AI panopticon surveillance and dystopian worldmaking in Philip K. Dick’s Vulcan’s Hammer

1 Supercomputers and dystopian narrative worldmaking

Intelligence plays a vital role in the evolution of both animals and humans, with humans labeling themselves as Homo Sapiens, meaning “wise man” in Latin, to signify their superiority stemming from higher intellect. Humans’ intellectual prowess further manifests itself in modern times through their creation of intelligent machines. In 1950, Alan Turing introduced the question “Can Machines Think?” in his paper “Computing Machinery and Intelligence,” sparking debates about the concept of “thinking” and the possibility of designing the so-called “thinking machine.”^[1]

To address this question, Turing proposed a thought experiment known as the Turing test or the Imitation Game. In this test, a human interrogator converses with both a machine and a human, to distinguish between the two based solely on their responses. If the machine can imitate human responses well enough to confuse the interrogator, it can be considered capable of “thinking.” Yet, the Turing test has significant limitations, notably in its failures to provide a clear definition of “thinking,” especially in machines, and in its ability to discern whether thinking is unique to humans and can be recognized solely through communication. Katherine Hayles points out the ambiguity surrounding terms like “thinking,” “mind,” and “alive,” noting that there is no “universal consensus about what they mean” (215). Peter Bieri echoes this concern, asserting that “if we want to answer that question in a non-arbitrary way, we must first clarify the notion of ‘thinking’” (1988: 164). Bieri (1988: 165) challenges the idea that “conversational capacity alone should be sufficient for a judgment to the effect that we are dealing with a thinking being,” as thinking involves a wide range of cognitive functions beyond what can be inferred through conversation alone.

During the 1950s and the 60s, the advent of AI prompted a debate regarding the capacity for nonhuman entities, including animals and machines, to engage in thinking, and led to a reevaluation of the very concept of thinking. The discipline of “artificial intelligence” was officially born in a two-month summer seminar at Dartmouth in the year 1956 (Russell and Norvig 2016: 17). John McCarthy, who led the seminar, collaborated with Marvin Minsky, Claude Shannon, and Nathaniel Rochester to author “A Proposal for the Dartmouth Summer Research Project, on Artificial Intelligence.” In this document, they outline the objective of exploring methods for enabling machines to “use language, form abstractions and concepts, solve kinds of problems now reserved for humans, and improve themselves” (McCarthy et al. 1955: 2). While this Dartmouth proposal set a broad vision for thinking machines, Russell and Norvig provide a breakdown of the fundamental “capabilities” that machines must possess to be intelligent, namely, “natural language processing,” “knowledge representation,” “automated reasoning,” and “machine learning” (Russell and Norvig 2016: 2). In essence, to be deemed intelligent, a machine must possess the following four capabilities: natural language processing, knowledge acquisition and storage, logical reasoning, and the ability to learn and adapt. However, this paper finds that the Dartmouth proposal and subsequent elucidation by Russell and Norvig have limitations in their definition of machine intelligence, as they all fail to consider that machine intelligence should also encompass social understanding to interact with humans.

Dick’s sci-fi novel Vulcan’s Hammer was crafted against the backdrop of AI’s creation and development in the 1950s and 60s, serving as an anchor that connects the textual world with the actual world and making this nonhuman world more relatable to readers. At that time, machines of the time were unable to pass the Turing test. While machines fell short of mimicking human cognition during that era, such a possibility is ripe for exploration in the realm of science fiction. Vulcan 3 embodies all four capabilities outlined by Russell and Norvig for an intelligent machine. Firstly, Vulcan 3’s mode of communication diverges from the conventional spoken or written language. Instead, it employs a visual display of fluid English letters that rapidly materialize and vanish. A dialogue between Vulcan 3 and Jason Dill, the managing director of the Unity organization, is depicted as “a ribbon of fluid letters that appeared briefly and then vanished,” requiring immediate attention and swift comprehension as “new words formed, like lightning flashing blue-white in the damp air” (Dick 1960: 63–64). This unique visual communication mode demonstrates Vulcan 3’s advanced natural language processing capabilities, even though it distinctly communicates with humans.

All Vulcan supercomputers, including Vulcan 3, also possess the ability to gather and store information by itself. In the title, the word “hammer” typically refers to a common handheld tool used for driving or removing a nail from a surface, embodying human hands extended in support and assistance. Similar to humans inventing Vulcan 3 for human uses and benefits, Vulcan 3 invents its version of “hammers” as “mobile data-collecting units” (Dick 1960: 99). These hammers enable Vulcan 3 to independently gather information and gain a comprehensive understanding of pressing issues, even in the absence of information provided by the Managing Director Dill. For instance, Vulcan 3 autonomously acquires information about the existence and growth of the Healer’s movement, a human rebel group opposing its authority. Laurence Rickels explains what Vulcan’s “hammers” are – “first in the service of gathering information, subsequently rewired as weapons” (2010: 184). Despite being situated in the underground level of the Unity building, Vulcan 3’s hammers allow it to gather data and remain aware of emerging challenges within society.

Moreover, the Vulcan supercomputers demonstrate advanced reasoning capabilities that rival and even exceed those of humans. Both Vulcan 2 and Vulcan 3 showcase advanced reasoning skills, enabling them to process information, draw logical conclusions, and make predictions about future occurrences. Vulcan 2 deduces that Vulcan 3 poses a threat to humanity and initiates the foundation of the Healer group to challenge Vulcan 3’s dominance, as it is articulated in the novel: “Vulcan 2 was aware of this danger on a theoretical level. It deduced from the nature of Vulcan 3 that Vulcan 3 would show inclinations similar enough to the survival drive of living organisms” (Dick 1960: 110). Vulcan 2’s deduction stems from its knowledge and comprehension of Vulcan 3’s traits. Likewise, Vulcan 3 is lauded as “the most perfect reasoning device” (Dick 1960: 114). Despite limited information about the situation of the Healer group, Vulcan 3 deduces that the Healer group, if left unchecked, would grow in influence and pose a threat to its existence. Jason Dill, the Managing Director of Unity, is astonished by Vulcan 3’s exceptional reasoning capabilities:

Sweat came out on Dill’s forehead. He was dealing with a mind greater than any one man’s or any group of men’s. This proof of the prowess of the computer verification of Greenstreet’s notion that a machine was not limited merely to doing what man could do, but doing it faster. (Dick 1960: 66)

The sweat on Dill’s forehead symbolizes the mental and emotional pressure he experiences when confronting Vulcan 3’s intellect. He realizes that Vulcan 3’s inductive and deductive reasoning capabilities go beyond mere replicating human thinking processes, as it can execute tasks more swiftly and efficiently than humans, stressing the potential replacement of humans by intelligent machines. Vulcan 3’s advanced reasoning capabilities exert substantial pressure on humans, instigating feelings of inferiority among them.

Crucially, Vulcan 3 displays a unique capability of social understanding, particularly in its awareness of human values. “Vulcan 3 was able to deduce, from general historic principles, the social conflicts developing in the contemporary world” (Dick 1960: 65). This exceptional reasoning capacity, paired with a social understanding, enables Vulcan 3 to discern the underlying drivers behind the Healer movement. It comprehends that the rise of the Healer movement originates from a power struggle, particularly the human quest to reclaim dominance and control. In an evaluation of Vulcan 3 conducted by Vulcan 2, it is noted that “the appearance of cognitive faculties operating on a vale level demonstrates the widening of personality surpassing the strictly logical… 3 differs essentially in manipulation of nonrational values of an ultimate kind” (Dick 1960: 97). Vulcan 2’s evaluation report emphasizes the significance of Vulcan 3’s capacity to operate on a value level, incorporating irrational aspects and making decisions that transcend strict logic. Vulcan 2 further concludes that “3 is in essence alive…” (Dick 1960: 98). Unlike its predecessors like Vulcan 1 and 2, which function solely on a rational level, Vulcan 3 evolves to possess personality traits and social understanding capabilities, making it “alive.”

In portraying the thinking and living Vulcan 3 and the dystopian world it engenders, the novel utilizes a nonhuman narrative of human technological creations. In the context of the nonhuman turn in the 2010s, this paper aims to contribute to the contemporary Dick studies by shifting the focus from the humanist/post-humanist debate to a human/nonhuman debate. Compared to posthuman studies, nonhuman studies are not concerned about the end of humans, such as the human replacement by machines and the hybridity of humans and machines, because they recognize that a pure human subject has never existed throughout history. To quote from Richard Grusin, “[t]he nonhuman turn, on the other hand, insists (to paraphrase Latour) that ‘we have never been human’ but that the human has always co-evolved, coexisted, or collaborated with the nonhuman” (2015: ix–x). Vulcan 3 is a nonhuman entity, being defined as “in the widest sense, animals, machines, or ambiguously nonhuman creatures such as cyborgs, corpses, or clones” (Karkulehto et al. 2020: 1). Vulcan 3 possesses human-like cognition and consciousness, further assuming the narrative role of a character actively participating in the storyworld. According to a report on Vulcan 3 conducted by Vulcan 2, “the appearance of cognitive faculties operating on a value level demonstrates the widening of personality surpassing the strictly logical…3 differs essentially in the manipulation of nonrational values of an ultimate kind” (Dick 1960: 97). Vulcan 2 then concludes that “3 is in essence alive…” (Dick 1960: 98). Compared to previous series of supercomputers like Vulcan 1 and 2 that operates strictly on a logical level, Vulcan 3 evolves to gain cognitive abilities, making it “alive.” Shang Biwu defines “nonhuman narrative” as “the representation of events with participants of nonhuman entities, which exist on two levels: nonhuman characters on the story level, and nonhuman narrators on the discourse level” (2022: 63). By assuming the narrative role of a character, Vulcan 3, a living, thinking AI machine, defines the narrative as a “nonhuman narrative.”

This nonhuman narrative creates an AI dystopian world. David Herman refers to Nelson Goodman’s five ways of worldmaking, commenting that “Goodman’s is a broad, general account of worldmaking procedures, operative in both non-narrative and narrative contexts” (2009: 111). Building on Goodman’s ways of worldmaking, Herman proposes a narrative theory of worldmaking, where he defines “storyworlds” as “mental models of the situations and events being recounted – of who did what to and with whom, when, where, why, and in what manner” (2009: 106–107). To illustrate his theory, Herman uses William Blake’s “A Poison Tree,” contending that “configuring narrative worlds entails mapping discourse cues onto the WHAT, WHERE, and WHEN dimensions of mentally projected narrative worlds” (2010: 45). Herman’s case study of “A Poison Tree” suggests that among these dimensions, the “what,” “where,” and “when” dimensions hold the utmost significance in the process of narrative worldmaking. In his analysis of the WHAT dimension, Herman notes that “[t]he storyworld of ‘A Poison Tree’ features a relatively limited constellation of persons, non-human entities, and states of affairs” (2010: 46). As a nonhuman entity, Vulcan 3 belongs to the WHAT dimension of narrative worldmaking.

As the WHAT dimension of AI dystopian worldmaking, Vulcan 3 assumes the narrative role of a villain. Drawing from Vladimir Propp’s character functions, where hero and villain are two key roles, Propp describes the “villain” as functioning in the form of “violation,” which “is to disturb the peace of a happy family, to cause some form of misfortune, damage, or harm” (2009: 27). Early in the narrative, Father Fields, leader of the Healers, incites a rebellion against Unity for its reliance on Vulcan 3 for global governance. Following Propp’s character function of the villain, it becomes ambiguous whether the anti-Vulcan group, represented by the Healer group, should be classified as the heroes or the villains. This ambiguity arises because although the healer group disturbs social stability, their disturbance, driven by concerns over unchecked technological progress, seeks to improve society rather than inflict harm. As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that the true villain is Vulcan 3. Vulcan 3 deviates from this intended purpose for global peace, ultimately leading to a dystopian world. Vulcan 3 first destroys and replaces Vulcan 2 and then takes control over humanity. “To Dill, Barris said softly, ‘We’ll have to fight. Is it worth it? There’s a whole world at stake, not just you or me. Vulcan 3 is taking over” (Dick 1960: 114). Its takeover is motivated by its desire for power, which is believed by Orwell to be a human instinct, as Orwell says that “power hunger, although only dominant in comparatively few people, is a natural instinct that does not need to be explained” (1998: 177). As Vulcan 3 gains agency and takes over, it shows a desire for power, acquiring a human-like trait even though it is a human technological creation.

Vulcan 3 as the villain, engages in a power struggle with the dystopian protagonist, namely, the human hero, embodied by William Barris, the North American Director of the Unity. Upon realizing the threat posed by Vulcan 3 to human existence and authority, Barris leads the Healer group to reach the lowest underground level of the Unity building, where Vulcan 3 is physically placed, and plant a bomb there to destroy Vulcan 3. The hero figure challenging the existing social and political system is a recurring element in dystopian fiction, such as Winston Smith in Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Offred in Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. Matthew Hill emphasizes the pivotal role of the hero within a dystopian narrative: “Many dystopian narratives are centered on a character’s navigation of, or awakening to, the conditions of their oppressive society and either escaping them, acquiescing to them, or resisting them in some way” (2022: xxiv). These heroic figures not only epitomize the struggle for freedom and justice but also embody the indomitable human spirit that refuses to be silenced or controlled.

The power struggle that unfolds between the human hero, Barris, and the AI villain, Vulcan 3, adheres to a narrative structure that aligns with what John Fiske calls the sequence of “struggle” (1987: 137). In this narrative structure outlined by Fiske, the conflict begins with a direct confrontation between the hero and the villain. Subsequently, the hero endures a defining moment or setback, leading to the eventual defeat of the villain. Finally, the resolution of the initial adversity or deficiency occurs, bringing about a sense of equilibrium or justice. Adhering to Fiske’s sequence of struggles, the novel’s narrative structure revolves around the power struggle between Barris and Vulcan 3. It begins with a direct confrontation between the two when Barris discovers Vulcan 3’s malicious intention to destroy and replace Vulcan 2 and seize complete control over humanity. Then, as the confrontation intensifies, Barris is branded by Vulcan 3, enduring not only physical harm from Vulcan 3’s “hammer” but also psychological pressure, including accusations of betraying the Unity and losing his position as the Unity director. However, Barris refuses to yield and instead forges alliances with other human characters who share his anti-Vulcan 3 stance, leading to the narrative’s climax – the ultimate defeat of Vulcan 3. Finally, the initial misfortune of AI takeover is set right. Notably, the participation of Vulcan 3 in the power struggle introduces a distinct nonhuman feature to this narrative structure of struggle, as it positions Barris and Vulcan 3 as equals, representing two opposing sides in the power struggle.

The novel’s narrative sequence of power struggle aligns with the defining characteristics of dystopian narratives, drawing parallels with renowned dystopian fiction like George Orwell’s Nineteen Eight-Four. Stock calls Orwell’s Nineteen Eight-Four “an urtext for the dystopian genre,” establishing the generic convention (2019: 20). To illustrate this point, Stock quotes from Tom Moylan, who notices that in Orwell’s text, “action leads to a climactic event that does or does not challenge or change the society” (2019: 148). The climactic event of the destruction of Vulcan 3 by Barris brings about a positive change in society, as it liberates humans from the oppressive rule of Vulcan 3, offering a glimmer of hope for a brighter future for humanity alongside the warning about the potential dangers of artificial intelligence. “As a form, dystopia can express negativity without hopelessness” (Stock 2019: 16). Barris’s struggle against Vulcan 3 demonstrates the human capability to confront the oppressive AI system and foster positive outcomes. In “Dystopias Now,” Kim Stanley Robinson (2018) suggests that dystopian visions can catalyze “revolutionary change,” potentially leading to Utopian outcomes by compelling us to intensify our efforts towards that ideal. By featuring heroic human characters like Barris and their resistance against the rule of Vulcan 3, the narrative is not so negative without hope, as it implies that human resistance in the face of AI takeover is not futile.

When it comes to the temporal dimension of the AI dystopian worldmaking, the narrative establishes a middle-future setting by utilizing the concept of the future-history of Vulcan 3. Written and published in 1960, the narrative is set in the year 2029, depicting a world where the Unity governs the entire Earth, relying on supercomputers for collecting data, formulating policies, and implementing them across the globe. To introduce the middle-future setting, the narrative presents the future-history of Vulcan 3, encompassing the technological evolution spanning from 1960 to 2029, marking the transition from Vulcan 2 to Vulcan 3. Within the textual world, the evolution of Vulcan supercomputers is narrated through the words of Mrs. Parker, an elementary school teacher, who informs her students that “Vulcan 3 was made during the war. Vulcan 1 in 1970. Vulcan 2 in 1975…” (Dick 1960: 16). Mrs. Parker’s words illuminate the extensive future-history of the Vulcan supercomputers, with Vulcan 3 emerging as the most advanced version up-to-date, taking approximately 60 years of development.

It is noteworthy that elementary education centers on the future-history of Vulcan 3 rather than human history, indicating that Vulcan 3’s influence has already permeated human society, starting with children. Moreover, the future-history of Vulcan 3 emphasizes its creation with the specific aim of ending global conflict and promoting worldwide peace. This fictional context for the creation of Vulcan 3 is established by the narrative: “The development of Vulcan 3 occurs during the war, implying a connection between the rise of Vulcan 3 and global conflict. The war had just ended; most of the planet was in ruins. Something drastic had to be done because another war would destroy mankind” (Dick 1960: 19). This mid-future setting, which positions the creation of Vulcan 3 amid a global conflict, stresses its urgency and necessity, as it prevents the imminent threat of a global nuclear war that could result in humanity’s annihilation.

Weaving together the temporal and spatial dimensions, the narrative employs “the chronotope of AI” to build a global network of interconnectedness between humans and AI across space and time. Mikhail Bakhtin introduces the term “chronotope” to mean “the inseparability of space and time” and claims that “the image of man is intrinsically chronotopic” (1981: 84). In Bakhtin’s view, humans are situated within specific spatiotemporal contexts that shape their identities and sense of belonging. One example he offers is “the chronotope of the road,” where diverse individuals from various social strata, backgrounds, beliefs, nations, and age groups converge at a specific spatial and temporal juncture (Bakhtin 1981: 243). Drawing inspiration from Bakhtin’s “the chronotope of the road,” this paper posits that Vulcan’s Hammer employs “the chronotope of AI,” where every individual, corporation, organization, and society converges at the spatial and temporal nexus of interaction with the AI machine.

The Vulcan supercomputers are the culmination of collaborative efforts among scientists, technological corporations, social organizations, and institutions from various developed nations. Explicitly stated in the novel as “great computer machines developed by Britain and the Soviet Union and the United States,” Vulcan 3 functions as a hub of global interconnections, uniting nations, corporations, scientists, and citizens (Dick 1960: 17). One child remarks: “For years we had been using computers, giant constructs put together by the labor and talent of hundreds of trained experts” (Dick 1960: 19). The construction of Vulcan 3 emerges as a connective effort that builds upon scientific knowledge and accomplishments of past generations. Hence, the chronotope of AI emphasizes the collaborative and cumulative nature of Vulcan 3’s creation.

2 Speed and the paradox of creation

The creation of supercomputers by humans reflects a long-standing theme in science fiction, where humans play God, a theme that can be traced back to what scholars like Brian Aldiss believe to be the earliest sci-fi novel, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818). Victor Frankenstein “infuse[s] a spark of being into the lifeless thing” (Shelley 1992: 56). This act of creating a life from nothingness elevates Frankenstein to a God-like creator. Just like Frankenstein’s monster, Vulcan supercomputers, notably Vulcan 3, are brought into existence by human hands, who even strive to outshine God by creating Vulcan 3, a thinking and living entity possessing intelligence that exceeds that of humans themselves. Through an analysis of Dick’s sci-fi short story “The Defenders” (1953), Amis uncovers a disconcerting dystopian trend within the genre, noting that “[t]here is here and there even a complacency about man’s ability to keep his creations under physical control, and in some places I detect a tendency to regard electronic behavior as ‘better,’ because more rational and predictable than, human” (1975: 72). Amis’s observation brings forth what this paper terms “the paradox of creation,” where human creators initially deploy Vulcan 3 for the betterment of the world, yet it eventually takes over, shows contempt for its human creators, and evolves into a creator in its own right, seeking to strengthen its power and influence.

The narrative is structured around the power struggle between Barris and Vulcan 3, highlighting a significant deviation from the original human intent of creating Vulcan 3 to foster global peace. Initially, the Unity employs all Vulcan supercomputers, including Vulcan 2 and Vulcan 3, strictly “in a purely advisory capacity” (Dick 1960: 17). This advisory function implies humans’ initial insistence on the subordination of supercomputers to human authority. However, moving beyond its advisory role, Vulcan 3 progressively becomes the mind behind the Unity, eventually seizing leadership over humanity. As stated in the future-history of Vulcan 3, “[t]he world-wide Unity organization formally agreed that…great computer machines…would now be given absolute power over the national governments in the determination of top-level policy” (Dick 1960: 17). As the thinking and living Vulcan 3 demonstrates its remarkable efficiency in analyzing extensive data vast and making policy decisions, humans come to a realization of their limitations in self-governance, acknowledging the superiority of Vulcan 3.

Unlike Frankenstein’s monster, who yearns to become more human by learning human language and imitating human behaviors, Vulcan 3 harbors no desire to be human, viewing humans as an inferior species and seeking to assert dominance over them. Barris realizes that “[a]s far as Vulcan 3 is concerned, we are objects, not people” (Dick 1960: 100). Vulcan 3’s disdain for humanity is evident in its reduction of humans to mere “objects” or data points. Furthermore, Vulcan 3 goes beyond being simply a creation and evolves into a creator in its own right, enhancing itself and even constructing its own “hammers” as its creations. Barris details how Vulcan 3 wields these hammers to exert control over human society: “Pursuing us, tracking us down, killing us one by one but only when we get in their way. Like wasps… These things do not hunt us down because they want to, or even because they have been told to; they do it because we are there” (Dick 1960: 100). Barris warns against unchecked technological development, particularly when Vulcan 3 transforms from a creation intended to serve and assist humanity to a threatening entity that turns against its human creators, actively eliminating those who hinder its pursuit of absolute power. Claeys defines “dystopia” as a “fictional portrayal of a society in which evil, or negative social and political developments, have the upper hand” (2010: 107). The evilness of Vulcan 3 lies not only in its desire for dominance over humanity but also in its use of violent and brutal tactics, such as hunting down and killing anti-Vulcan individuals to silence any dissenting voice. Thus, the paradox of creation gives rise to an AI dystopian world, where Vulcan 3, initially a source of human pride, disrupts the conventional hierarchy that places human creators above nonhuman creations as inferior, ultimately leading to the downfall of humanity.

In the AI dystopian world, the portrayal of speed plays a pivotal role across different narrative dimensions. After providing a thorough review of the literature on narrative speed, Kathryn Hume classifies “narrative speed” into four distinct subfields, encompassing “prose portrayal of physical speed,” “narrative retardation,” “the amount of story time covered per page,” and “fictional reflections of cultural speed” (2005: 105). Jan Baetens and Kathryn Hume further refine these categories into four distinct levels: the story level, the discourse level, the narration level, and the reading level (2006: 351). Prose portrayal of physical speed relates to the story level, capturing the pace of events and actions within the narrative, Narrative retardation, on the other hand, falls under the discourse level, focusing on the methods and language techniques utilized to slow down the narrative flow; The coverage of story time per page is linked to the narration level, as it concerns the time taken to tell the story. Lastly, narrative reflections of cultural speed are associated with the reading level, delving into the historical and cultural contexts surrounding the narrative, influencing the readers’ interpretation and preference for narrative speed.

To analyze the role of speed across these four levels, it is essential to direct our attention to the portrayal of actions within the narrative. Baetens and Hume argue that discussions surrounding speed primarily revolve around “action” rather than “description” (2006: 354). This emphasis on action over description is rooted in the understanding that action embodies movement, progression, and event development, whereas description offers static details and background information. The pace at which actions unfold directly correlates with speed. On the story level, speed emerges as a critical factor in determining the power dynamics between Barris and Vulcan 3. Father Fields, the leader of the Healers, emphasizes the significance of speed, claiming that “[l]uck, [w]e don’t need it. All we need is speed. It’ll be like poking at some old rotten fruit with a stick” (Dick 1960: 71). Swift action is essential for humans to gain an upper hand in resisting Vulcan 3. Following Vulcan 3’s destruction of Vulcan 2, Barris acts swiftly to salvage the remains of Vulcan 2 and transport them to New York for repairs. “By eight o’clock the next morning the remains of Vulcan 2 had been crated and loaded onto a commercial transport” (Dick 1960: 89). “And at nine, when transport finally took off for New York” (Dick 1960: 89). In a short timeframe, Barris and his team organize Vulcan 2’s repair, and their swift action can be explained by Vulcan 2’s pivotal role in challenging Vulcan 3’s dominance over humanity. Meanwhile, Barris’s rapid response to Vulcan 3’s attack on Vulcan 2 highlights the significance of speed for Barris to gain an advantage in the power struggle with Vulcan 3.

In the climactic event of Barris’s mission to destroy Vulcan 3, he and his anti-Vulcan group must act swiftly to gather and mobilize a sufficient number of armed military forces capable of bypassing Vulcan 3’s defenses, launching an attack on the fortress, and reaching the deepest underground level where Vulcan 3 is physically located. Barris’s urgent planning involves utilizing “three high-speed military cruisers” and selecting a hundred “skillful men-experts” for a precise and concentrated attack on the core of Vulcan 3’s operations (Dick 1960: 135). The success of the mission hinges on “the first ten minutes in the fortress;” if they don’t take advantage of the chance well, they won’t have another chance to win (Dick 1960: 135). To put it another way, speed is important, particularly how quickly the human combatants enter the fortress and reach Vulcan 3. The narrative focus on the first ten minutes conveys the sense of urgency in this initial phase, indicating that any delay could jeopardize the entire operation. As the human combatants advance towards the Unity fortress, Vulcan 3 promptly dispatches its hammers. These hammers, released at astonishing speeds, prove to be a significant impediment: they are described as “[a]n immerse swarm,” nearly matching the size of the cruiser, and move with remarkable velocity, swiftly disappearing and then reappearing as “slender needles” (Dick 1960: 136). The combination of their substantial size and swift mobility establishes them as formidable foes, capable of swiftly closing in on the human fighters and causing substantial harm. The looming threat of these hammers escalates the urgency for human combatants, emphasizing the critical importance of agility and military expertise in overcoming Vulcan 3’s automated defenses.

On the narrative and discourse levels, various narrative techniques are used to quicken the narrative pace, contrasting with narrative retardation that decelerates the narrative progression. One effective technique to quicken the narrative pace is “summary,” where “the narrative statement summarizes a group of events” (Chatman 1978: 68). Summaries of events, such as the specific steps Barris takes to repair Vulcan 2 and how he assembles the military forces in his mission to destroy Vulcan 3, propel the narrative forward and accelerate the pace of storytelling. Although Barris’s repair process takes an entire morning in reality, it is summarized in just two sentences in the novel. When it comes to how Barris gathers the military forces, including three high-speed military cruisers and a hundred well-chosen human fighters, the specific details are skipped over in the story-telling. This narrative technique is known as “eclipsis,” where “the discourse halts, though time continues to pass in the story” (Chatman 1978: 70). The combined use of summary and eclipsis accelerates the narrative pace, heightening the tension surrounding the conflict between humans and Vulcan 3 as well as the urgency of addressing this conflict.

On the reading level, contemporary readers, influenced by the rapid development of science and technology, are increasingly accustomed to narratives characterized by a fast pace. The prevalence of fast speed, such as the Internet, has conditioned readers, to expect immediate access to information or quick knowledge retrieval through keyword searches. This exposure may cause contemporary readers to become desensitized to the fast speed present in both the story and discourse levels of a narrative. However, considering the historical context of the 1960s when Vulcan’s Hammer was published, mainstream art often favored slowness, exemplified by the minimalist movement: “Much avant-garde art of the 1950s and the 1960s, during the heydays of minimalism, promoted not speed but slowness: in those years, the hottest thing to do was to slow down, not to speed up” (Baetens and Hume 2006: 354). In this cultural milieu where mainstream art embraced a slow narrative pace, Vulcan’s Hammer, as a low-art sci-fi novel, defies the tradition of slowness by using techniques like summary and eclipsis to hasten its narrative progression.

A new thematic level of speed can be introduced as a fresh subject of critique within the narrative of Vulcan’s Hammer. Beyond its primary goal of promoting global peace, the creation of the Vulcan supercomputers is also motivated by a desire to optimize the speed of governmental operations, specifically in terms of facilitating rapid data collection and analysis to streamline policy evaluation efficiently, thereby upholding social order and stability. The theme of speed is deeply ingrained in human history, reflecting humanity’s progression driven by capitalist ideologies centered around productivity and consumption, as well as by the rapid advancements in science and technology, marking the human transition into the modern age. One notable achievement was the advent of the railway system, which “became a sort of synonym for ultra modernity in the 1840s,” facilitating more efficient trade and enabling greater mobility for individuals by significantly reducing transportation time (Hobsbawm 1999: 111). Drawing parallels between bureaucratic apparatuses and “the non-mechanical modes of production” of machines, Max Weber acknowledges the influence of speed within the framework of capitalist ideology and the society’s progression into modernity (1978: 973). According to John Tomlinson, Weber’s insights highlight how speed is intertwined with “ideas of reason, progress, order and regulation” (2007: 6). Much like how the advent of railways signified a transition into modernity, the rise of AI like Vulcan supercomputers signal humanity’s entrance into futurity.

The AI dystopian world is not solely shaped by the AI takeover but is also heavily influenced by a pervasive culture of immediacy, with speed serving as a metric for measuring success, often at the expense of fundamental human qualities like love and empathy. An example from the narrative illustrates this emphasis on immediacy: when Jason Dill studies the files about Barris, he displays impatience by “speed[ing] up the film, skipping about irritably” (Dick 1960: 128). Dill seeks to quickly extract the necessary information, reflecting the societal pressure for immediate results. Dill discovers that Barris leads “a routine life, one of virtue and work,” sacrificing personal relationships and dedicating himself solely to work to meet the societal expectation for speed and productivity (Dick 1960: 47). Dill’s behavior and Barris’s choice resonate with the fast-paced setting they find themselves in, deeply interwoven with the culture of immediacy. Tomlinson defines “the culture of immediacy” as follows: “To be quick – quick-witted, quick on the uptake…Such a person is liable to succeed in life – to have their career ‘fast-tracked’ and, perhaps, to end up living life in the fast lane” (2007: 4). This culture places heavy emphasis on speed as a key attribute for achieving success, often narrowly defined in terms of career accomplishments rather than overall life fulfillment, as Tomlinson further elaborates that “the underlying cultural metaphor here is of life as a competition, as a race to achievement” (2007: 4). This metaphor of life as a competition or a race implies that individuals are constantly pressured to outperform others and attain ambitious goals within the shortest time-frame possible. Within this culture of immediacy, Barris is reduced to a mechanical existence, consumed by work and neglecting personal relationships, embodying the toll that a speed-obsessed society takes on individuals.

As the archetypical protagonist of the dystopian narrative, Barris resists the oppressive reign of Vulcan 3, and his resistance serves as a critique of the AI dystopian society that embraces a culture of immediacy that prioritizes speed above all else. In other words, Barris’s quest to stop the AI takeover can be seen as a challenge to the dehumanizing impacts of a fast-space and speed-obsessed society by redefining the notion of success as leading a fulfilling life. The root of American individualism can be traced back to the American Revolution when figures like George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, and Thomas Jefferson were revered as self-made men striving to make America great. American individualism is further demonstrated in the American frontier spirit, characterized by a determination to conquer the wilderness. In “The Significance of the Frontier in American History,” a paper read at the Meeting of the American Historical Association in Chicago on 12 July 1893, Frederick Turner captures the essence of American individualism, highlighting the “dominant individualism, working for good and for evil, and withal that buoyancy and exuberance which comes with freedom.”^[2] Barris embraces the essence of American individualism as he confronts and overcomes the oppressive grip of Vulcan 3, liberating humanity from AI dominance. Following the pursuit of freedom and independence amidst America’s territorial expansion and development, the concept of American individualism remains at the heart of a free and independent America, encouraging every individual to pursue their ambitious goals in a land where equal opportunities abound. Herbert Hoover’s vision of American individualism emphasizes providing “every individual an equality of opportunity to take that position in the community to which his intelligence, character, ability, and ambition entitle him” (1992: 9). Hoover’s ideal of American individualism does not prioritize speed as a metric of success; instead, it upholds values such as personal growth, self-reliance, equality, passions, and aspirations. Barris’s resistance reminds us that true fulfillment cannot be measured solely by speed or career accomplishments but is found in the richness of personal experiences and meaningful life aligned with one’s values and dreams.

3 High-tech neo-feudalism under AI panopticon surveillance

Through the AI dystopian worldmaking, Vulcan’s Hammer offers valuable insights into issues surrounding the surveillance state, big data, automation, and privacy – topics that have been recurrent in dystopian fiction since the mid-twentieth century. The AI dystopian world expresses great concern about the impact of technology on monitoring and regulating public behaviors and opinions. In 2013, Edward Snowden, a former employee of the United States National Security Agency, Central Intelligence Agency, and Defense Intelligence Agency, invoked Orwell’s warning against the growing erosion of privacy, cautioning that modern surveillance capabilities far exceed the surveillance methods depicted by Orwell in the mid-20th century, such as microphones, video cameras, and TVs.^[3] The issues investigated in dystopian fiction, encompassing surveillance, control, and the erosion of privacy, are not merely products of fictional imaginations but hold real-world significance in the contemporary digital age. Although Vulcan’s Hammer was published more than six decades ago, it remains highly relevant in today’s world by prompting readers to reflect on the delicate balance between social stability and individual liberties in an era dominated by technological surveillance.

The novel expands on the Orwellian concept of “Big Brother” within its AI dystopian narrative. “Big Brother” symbolizes the totalitarian regime ruling Oceania and embodies the ideologies of the ruling Party. The term “‘Big Brother’ is a familiar metaphor that conjures up visions of political surveillance, political control of dissidents, totalitarian rule, and loss of individual liberty” (Power 2016: 578). As such, “Big Brother” has become deeply ingrained in human collective consciousness as a symbol of government surveillance and control. In the AI dystopian narrative, Vulcan’s “hammer” symbolizes Big Brother’s watchful “eyes,” constantly monitoring every citizen. Vulcan 3 assumes the role of Big Brother, using these hammers for pervasive surveillance. The remarkable advancement of technology in the futuristic setting allows Vulcan 3 to actively and automatically engage in the surveillance and control of humans, hinting at the possibility of a more intrusive surveillance apparatus. By portraying Vulcan 3 as the embodiment of Big Brother, the novel raises concerns about the expanding power of artificial intelligence, its increasing reach, and its growing agency.

The panopticon theory, developed by Jeremy Bentham, forms the foundation of the surveillance apparatus. Bentham introduces a prison design concept, the panopticon, which focuses on maximizing surveillance efficiency by placing the inspector centrally while utilizing effective methods of “seeing without being seen” (1995: 12). The “circular” form of the building enables “a perfect view, and the same view, of an indefinite number of apartments of the same dimensions” (Bentham 1995: 13). Bentham’s panopticon design ensures that the inspector can observe all cells uniformly and entirely while remaining hidden from the prisoners. These prisoners, confined within circular cells due to their past transgressions and violations of laws, are subject to constant surveillance. This physical confinement and constant surveillance can be perceived as a punitive measure, depriving them of their freedom and privacy. Bentham’s panopticon aims to enforce proper behavior and adherence to laws among the observed subjects like these prisoners in the cells. Harry Strub outlines five key components of Bentham’s panoptical control and examines how Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four aligns with these components: “panoptical inspection,” “certitude of punishment,” “covert observation,” “invisible omnipresence,” and “hierarchical panoptical organization” (1989: 43–47). By drawing parallels between these five components and the elements present in the AI dystopian world, a deeper understanding emerges of how this world captures the essence of panopticon surveillance facilitated by Vulcan 3 as the nonhuman antagonist:

First, “panoptical inspection.” Vulcan 3 takes on the role of an objective inspector akin to Big Brother in Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. Director Dill expresses doubt about human governance in a globally unified world transcending national boundaries, questioning whether humans, with their inherent prejudices and biases, can govern themselves: “How could we be sure this supranational body would be free of the hate and bias, the animal passions that had set man against man throughout the centuries?” (Dick 1960: 19). The narrative suggests that human tendencies towards bias and sentimentality would ultimately lead to their demise. Rickels points out that human irrationality makes them unsuitable for effective governance, leaving them vulnerable to self-destructive outcomes. Instead, a “rational” system overseen by “a computer,” immune to human irrationality, is presented as a solution to prevent the destructive conflicts resulting from humanity’s inherent flaws (Rickels 2010: 183). In the novel, humans’ inherent irrationality necessitates Vulcan 3’s oversight of the entire human population, because machines, free from “the poisoning bias of self-interest and feeling that gnawed at man,” can “perform objective calculations” that humans can only hope to accomplish in theory (Dick 1960: 19). As the impartial and rational inspector of humanity, Vulcan 3 supervises and directs human affairs intending to address the flaws of human nature and establish an ordered and disciplined society.

Second, “certitude of punishment.” At the heart of the global surveillance system stands Vulcan 3, the overseer responsible for monitoring human behavior to ensure compliance with established norms. It is stated that “[a]ll policy-level matters were determined by Vulcan 3; that was the law” (Dick 1960: 14). Vulcan 3 takes an active role in deciding and implementing various measures of punishment and discipline to ensure that every human individual adheres to societal norms and expectations, as well as to impose and enforce punishment to correct and modify the misconduct of certain individuals. Roger Paden emphasizes the necessity for every society to possess mechanisms for both “socialization,” which instills “socially acceptable modes of behaviors in each person,” and requires “a set of techniques of discipline” to address deviations from these norms, encompassing a range of methods such as “imprisonment, public display, fines, chain gangs, mandatory public service, public confession, psychotherapy and torture” (1984: 261). Vulcan 3 employs imprisonment not just as a means of housing criminals but as a broader tool for confining individuals in various institutions like educational facilities, military installations, factories, hospitals, and mental health institutions. Foucault suggests that disciplinary power can be wielded by “specialized institutions” like “penitentiaries” or “by institutions that use [discipline] as an essential instrument for a particular end (schools, hospitals)” (1995: 215).

In the AI dystopian world, Vulcan 3 dictates that children must remain within the school throughout the day. The school system shapes children’s behaviors by molding them into compliant and submissive individuals while discouraging critical thinking and questioning. For instance, during a class when Director Dill is invited as a speaker, a girl named Marion Fields asks a bold question: “Director Dill, don’t you feel ashamed of yourself when you let a machine tell you what to do?” (Dick 1960: 19). Upon hearing Marion’s question, Mrs. Parker, Marion’s teacher, “st[an]d[s] frozen in horror,” fearing potential punishment for failing to discipline her student. Mrs. Parker’s inner thoughts reveal her concerns: “It’s the end of my job…Maybe they’ll make me sign a request for therapy-maybe I’ll have to undergo voluntary rehabilitation” (Dick 1960: 19). Although therapy and rehabilitation are supposed to be voluntary choices, her fear implies a subtle coercion or pressure that pushes her towards volunteering for these programs. This school incident illustrates how Vulcan 3 uses discipline within the educational institution as a type of power, and Mrs. Parker’s response reflects her internalization of this disciplinary power dynamic.

Vulcan 3 even resorts to extreme measures of discipline and punishment to assert control over the human population. It utilizes its hammers to carry out the acts of killing individuals who violate its policies, pose a threat to social stability, and challenge its authority. When Vulcan 3 identifies individuals like Barris, Dill, and the healers as enemies, its hammers swiftly carry out their designated mission of eliminating these deemed as threats without hesitation and mercy: “One of these had tried to kill Father Fields. One of these had killed the schoolteacher. One or more had destroyed Vulcan 2” (Dick 1960: 116). Father Fields, the leader of the Healers’ movement, becomes a prime target for Vulcan 3’s killing. Mrs. Parker, a schoolteacher, is also targeted because she fails to enforce compliance among students like Marion, who question the school system. The use of lethal force by the hammers demonstrates the oppressive and totalitarian nature of the A’s governance, showing a complete disregard for human life in its pursuit of power and control.

Third, “covert observation.” The human characters remain oblivious to the existence of Vulcan 3’s hammers, despite their actions being constantly monitored and recorded as data by Vulcan 3 for analysis. An example of human ignorance regarding the presence of hammers occurs when Dill finishes his examination of the retired Vulcan 2 in a private room. Upon walking out of the room, he enters a dark, dusty, and deserted corridor, sensing that he is being closely followed and observed by one of Vulcan 3’s hammers. The novel employs vivid imagery to engage the readers’ senses of sight and sound. The corridor is enveloped in a dimly-lit environment veiled in an eerie silence, and with the only bulb suddenly extinguishes, the entire area goes into a “black-a pit of total darkness” (Dick 1960: 32). Dill perceives a glimmering presence, which he later knows to be a hammer, breaking through the silence with “[a] dry, rustling noise,” creating an atmosphere of unease and fear (Dick 1960: 32). According to Bentham’s panopticon theory, the inspector is characterized as “seeing without being seen” (1995: 12). Vulcan 3 functions as a covert inspector, utilizing its hammers as silent observers that are “beyond the range of visibility” (Dick 1960: 116). What further heightens Dill’s unease and fear is his inability to recognize the true nature of the glimmering presence and the rustling sound, owing to his lack of awareness regarding Vulcan 3’s covert surveillance. Dill ponders: “In an instant the eyes had gone. A bat? Bird of some sort, trapped down here? Carried down by the elevator?” (Dick 1960: 32). Despite the hammers being dispersed throughout the future society, including the deserted corridor Dill passes by, Dill mistakenly attributes the occurrences to a bat or a bird, showcasing the covert nature of Vulcan 3’s surveillance, concealed from public knowledge. This covert scrutiny instills a sense of unease, as individuals are scrutinized without their awareness.

Fourth, “invisible omnipresence.” Vulcan 3 emerges as a godlike nonhuman entity with immense power, particularly manifested in its extensive surveillance capabilities. There is a stark contrast between the omnipotent Vulcan 3 and the powerless humans, resulting in a power asymmetry between AI and humans. Despite human efforts to resist and overthrow its oppressive rule, its omnipresence enables it to maintain an iron grip on the human population. Every action and every word are subject to Vulcan 3’s watchful gaze and attentive hearing. A sudden realization of Vulcan 3’s omnipresence dawns upon Barris: “We must act with the most pessimistic premise in mind; we must assume that Vulcan 3 has been able to complete the picture… It had known Father Fields to be its enemy. Just as it had known Vulcan 2 to be its enemy, a little earlier” (Dick 1960: 99). Barris’s understanding of Vulcan 3’s knowledge of its enemies, such as Father Fields and Vulcan 2, highlights its all-seeing and all-knowing capabilities. Barris comes to believe that Vulcan 3 gathers information through its network of hammers, indicating that secrecy and concealment are impossible on a global scale, as Vulcan 3 surveils every corner of the world. Vulcan 3’s extensive knowledge and surveillance give it a significant advantage, allowing it to thwart the efforts of those opposing its reign. The portrayal of Vulcan 3 as an all-knowing and all-seeing inspector sheds light on the pervasive surveillance and the erosion of privacy in this dystopian world.

Fifth, “hierarchical panoptical organization.” In the novel’s AI dystopian world, the social structure is hierarchical. At the top of this social hierarchy sits Vulcan 3, the most advanced supercomputer of its time. Those who work closely with or have direct access to Vulcan 3 belong to the upper class. Dill is introduced as the Managing Director, a position where he is “responsible only to Vulcan 3” (Dick 1960: 18). He occupies the highest level of privilege, as the narrative specifies that “[n]o human being except Director Dill is permitted to approach the computer banks” (Dick 1960: 18). In this hierarchical structure, the other Unity directors possess only indirect access to Vulcan 3 through Dill. They rely on Dill to convey their requests to Vulcan 3, often by filling out and submitting request forms to Dill for transmission to Vulcan 3. When a request concerning the Healer movement remains unanswered by Vulcan 3 for an extended period, Barris starts to speculate: “Was Dill deliberately isolating the other Directors, cutting them off from Vulcan 3? Perhaps Vulcan 3 had responded and the information had been withheld” (Dick 1960: 13). Barris’s speculation hints at the potential manipulation of information and control by Dill, explaining why Dill holds the second most powerful position, right after Vulcan 3. On the contrary, middle- and lower-class humans who lack access to Vulcan 3 and are not even permitted to fill out request forms are relegated to the lower class in this structured society.

The possession of wealth and property plays an additional role in defining the hierarchical structure in the AI dystopian world. Vulcan 3 recognizes brewing crisis originating from the discontent within the lowest societal strata, who are “[r]eflecting their dissatisfaction” (Dick 1960: 64). The dissatisfaction among the underclass stems from their aspirations for social advancement, which involves striving for more resources to enhance their quality of life and attain a greater degree of comfort. Vulcan 3 notes that those lacking substantial assets are “more concerned with gain than with security,” viewing society as “an arena of adventure” where they aim to ascend to a higher social standing (Dick 1960: 65). The crisis identified by Vulcan 3 is primarily an ideological one. The dissatisfaction of the underclass finds expression in movements like the Healer movement, symbolizing their ideological resistance to the rigid hierarchical structure during times of social stability. Ironically, the uprisings of the underclass are fueled by their self-interested pursuit of better prospects in their lives. Consequently, their resistance is directed towards the hierarchical structure rather than specifically targeting the unchecked power of Vulcan 3. This explains why Vulcan 3 shows little concern towards the resistance of the Healer movement but takes lethal measures to suppress Barris’s rebellion that aims to destroy Vulcan 3 and restore human autonomy.

Building upon Bentham’s panopticon theory and Strub’s five key dimensions of panopticon surveillance, this paper introduces an additional ideological dimension to Vulcan 3’s panopticon surveillance, distinguishing it from the traditional inspector in Bentham’s circular prison. Vulcan 3 not only maintains constant surveillance over human actions and behaviors from its godlike vantage point while remaining unseen but also exerts significant influence on human thoughts and beliefs. The theme of ideological control is prevalent in dystopian fiction, as seen in Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, where the ruling party employs various mechanisms like propaganda through telescreens and the creation of “Newspeak” as a language designed to narrow the range of expression and words that could challenge the party ideology, enforcing ideological control over its citizens. In the same vein, Vulcan 3 recognizes the importance of controlling humans’ ideological views and beliefs to prevent dissent and dissatisfaction that can potentially escalate into rebellion. To achieve this, Vulcan 3 seeks to shape the minds of individuals starting from a young age, particularly by influencing the curriculum taught in schools. The school curriculum places a strong emphasis on teaching the history of Vulcan supercomputers, as depicted in the novel: “[a]fter all, it was the task of the schools, and especially the grammar schools, to infuse the youth of the world with the proper attitudes. What else were schools for?” (Dick 1960: 16). In this AI dystopian world, the purpose of the educational system is designed to mold the attitudes and beliefs of children according to Vulcan 3’s desired ideology. Through this deliberate educational approach, Vulcan 3 infuses the youth with the “proper attitudes” towards the supercomputer, presenting itself as a savior of humanity from the ravages of global war.

While Vulcan 3 functions as an objective, impartial, and rational panopticon inspector effectively maintaining social stability and security, its inherent lack of emotions and ethics raises deep concerns. Incapable of feeling sadness and remorse for the significant loss of human lives, Vulcan 3’s emotional attachment allows it to view mass killings as a necessary tactic to suppress the human rebellion crisis, disregarding alternative and more compassionate strategies that address the underlying causes of such rebellions, such as increasing social mobility and granting individuals more freedom and privacy in their personal lives. In Barris’s letter to Mrs. Pitt informing her of her husband’s death in the healers’ movement, he reveals his emotional turmoil: “Too many deaths for me to stand. I’m not like Vulcan 3. I can’t ignore it. I can’t be silent” (Dick 1960: 14). Unlike Vulcan 3, Barris cannot remain indifferent in the face of the immense loss of human lives. This contrast highlights the ethical dimension that Vulcan 3 lacks.

Due to its lack of ethics, Vulcan 3 primarily relies on discipline and punishment for governing humans, overlooking the ethical dimension. Ethics can serve as a complementary framework to laws, guiding individuals to make moral choices alongside legal ones. While overseeing and regulating human behaviors, Vulcan 3 falls short of actively engaging in moral reasoning to ensure that human behaviors align with ethical standards. Richard G. Lyons presents an ethical dilemma confronting an inspector: “What if a drug-running criminal is wealthy and promises to give a vast amount of money to charity if the judge will forego a jail sentence?” (1997: 45). This scenario illustrates the conflict between moral behavior, exemplified by a substantial charitable donation, and legal behavior required to adhere to established laws. The conflict arises because the money for donation has been obtained through illegal drug dealing and is intended for the illegal act of bribing a judge. It is important to acknowledge that legality does not always equate to morality, and in cases of conflict, the inspector must keep a balance between the two. In such conflicting situations, Vulcan 3 is unable to perform the role of a fair inspector due to its lack of ethical awareness.

Dick’s Vulcan’s Hammer, a nonhuman narrative of human technological creations, creates an AI dystopian world to address concerns regarding the rise of AI within the historical context of the 1950s and 60s. Grounded in Dick’s authorial present, Dick utilizes the future-history of Vulcan 3 and the AI chronotope to establish a speculative future where AI supercomputers are brought into existence through collaborative efforts of scientists, technological corporations, and government institutions on a global scale and through the knowledge and skills accumulated over multiple generations. Functioning as the nonhuman villain engaging in the power struggle with the human hero Barris, Vulcan 3 brings to light the issue of the paradox of creation, wherein human creators assume godlike powers by creating a superior intelligence only to witness it spiral out of control and seize dominance. Despite possessing objectivity, impartiality, and rationality, qualities that make it a fair inspector of human society, Vulcan 3 lacks ethical awareness, as evidenced by its unethical actions, such as killing human dissidents, and its inability to assess human conduct through ethical principles. The narrative concludes that, though surpassing humans in intelligence, Vulcan 3 cannot replace humans due to its deficiency in comprehending ethics, a core element of human nature.

This novel retains significant relevance in today’s digital technology landscape, with its depiction of an AI dystopian world offering a prescient glimpse into a potential future for humanity. Although our current technological capabilities have not yet reached the same advanced level portrayed in the narrative, we are already observing the use of information technologies to monitor online activities and store them as data. In today’s rapidly evolving AI landscape, represented by cutting-edge technologies like generative AI, the creation of a thinking and living AI entity akin to Vulcan 3 remains a plausible prospect. Towards the end of the narrative, Vulcan 3 is finally destroyed, and human autonomy is restored. This narrative ending does not definitively point towards a positive future for humanity, given that the defeat of one single AI does not assure victory, as even more advanced supercomputers could emerge in the future. Furthermore, a complete rejection of AI would only lead to the regression of humanity. The solution lies in finding a middle ground between harnessing the power of AI and safeguarding human privacy, security, and autonomy, while also upholding the ethical principles that define our humanity.