Book 12 of the Odyssey recounts Odysseus’ encounter with the Sirens—those dangerous creatures whose seductive songs lured sailors to a deadly fate. Following Circe’s advice, Odysseus prepared himself and his crew in such a way that, working together, they all escaped the trap unharmed.
Odysseus instructed his companions to plug their ears with beeswax so they wouldn’t hear the Sirens’ song, and he had them tie him to the ship’s mast so he could listen without giving in to temptation—ordering them not to release him until they had safely passed the danger. Mutual loyalty prevented disaster.
A recent rereading of this well-known episode led me to reflect that, in the journey of life—a journey of constant self-discovery and reconnection—we cannot face great challenges alone. We can only overcome them if we are guided by wise counsel and supported by people we trust and who trust us.
In fact, the Odyssey can be seen (among many other interpretations) as a profound symbolic depiction of the journey each of us undertakes through time, identity—or rather, identities—and transformation. In a sense, we are constantly in the process of becoming. And from time to time, we hear those seductive songs of the past trying to distract us.
The Sirens promised Odysseus knowledge of all things. Today’s Sirens, now digitized and driven by algorithms, seduce us with nostalgia, fears, and intense emotions—carefully calculated to replace “logic with spectacle, rational discourse with emotional imagery, argument with effect, and truth with appearance,” as Spanish philosopher José Manuel López García puts it.
A metamodern and existential rereading of Odysseus’ encounter with the Sirens allows us to consider that we have already been seduced by those “songs” (that is, narratives) that we once accepted as unquestionable truths. Though they remain emotionally powerful, we now see that they lead us toward both personal and global shipwreck.
In the Odyssey, Odysseus is not simply returning home—he is also returning to himself. This can be interpreted as the act of reconnecting with the emerging future. The danger of the Sirens lies in their song’s ability to interrupt that process with the seductive promise of a “shortcut” that, far from bringing us closer to the end of our journey of self-discovery, actually nullifies it.
In the 21st century, the “Sirens” sing to sell, to hijack our attention, and to prevent us from having trustworthy people in our lives who might help keep us from being seduced. But I fear it may already be too late. The techno-sirens whisper through social media, fragmenting wisdom and thought.
We no longer sail mythical seas, yet the techno-sirens still sing—not from rocky islands, but from our screens. What does it mean that the only mast I can tie myself to is a conversation with an algorithm?
In the age of techno-sirens, we should learn to sing again. We will not silence the techno-Sirens. We sail beyond them if we remember the journey is not only forward, but inward.