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The cautionary tale. It is as old as humanity itself, offering counsel along with entertainment and pathos. Everything from mythological, heroic narratives to fairy tales reminds us of our physical and emotional frailties: mortality, greed, jealousy, hubris. In these regards we are no different than our pre-historic ancestors who dwelled in caves. Yet we keep telling ourselves these stories in an effort to become something better, to inform the next generation of avoidable dangers.

Much of science fiction literature features cautionary tales: warning us of what the future may hold, rather than extolling the benefits of increasingly advanced technology. Frank Herbert’s Dune series is one of the more powerful, evocative examples—especially since its themes resonate even more strongly than they did in the 20^th century. This essay will focus on the original six Dune novels Herbert wrote (Dune, Dune Messiah, Children of Dune, God Emperor of Dune, Heretics of Dune, and Chapterhouse: Dune) and the issues he raised concerning a variety of subjects. This essay assumes the reader is familiar with these books; be warned, there are story spoilers ahead.

On the surface, Herbert’s Dune saga might seem anything but cautionary. Most people are only familiar with the first book, which follows the tropes of a disenfranchised prince who reclaims his father’s throne and enacts revenge on those who wronged him. The narrative loses this veneer of predictability afterward, however, and delves into a universe of forced human evolution, millennia-old plots, and catastrophic upheaval. The idea of the ‘hero’ is obliterated as consequences and human failings paint a much darker picture of the potential within our species.

Dune’s future isn’t a hopeful one, and it asks one key question throughout: can humanity quell its primitive, selfish urges and evolve into something less destructive?

Interstellar Aristocracy

Government without representation, headed by unelected, wealthy families has plagued humanity for its entire existence. The Age of Enlightenment ushered in the current era of republics that control most of Earth’s nations, yet representative democracy remains a fragile, often ineffective system due to wealth and corruption. There are a few monarchies remaining, with most lacking absolute power, but more daunting is the rise of oligarchs: super-rich individuals/families whose whims can affect the world economy. They are effectively the new aristocracy, and further widen the divide between rich and poor. Herbert’s Dune saga focuses on noble houses and the political, economic, and military rivalries surrounding the Imperium and the production of the spice mélange. They are strikingly similar to today’s oligarchs, sometimes possessing their own private armies like the Sardaukar (real-life examples are the Wagner Group serving Vladimir Putin; and Xe, formerly known as Blackwater, acting as mercenaries for governments and individuals). Their rule over their constituents/populations is absolute; they live far longer than the poor due to the spice; and they are often the product of exacting breeding programs that span centuries. Imagine today’s billionaires living on the best planets, in near-immortal comfort, making decisions that affect billions of subjects many light years away. Humanity unfortunately gravitates toward ‘strong’ leaders and the authoritarianism that goes along with them. Dune’s aristocrats are no different. House Atreides is shown to care a little more for its subjects, and engages in less ecological destruction than its rival, House Harkonnen, but it is still a noble family whose existence is dependent on the lord/serf relationship inherent to any feudal society. Paul Atreides brings the Imperium’s feudal system to its knees after his ascension to Emperor, yet he accomplishes this with horrible genocides that murder billions and spreads religious fanaticism (more on this below). Revolution usually beings forth a worse situation than the one that fed it, and produces people whose mark on history is far more destructive than beneficial (such as Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, or Mao Zedong). That is what Herbert illustrates with Dune’s nobility, and the subsequent, ghastly rule of Paul Atreides. It isn’t until Leto II assumes control, after Paul’s death, that some semblance of peace and ecological stewardship arrives in the narrative, but those benefits still hinge on the caprices of a single authoritarian figure who seems omniscient and omnipresent: the ‘god’ alluded to God Emperor of Dune. As climate change erodes Earth’s ecology, it is likely that civil rights and representative government will disappear along with the Amazon rainforest and the Pacific’s coral reefs. Free market capitalism will foster the rise of even richer individuals with increased control over society. Poverty, fear, and ignorance are boons to any who wish to control others—and our civilization sadly has an overabundance. Thus Herbert’s future aristocracy is already here; we see its founders in today’s oligarchs and demagogues. Their influence and assets are of a far greater magnitude than the 20^th century’s wealthiest people, when Herbert wrote Dune in the 1960s. I suspect he would be horrified by today’s ultra-wealthy class. Obviously, we haven’t evolved past our elevation of powerful people, and neither have the characters in Dune.

Ecological Exploitation

The ecology of Arrakis, the desert planet where the spice is harvested, is one of Dune’s central themes. It is tied to the religious beliefs of the Fremen, the natives Paul Atreides leads in a genocidal war later in the narrative. These Fremen have built massive subterranean reservoirs filled with water, waiting for the day when their messiah will arrive and make their beloved planet a green paradise. This happens during Leto II’s reign, in a process taking 3,500 years—but at the expense of creating an intergalactic dark age, where interstellar travel is almost non-existent, technology is near medieval levels, and his will is absolute. It repeats the motif described above, of a revolution birthing something worse than what came before. The fact that Leto II has prescience, like his father, and still selects such a path (the Golden Path, as it’s called) to maintain a peaceful yet stagnant status quo is testimony to the notions of one individual shaping the lives of all—whether they like it or not. It’s an extreme measure, adopted by Leto II since the sand worms are extinct and spice is even more valuable. Though he is safeguarding the new, green Arrakis, Leto II is engaging in the same ecological exploitation of previous eras. That exploitation takes multiple forms: not only sacrificing the environment to guarantee either profits or the present situation, but also who has access to that exploitation. This mirrors our own world right now. We are literally destroying environments and wildlife so we can enjoy a lifestyle of convenience, and those who provide that lifestyle have been made fantastically rich. It’s a vicious circle of desire and greed—and it’s unsustainable. We’re willing to trade the lives of future generations for mobile phones and hamburgers. In Dune, House Harkonnen—and by extension, the Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV and the entire Landsraad—are willing to enslave or massacre the Fremen in order to control spice production. Few care how the spice is gained, or what the environmental and human costs are. House Atreides is less cruel in its acquisition of spice, though its control of Arrakis ends so quickly it is difficult to say how they would have approached spice production in the long term. Herbert makes it clear that the Imperium thinks spice production must be upheld regardless of the cost. Who reaps those benefits? Herbert doesn’t show readers the lives of commoners in the Imperium (other than a few Fremen) but it is safe to assume they receive only the peripheral benefits. I’m guessing they wouldn’t care how the spice is collected, either, as long as their own lifestyles can continue. That’s our world in a nutshell. The ultra-rich devastate the Earth for their own profit, and we let them because we enjoy a tiny fraction of that profit in the form of goods and services. We focus on short-term thinking and short-term gains that wreck lasting—even permanent—damages on everyone. Brian Herbert has said his father intended the spice to represent Earth’s finite oil resources; this is an apt comparison, considering how our leaders and governments have given petroleum corporations unnecessary subsidies and nearly-indomitable political clout.

Eugenics

The history of eugenics is as morally repugnant in the real world as it is in the Dune universe. It has nearly always been motivated by racism and classism, seeking to ‘breed out’ undesirable characteristics in individuals, if not eradicate certain peoples altogether. It reached its horrid apex with Nazi experiments in World War II—as well as early 20^th century sterilization programs in the United States. In Dune, the key faction engaging in eugenics are the Bene Gesserit, an ancient sisterhood that has trained its minds and bodies to perform feats most would regard as superhuman. They seek, via a centuries-long breeding effort, to create the Kwisatz Haderach—a super being that will grant them control of the universe. Their effort is for humanity’s ‘greater good’, of course; the same justification real-world eugenics analogs use. Though eugenics is not new to science fiction, its usage in Dune is unique due to its focus on the selective breeding of the ruling classes. There doesn’t seem to be a desire to weed out unwanted traits in the common populace, but to elevate the already-powerful to even greater heights of ‘superiority’. Herbert shows the ultimate fruits of such hubris: the breeding program becomes the Bene Gesserit’s undoing in the figure of Paul Atreides (and ultimately, Duncan Idaho in Sandworms of Dune) who cannot be controlled by them. In trying to create a being who would bring order, they ushered in the most destructive people who ever lived. It’s as if Herbert warns readers and would-be eugenics advocates alike: ‘be careful what you wish for’. If humanity is to evolve, it needs to do so emotionally, far more than physically or even mentally—something modern-day transhumanists seem to forget.

Technophobia/Robophobia

In the Dune setting, an ancient conflict called the Butlerian Jihad eradicated thinking machines who tried to destroy humanity. This influenced millennia of technophobia that inspired humans to train their minds to fill the technological gap left by the absence of artificial intelligence and computing devices (like the Mentats Thufir Hawat and Piter De Vries). There can be no machine intelligence more complex than a simple calculator, if that—and should a person try to create one, the punishment is immediate death. In the real world, we are beset by constant fears of A.I. supplanting humanity in a variety of doomsday scenarios. This trepidation is instigated in large part by ignorance of the actual technology, as well as the portrayal of machines in popular culture. Our species is obsessed with the fear we will create something that will replace us (is this projection, as we gradually wipe out the rest of life on our planet?). Yet Frank Herbert did something different with Dune, setting it apart from most SF: there are no A.I. or robots in his books. They have been eliminated from the culture entirely, and are little better than myths to the Imperium’s citizens. Instead, humans depend on their minds to perform calculations and recall data, after undergoing specialized training. There is an unspoken element of intellectual monopoly here, however: such mental training isn’t available to the masses, but to certain individuals who serve the noble houses. In other words, only the ruling class have access to the brightest, most talented, and most highly-conditioned people. I feel this is Herbert’s take on what dangers intelligent machines could present—as well as the extreme measures humans would adopt if they survived such a confrontation. Like all things Dune, it is a double-edged sword. (Yes, I am aware of what happens in Sandworms of Dune with Duncan Idaho and Omnius.)

Clones

Cloning is a key element of the Dune saga. In that universe they are called ‘gholas’, and are manufactured/grown by the Tleilaxu, a xenophobic faction bent on dominating the Imperium through subtle means. These gholas possess some of the memories and personality of the original person; one, Duncan Idaho, is created hundreds of times to suit Leto II. In pure materialistic fashion, Leto II kills Duncan whenever the ghola displeases him, and orders a replacement made. Such artificial life is cheap and regarded as something other than human; more product than creature, at least in most peoples’ view. With the exception of the final Duncan Idaho ghola (who first appears in Heretics of Dune and participates in the series’ climax, Sandworms of Dune), these clones lack true freewill, being controlled by their masters for various nefarious purposes. In our world, cloning hasn’t reached such heights, but ethical concerns surrounding the practice are just as strong. Like artificial intelligence, though, most people misunderstand cloning, and assume the process creates a perfect copy of the original, even down to the original’s mind. This is impossible, of course; biology and sentience do not work that way. Yet there is little need to engage in cloning, other than in aid of preserving a near-extinct species. If the technology to recreate a person exists, and that person needs a new kidney, for example, then it would be more conceivable to print the kidney (using that person’s DNA), rather than grow a replacement body, harvest its kidneys, and dispose of the remains. I provide such a horrid example since that has become somewhat of a trope in SF (see the 2005 film, The Island). But manufacturing a person, simply to satisfy someone’s desire for companionship, love, slave labor, etc.? It would be the height of human hubris. Hubris runs throughout Herbert’s Dune books—and its terrible costs. Cloning isn’t exclusive to his saga, but his treatment of it entails a greater scale and deeper depravity than most SF stories that feature it. If the ghola can recall even a fraction of its former life, and the original template has died countless times (such as Duncan Idaho), imagine the psychological trauma that being would undergo on a daily basis. Often, cloning in SF is yet another trope that might provide some form of immortality. In Dune, that immortality comes with a heavy price. (The process is cast in a more beneficial light in Hunters of Dune and Sandworms of Dune, but its inherent ethical problems remain.)

Religious Fanaticism

The 21^st century showed us the dangers of religious fanaticism in its first year, with the September 11^th Attacks. The following two decades featured more examples, such as the actions of ISIS, or U.S. Evangelicals’ continuing efforts against women and the LGBT community. Human history is rife with it. Belief is a powerful force that charismatic leaders can use to enrich themselves and to harm others. This happens in Dune, where the Bene Gesserit and even Paul Atreides uses the Fremen’s religious beliefs to bolster their power. Paul rides this zealous wave to its frightening conclusion in the form of a galactic jihad that murders 61 billion people (these events transpire between Dune and Dune Messiah). He is unable to control what he unleashed, and welcomes his later death because of it. Now, ‘religious fanaticism’ has been called a pejorative term; people don’t like it when their beliefs are blamed for atrocities. Partly, they are correct; it is humans carrying out those atrocities, not the belief system itself. Yet when that system encourages harm on those who deny its truth, it is cause for alarm. Though Herbert borrowed heavily from Arabic and Islamic culture when he created the Fremen and their faith, his warning is applicable when concerning any belief system. What I regard as ‘religious fanaticism’ is any belief that allows its adherents to hurt others as a mechanism for eliminating criticism and unbelievers. Or that violence in the name of the belief can be meted out, free of guilt or consequences. This has plagued humanity for centuries. Herbert, in his Dune series, shows that nothing has changed. Leaders have harnessed such fanaticism in the past; in his future, such beliefs are cultivated to allow for the ascendance of the Kwisatz Haderach. Like all things Dune, this backfires on its instigators. The irony of the Bene Gesserit using such a thing, when their ultimate aim is the betterment of humanity, is stark. Obviously, for them, the ends justify the means. There are many factors that can lead one into religious fanaticism, but for the purposes of this essay, I mention two key ones: fear and scarcity. If the Fremen hadn’t suffered near-genocide at the hands of the Harkonnens, and if they had dwelled on a more bountiful planet, I find it less likely they would have given themselves over to such radical superstition. Not impossible, I admit, but less likely. Yet they were but a tool in the machinations of others, further sharpened by their zealotry and quest for freedom. That has parallels in our world, as we have seen time and time again. Herbert’s warning here is similar to the one regarding eugenics: be mindful of what you encourage and set loose. To think one could control the Fremen—or fanatics in our world—while encouraging them to strike against forces they assume are trying to control them, is playing with fire. In Dune’s case, this fire becomes an unimaginable conflagration.

Summation Frank Herbert may not have set out to pen a cautionary tale, but when his Dune saga is examined, one finds warnings aplenty. Nothing lacks consequences; nothing works completely as planned. It is as unpredictable, beautiful, wondrous, and terrifying as life itself. This is why Dune is my favorite science fiction saga of all time, and why, I suspect, readers and audiences still search the sands of Arrakis for a grain of understanding. Not a sense of the lush, imaginative universe Herbert created, but for insight into ourselves. It constantly asks the underlying question: would this be best for humanity? Unfortunately, we don’t require a messianic, prescient individual to notify us—we are already seeing the answer play out. There is still time to change it.