and at the same time, working out a sustainable partnership with our environment. It’s about treating education and adaptability as the absolute essentials that they are.
As a libertarian socialist, there is so much about Earthseed that seems intuitive to me. The idea that one’s relationship to one’s environment and one’s relationship to other people are deeply interconnected. The idea that we have to take responsibility for our own part in changing the course of our lives and of history, and that we must be educated to effectively do so. This is an empowered ideology, one in which its adherents have the power to act out their own ideas of right and wrong- else they don’t really have the ability to shape change at all. What other religion gives you the power to actually influence god, not merely beg him to take pity on you? Of course it is a fictional religion and thus it lacks clarity, and much of its ethical system is only gestured at. Ultimately, I disagree with the idea of a religion at all, even one without a sentient god, or the idea that humanity’s “destiny” should be dictated to it (if we can shape change, this implies we do have free will, and if that’s true, how can we have any foretold “destiny”?) The fact that Olamina appears to take up the role of a sort of Earthseed Dalai Lama, an apparent leader who decides the direction of the organization (a “power-seeker” as Butler called her), suggests some contradiction. I wonder if, had Butler been aware that non-hierarchical systems were possible and had existed in real life, she might have written the later parts of the series differently.
Nevertheless, there are some fundamental things these books suggest that I believe we should take into account as we look to organize a mass movement. The need to cooperate, the need to come together and work out an ethical system and a plan to which we devote ourselves so that our action can be focused. Even the idea of decentralization, which the book endorses by way of showing how Olamina’s attempt at starting a base for Earthseed was doomed to fail by the inevitable encroachment of a stronger power (reminding us of so many failed communes and libertarian experiments of the past that got too big for their own good, yet not big enough to protect themselves). Instead she ultimately relies on the decentralized dissemination of her writings to be taken and built on by communities scattered all over the world, leading her to travel all over the globe talking to one small group after another. This reminds me a bit of Bakunin, traveling from country to country spreading the message of anarchy to anyone who would have him, recognizing the need for a mass movement spreading across the whole globe. If a movement is ever to rise from the ashes of capitalism’s failures, it must be global, it must be voluntarily associated, and it must address the deep needs of people, on a spiritual and philosophical as well as material level. One hopes, as the book is rediscovered by a new generation, some of its lessons are heeded.