To Understand Alex Garland’s Devs, You Need the Both/And Principle
Quantum superposition sounds complicated, but we often deal with emotional versions of the phenomenon. No major spoilers.
“Two opposing emotional states can coexist.”
This is how Lori Gottlieb summarized the “both/and” principle in her NY Times column this week, which described both her longing to see patients in the same physical space, but also the intimacy and comedy of seeing them in their homes over video chat.
The both/and principle is central to Alex Garland’s new miniseries, Devs. Just as we constantly deal with multiple emotional states simultaneously, quantum physics deals with multiple physical states simultaneously. It was this parallel that led Garland to think, “maybe a quantum computer would be the best way of modeling the world we live in.”
Quantum superposition is essentially the both/and principle of quantum physics: multiple states can coexist at the same time. It’s often illustrated with Schrödinger’s cat (simultaneously dead and alive), or the fact that it always takes three attempts to plug in a USB cable (the plug is simultaneously right-side up and upside down):
But Devs does not focus much on the technicalities of quantum physics. In fact, compared to Ex Machina and Annihilation (Garland’s recent Sci-Fi movies), I would say that Devs deals with technology the least. The script makes quick work of questions about technology and society, summarizing the mainstream arguments in just a few lines:
Like good Sci-Fi often does, Devs focuses less on dilemmas we face because of technology, and more on dilemmas we face because we are human. Along these lines, there are tons of themes, questions, and morals you could draw from the show, but I noticed two in particular that revolve around the both/and principle.
Devs focuses less on dilemmas we face because of technology, and more on dilemmas we face because we are human.
Philosophical Both/And
The tension between free will and determinism is discussed explicitly throughout the series, and both possibilities create some scary moments.Most of the time, Forest embraces the “extreme determinism” end of the debate. As he spouts in the trailer:
“the sense that you are participating in life was only ever an illusion.”
Sergei’s visceral response to determinism (in the first episode) captures the helplessness that would come with having no control over our lives, and the general terror that we may just be passively witnessing everything as we travel on “invisible tram lines.”
But the other extreme brings its own terror. I promised no major spoilers, so I will not describe events from the finale, but suffice it to say they horrify Forest, by contradicting the determinism that he clings to throughout the series.
The scary part of free will is the responsibility that comes with it. As Gottlieb puts it in her book, “there’s a part of most of us that finds responsibility frightening.” In the first episode, Forest frames determinism as “absolution,” telling Sergei that he is freed from all responsibility for his actions — again, responsibility can be frightening.
Despite the ominous soundtrack and the eery visuals, I think these extremes create some of the scariest moments in Devs. Truly, having no control and having total responsibility both lend to terrifying possibilities. One of my favorite passages from Lori Gottlieb’s book, Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, drives this point home:
“We are afraid of failure and we are afraid of success. We are afraid of being alone and we are afraid of connection… We are afraid of being unhappy and we are afraid of being too happy… We are afraid of bad health and good fortune. We are afraid of our envy and of having too much… We are afraid to change and we are afraid of not changing. We are afraid of not having control and afraid of our own power. We are afraid of being responsible for our own lives.”
So is it free will or determinism? In the end, the show never really lands on one side, and Garland even said in an interview that he wanted to convey the question as “a conversation to be had,” not a debate that was settled. The resulting both/and middle-ground may be considered compatibilism or “soft determinism,” if you want a more philosophical term.
Religious Both/And
The religious symbolism in Devs is unmistakable. One of the more obvious examples is the lab containing Amaya’s quantum supercomputer, which strongly resembles a tabernacle empty space on its sides, thick slanted walls, and an exclusive entrance:
Garland also pumps in choral voices you would expect in a monastery, and iconographic visuals you would expect from the Byzantine era (notably, this icon is famous for depicting the both/and nature of Christ as both man and God):
Watching Devs and thinking about the both/and principle reminded me of the paradox of attachment. I am most familiar with Yoda’s version (“train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose”) and the Christian version (“if you cling to your life, you will lose it”) of this idea, but there are versions of detachment in many religious teachings.
As in the free will/determinism spectrum, extremes on the attachment/detachment spectrum are frightening and untenable. The aforementioned religious teachings emphasize the danger of over-attachment, but total stoic detachment also presents challenges. As the philosopher Martha Nussbaum put it in an interview:
“the stoics think you should never morn… Cicero reports that a good Stoic father says, if their child dies, ‘I was always aware that I had begotten a mortal.’ ”
In fact, this exact dilemma of mourning a child is what Forest reckons with throughout the series, and in Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, one of Gottlieb’s patients also deals with an uncannily similar loss.
Forest appears to take the stoic route, with an apathetic monotone voice that carries almost no emotion. He also moves and speaks at a snail’s pace, which can be a sign of depression formally known as “psychomotor retardation.” His expressions convey little more than numbness:
But this apparent numbness masks something more complicated. As Gottlieb describes in her book, “numbness isn’t the absence of feelings; it’s a response to being overwhelmed by too many feelings.” Forest’s monologue in the second episode grapples with this:
“The moment my daughter was taken from me, it was as if I was instantly placed into two concurrent states. In one, I had a full understanding that Amaya was gone, there was no doubt, no hope, no holding on to anything, no going back, just the certainty of her death. In the other, I had no comprehension of her death. It was an impossible thing, an implausible thing, absurd. Fast, meaningless, untrue.”
While his numb, apathetic stoicism holds up on the surface, at a deeper level, Forest finds himself struggling with a both/and scenario. Should it be total grief, or total acceptance?
Again, the finale does not settle this tension, as Forest actually accepts both extremes in some ways (if you watched the finale, you know what I mean). By holding both an acceptance of his daughter’s death as well as a profound grief, Forest embraced what Lori Gottlieb has found herself “bringing up all the time” with her patients recently:
“two opposing emotional states can coexist”
Read More:
Alex Garland’s interviews in Rolling Stone and Uproxx
Lori Gottlieb’s recent NYT column and her book — P.S. please buy it from a local bookstore and not on Amazon 😉🙂
