The Decision of Ye Wen Jie

“Is it possible that the relationship between humanity and evil is similar to the relationship between the ocean and an iceberg floating on its surface?” (Liu 24). This haunting question, posed by Ye Wen Jie in Liu Ci Xin’s The Three-Body Problem, breaches the boundaries between science fiction and history, growing uncannily relevant in reality. From a cynic's perspective, humanity’s blatant refusal to withdraw itself from an anthropocentric mentality, unsettling disregard for ever-intensifying environmental degradation, and inability to erase the habit of conflict may be enough to prove Ye’s hypothesis. How can humanity be synonymous with empathy and compassion while it neglects the dwindling beauty of a planet that sustains it? Such questions do not only live in literature but have also been echoed in devastating fashion in the real world. Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, was one such voice, critiquing humanity’s blind devotion to progress through destructive rebellion. His radical disillusionment mirrors Ye Wenjie’s despair, both responding to profound certainty in the failure of humanity’s social and moral structures. Ye Wenjie’s rebellion, though born of a desire to redeem humanity and arguably justifiable reasoning, emerges from a fractured, deep self that has been darkened into normative insanity, leaving her blind to optimistic alternatives. Her choices, like those of Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, reveal how trauma and disillusionment can twist authentic conviction into destructive resistance. Seen through the lens of scalar moral responsibility, both figures are blameworthy yet not wholly condemnable. Together they stand as cautionary figures, revealing how humanity’s flaws - selfishness, shortsightedness, and blind faith in progress - exacerbated by trauma, can drive individuals toward destructive and tragic forms of rebellion.

Nick Richardson from The London Review hails The Three-Body Problem: “one of the most ambitious works of science fiction ever written” (Richardson 2). Richardson’s description befits the scope encapsulated by the book. Liu Ci Xin is able to evolve a tired trope of alien invasion into a series capturing a refreshing and yet deeply unsettling realism, highlighting moral and social flaws and posing shattering moral dilemmas. Of the myriad well-developed and multifaceted characters explored in The Three-Body Problem, Ye Wen Jie stands out as the most controversial. Her tragic rebellion questions the very boundaries of ethical behavior, simultaneously instilling outrage and reluctant sympathy. Her actions seem unforgivable, yet readers struggle to condemn them fully. The book outlines her deeply troubled and traumatic past that ultimately resulted in the development of a morally flawed psyche and grandiose ideological disillusionment.

The key question in evaluating Ye Wen Jie’s moral responsibility and possible justifications for her seemingly villainous rebellion is whether a developed false self or a fractured deep self guides her. According to Faraci and Shoemaker's analysis of moral responsibility: “one is eligible for responsibility only if (a) one can govern one’s actions with one’s desires, (b) one can govern one’s desires with one’s deep self, and (c) one’s deep self is sane” (Faraci and Shoemaker 12). Actions performed under the influence of the “false self” remove all responsibility from a moral or philosophical standpoint, a destructive nature curated only by unfortunate circumstances rather than intrinsic and underlying characteristics. Decisions made guided by a fractured deep self, however, on the prerequisite that the deep self is clinically sane, reinforce the perpetrator’s responsibility. The idea of the “false self,” as defined by Donald Woods Winnicott's theory, is a “defensive and protective surface, guarding the ‘True Self’ against the threat of annihilation from environmental failures or lack of attunement from caregivers” (Zhang 3). The false self is a mask, an alter ego constructed to hide oneself from a world of pain and rejection. This facade shields the fragile core of one’s true nature, suppressing all remnants of a more authentic self. Literary Scholars such as Zhang Bao Yi insist on Ye Wen Jie’s characterization as a case of the “false self”, claiming, in analysis of her decisions, that the development of this phenomenon occurs: “as a protective mechanism against the harsh realities of her environment. The severe trauma … led her to create a facade that conforms to external expectations to avoid further persecution” (Zhang 4). Although the severe effect of her traumatic experiences is undeniable, this is a mischaracterization of her decisions. Her misanthropic beliefs do not stem from an attempt to conform to societal expectations but from an active rebellion against them. Zhang Bao Yi’s attempt to justify Ye Wen Jie’s development of a “false self” with narcissism and the lack of empathy is a stronger argument. He claims that: “The decision to kill her husband and Lei Zhi Cheng … reveals that she fails to relate to the objects and sees human lives as objects instead of subjects. This is an evident view of objects, and the failure of the survival of the objects keeps her immersed in her ‘False Self’” (Zhang 5). The article’s interpretation reduces Ye’s violence to a symptom of a defensive, inauthentic self. However, her actions in the book are not portrayed as hollow performances. Rather, they emerge as the chillingly consistent expressions of her worldview: That humanity is ultimately only redeemable through external assistance, and any actions that help realize this assistance should be carried out. This conviction and detachment are simply a cold calculation stemming from her authentic self. Furthermore, narcissism is not an exclusive trait of individuals with a false self-complex; instead, it is simply one of the symptoms. Susan Wolf's Real Self View theories about a fractured deep self also provide sufficient explanations for the development of narcissism, explaining it as a conviction of superiority due to a twisted world view.

Rather than interpreting Ye Wen Jie’s actions as a defensive reflex, it is more compelling to understand them as an authentic yet fractured self-expression, a narrow and cold worldview characterized by Faraci and Shoemaker as normative insanity. First, an analysis of exactly how this constricting worldview was developed is necessary. Ye’s descent begins with the brutal murder of her father at the hands of the Red Guard. This formative moment is captured vividly: “She stared at her father's lifeless body, and the thoughts she could not voice dissolved into her blood, where they would stay with her for the rest of her life” (Liu 7). This was the first scar of many that is engraved deep into the core of her soul, an unshakeable, unforgettable reality, not just the murder of her father’s physical body, but the denouncement of his legacy. The body was lifeless in more than just a physical sense; the beating had tried to take away his very soul, the ideas and wisdom so deeply ingrained within his conscience. What he left behind, the large shadow he cast upon the Earth, was painstakingly removed. The pain was inexpressible by way of words; it could only be “dissolved into her blood.” Dissolved, it becomes more than emotion that is part of her, but her essence, her drive, embedded deep within her biology. The pain became red-hot zeal coursing through her veins, influencing her every decision and a constant reminder of humanity's incompetence. This was the first spark that lit her rebellious fire. The cultural revolution claimed not only her father however, but her most trusted confidant as well, Cixin describes this mourning in heartbreaking clarity: “She could no longer feel grief. She was now like a Geiger counter that had been subjected to too much radiation, no longer capable of giving any reaction, noiselessly displaying a reading of zero” (Liu 8). This was by no means apathy, by no means acceptance of the inconceivable reality; it was the erasure of her humanity. She has become a “Geiger counter”, reduced to a cold, calculating object. The pain overloaded her humanity; all she could do was shut it off completely to avoid the endless torment. She was noiseless in her grief, yet she sent out a scream so loud it reached another planet. These deaths were the first cracks in her fractured psyche, forming the foundation of a darker, colder heart. She had watched, helpless, as her country and her own mother turned against her, and her tears had run dry. Her experiences at the Logging crew similarly contributed to her disillusionment: “Silent Spring was the last straw. Her despair toward humanity was now complete” (Liu 15). Up to this point in her life, all semblance of humanity seemed to be hidden from her. It has been years since she has experienced love, comfort, or any hint of humanity's benevolence. All she has seen is corruption, selfishness, and betrayal; this profound disillusionment significantly limited her worldview. From an omniscient perspective, it is not as if the world has suddenly been rid of any goodness, but from her layered experiences, darkness and inhumanity seemed to be all that is left. If that is all she has seen, it inherently becomes an irrevocable truth in her mind. This is similar to a hypothetical case presented by Susan Wolf about Jojo, the son of a cruel dictator. Due to this favoritism, the Dictator brings Jojo to witness his brutal work. These influences curated Jojo's leadership style to be a carbon copy of his father's cruelty. Wolf dictates that: “He is not coerced to do these things; he acts according to his own desires. Moreover, these are desires he wholly wants to have” (Faraci and Shoemaker 5). Jojo believes his actions are not only morally justified, but a normality. He would deviate from the standard development of human morality and meet these demands with a sort of “puzzle disdain,” not befitting the compass curated by his specific upbringing. However, this is not a “false self.” Jojo’s inhumanity is not a facade or an alter ego, but a conviction buried deep within his heart; he simply acts according to his preconceived notions of society. This is a more generalized and extreme case of Ye Wen Jie’s disillusionment. Like Jojo, Ye’s worldview was forged in abnormal and traumatic circumstances. Her unique experiences have convinced her that the world order, human nature, and societal progress are fundamentally broken, and have carved a moral landscape in which conventional ethical norms no longer hold sway. These traumas have indoctrinated within her that humanity is innately evil and unredeemable, an idea summarized by political scholar Stephen Benedict Dyson as: “first imaged pessimism" (Dyson 3). This twisted certainty that humanity is beyond redemption is what drives her to become detached, calculating, and narcissistic, not the development of a false self. Ye describes her feelings as she killed the man that loved her: “calm,” “did not feel anything,” “doesn’t care,” and “this is only an insignificant start” (Liu 45). The conviction of her beliefs and her rational calculus of loss and gain overrule any emotions or attachment she once had. As long as the action serves the purpose that stems from her “fractured deep self,” she is willing to perpetrate it without hesitation. This phenomenon is what Wolf describes as normatively insane. She outlines that these people are victims of misguided societies, and their actions are governed by mistaken conceptions of value that the agents in question cannot help but have. Ye Wen Jie, like Jojo, does not possess the same moral code or fundamental connection to humanity as commonfolk do. Their twisted perception of the world is as unshakeable as it is dangerous. This is the basis of Ye’s narcissism; her belief is so adamant that she is convinced about its ideological superiority. In her eyes, the ordinary moral compass of society is not just flawed, but dangerously anthropocentric, and only she possesses the clarity and resolve suitable to make the correct decision for humanity: “The fate of the entire human race was now tied to these slender fingers. Without hesitation, she pressed the button” (Liu 35). This moment was the culmination of her disillusionment and pain, an unflinching parade of her perceived superiority, with the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she shows unbelievable decisiveness. There are further examples of the stubborn nature of her dogma. Following the death of her husband, she was utterly alone. On New Year's Eve, while reminiscing in her room, the kids from the nearby village she had helped traversed a snowstorm to visit her: “The torches were held aloft by a crowd of children, their faces bright red from the cold, and icicles hung from their hats. … Unwrapping the coats revealed a large pot, the fermented cabbage and pork dumplings inside still steaming hot” (Liu 50). She now began witnessing the humanity that she was so desperately searching for all those years, and it should have thawed her cold, emotionless heart. These children represented the purity of the world she was risking, and the goodness that seemed missing from her life. That was not all, however. During her difficult pregnancy, Ye was hospitalized near Red Coast Base, where villagers cared for her: donating blood, breastfeeding her child, and even taking her in as family while she recovered. In this little, insignificant village near the Kingan Mountains, she received the warmth that she was bereft of and witnessed the beauty of humanity: “As she slept, she would imagine herself becoming a baby sleeping in someone’s warm lap. … The feeling was so real that she would wake up with tears on her face” (Liu 52). Yet in this peaceful, heartwarming embrace, Ye’s heart and icy convictions still did not fully defrost. Under the warm bask of fireplaces and unselfish care, she still could not forgive the darkness of her past. These moments became bittersweet echoes, tugging at her heartstrings but not enough to break her iron-clad conviction. Ye’s actions originate from a fractured, deep self, a worldview tarnished by traumatic experiences. From the perspective of Faraci and Shoemaker’s scale, she remains morally responsible, as her actions are deliberate expressions of her deep-rooted convictions. Her fracture makes her rebellion tragic and complex, but it does not have the power to fully absolve her of blame.

What if Ye’s seemingly fractured musings were not quite fractured at all? Her decision was made in the 1900s; from a 21st-century perspective, the world has drifted unsettlingly closer to the reality she imagined. Concalve, Rebeiro, and Inoue's journal entry explains the Anthropocene as an era of development where humanity has an exaggerated environmental impact. They argue that the instability posited by the theory of the Anthropocene requires a rethinking of international relations and technological development, specifically humanity’s scientific positivism and state-centered mindset. They raise the questions: “Has technology, once hailed as humanity’s savior, become the very force accelerating our downfall?” and “Have we mistaken ourselves as the Earth’s greatest species, but instead we are its greatest affliction?” The Anthropocene is the reality: plundering the Earth's dwindling resources, toxic anthropocentrism, and festering injustices directly result from a steadfast belief in technological development; this new epoch invites a reconsideration of scientific positivism and calls for a development in morality. The world needs a more creative solution that does not depend on destructive development. From this perspective, Ye’s choice no longer reads as the desperate misanthropy of a fractured self, but as a grim anticipation of humanity’s trajectory. Perhaps her rebellion, though ruthless, was not entirely misguided. She sought a morally superior civilization, one not as naive and older on the grand scale of the universe. From the Anthropocene perspective, the question Ye once asked herself does not appear to be as radical anymore: When the axioms of humanity become its greatest adversary, is a solution outside of humanity needed? Ye Wen Jie was not the only one in her world disillusioned with the state of humanity. To assist the alien fleet with their attempt to conquer Earth, she formed the Earth-Trisolaris Organization, ETO. The book cited this organization as comprising some of the top intellectuals in their respective fields. Liu emphasizes that the issues the ETO were concerned with were on a scale beyond the grasp of regular people. The majority are too concerned with survival and ploughing through the mundanity of their life, that they ignore the larger ideological problems. This raises a terrifying question: Are we, as everyday pedestrians, too naive to understand the world from their perspective, too unenlightened to calculate the moral balance? It is true that the path the world is set on right now is one of environmental degradation, and it is a valid point that contemporary Anthropocene discourse validates her fears. However, the ends cannot justify the means when those means involve a desperate gamble of an entire civilization. Her transmission was not a calculated maneuver but a naive shot in the dark born from a twisted worldview. She had not yet confirmed the moral superiority of the Trisolarin civilization, nor had she received assurance of any benevolent motivations. Without hesitation, she takes away the agency of those she is so desperately trying to save in that fleeting yet impactful moment. It is a tragic rebel's flaw to believe that they are morally superior to the rest of humanity, that their personal despair is important enough to override all of humanity.

At first glance, Ye’s decisions seem unfathomable from a real-world perspective. Who could gamble their entire civilization on the uncertain promise of a greater good? History reveals one striking figure who might make the same decision: Ted Kaczynski, dubbed the Unabomber. He sought not violence for the sake of violence, but positive destructiveness in an attempt to revert the world to a “simpler age.” Like Ye Wen Jie, Ted was not a mindless extremist driven by blind zeal, but a troubled and haunted intellectual, gifted with ingenuity yet void of human connection. Ted was a different case from Ye Wen Jie and could be subjected to a more clinical analysis of psychological trauma. David, Ted’s brother, wrote an insightful narrative in which he ruminates about the Unabomber’s past. In the book Every Last Tie, David comments on Ted’s first traumatic experience. Ted was terribly ill at a young age and had to undergo extreme measures of healthcare while separated from his family: “He was terribly afraid, and he thought Dad and I had abandoned him to cruel strangers. He probably thought we didn’t love him anymore and that we would never come back to bring him home again” (Kaczynski 6). From a developmental perspective, infants rely on the security of familial attachment and maternal love to achieve a sense of belonging. This prolonged isolation from any warmth sets the foundation for a fractured psyche, making him vulnerable to sensations of abandonment. Such early memories led to a certain estrangement from the world, since he felt that the world was cold and uncaring; there was no incentive for him to seek connection. These insecurities about his family structure may have extended into a distaste for the larger social structures of humanity. After this episode, Ted displayed tendencies towards isolation, spending his childhood in lonely solitude encased within books and his bedroom walls. David explains a certain gap of understanding between his brother and the rest of the family, claiming that he “mistook his introversion and strong defenses for emotional strength” (Kaczynski 8). Ted once claimed that David was the only person he ever truly loved, and to not only be misunderstood by the world, but by his closest confidant tore Ted’s fragile psyche to shreds. According to David's perspective, the Kaczynski family did not neglect Ted; they cared for him deeply but were separated by a veil of misunderstanding. If only his family had reached out a helping hand and understood his isolation as pain instead of a reflection of his genius, then his brilliant mind may have contributed to the world in other ways. His psychological torture continued at Harvard, where, at age sixteen, he participated in a brutal scientific experiment regarding the response towards trauma. David says, “It is clear my brother was a guinea pig in an unethical and psychologically damaging research project” (Kaczynski 11). His already fractured psyche was obliterated by deliberate attempts of derision in the name of science. A mental state on the brink of collapse, magnified by targeted invasive research, only served to exacerbate his existing paranoia towards civilization and social withdrawal. Ted was a “Guinea Pig,” reduced to a subject less than human. This creates the foundation of his later convictions about technology dehumanizing the human race, giving him direct, lived evidence to a terrifying theory. These experiments did not simply harm his mental stability but, more importantly, laid the groundwork for his later ideologies.

The Unabomber is a clear example of Faraci’s fractured self, yet unlike Ye Wen Jie, his authentic self was broken beyond sanity, therefore taking away most of his moral responsibility. In his testimony, Ted refused the mental illness defence because he believed his ideas were bigger than himself; he wanted to make sure his ideologies were not seen as the ramblings of a madman. He truly believed in them, and they stem from the deepest, most authentic parts of his soul. However, he was ultimately diagnosed with a clinical mental illness. His ideas come from his isolation and genuine rumination about society's outlook. He claims in his manifesto that “Instead of the prosperous, secure, healthy society that the technology promised, we now face social disruption, loss of community, the disintegration of family life, the rise of mental illness, and the loss of dignity, autonomy and freedom” (Kaczynski 10 ). He reflects upon the disintegration of familial structures based on his profound disconnect with his family. Although his ideas are on the right track, since technological advancement in terms of social media does estrange humans and reduce tangible connections, the radicality stems from his mental instability and extreme childhood experiences of solitude. He chooses to live a reclusive life away from cities and people partly because of his profound belief in the implications of technology, but also to subconsciously justify his own lack of connection. However, it is important to recognize the validity of some of his claims. His understanding of technology's effect on environmental degradation and the need for a radical shift in societal structures is in line with not only Ye Wen Jie’s ideas, but also the modern Anthropocene discourse and factual evidence. However, similar to Ye Wen Jie, it is his destructive methods that are ultimately flawed. Philosopher Eric Fromm recognizes that: “The destruction of the world is the last, almost desperate attempt to save oneself from being crushed by it” (Fromm 2). The Unabomber was certainly crushed by this world, battered down by unfortunate circumstances and psychological torment. Because society rejected him, he, in turn, rejected the current form of society. Although his pessimistic views about the world were an incisive assessment, his destructive methods, curtailed by psychological trauma, negate his possible contributions to the world.

The Unabomber was not the first in the real world to doubt the implications of technology, nor was Ye Wen Jie the first to lose hope in humanity in her world. They were simply called to action by a unique combination of Psychological factors and education. Their choices show how authentic belief, when warped by isolation and despair, can collapse into destructive extremism. By framing their rebellions through the lens of moral responsibility, it becomes clear that they are neither fully innocent nor entirely condemnable; they embody the tension between accountability and tragedy. Instead of critiquing and labelling them, it is necessary to take a closer look at the world around us. It is both unsettling and telling that the intellectuals and geniuses of our world have the bleakest of outlooks. We ought not to dismiss their ideas as ludicrous, but instead use them to realize the flaws embedded deep in our system and revamp in the small ways we can. In order to avoid the future that Ye and the Unabomber envisioned, or more intellectuals falling down their dark path, change cannot be left to the select few; it must be a collective endeavor through the seemingly insignificant yet meaningful aspects of everyday life.