Game of Thrones and Philosophy

by Jacoby, Henry, Irwin, William

  On the issue of power and vulnerability, consider the riddle Varys poses to Tyrion in A Clash of Kings: Between a king, a rich man, and a septon, who will a sellsword fight for? Does power ultimately rest in wealth, legal status, or social/religious status? Does power ultimately lie within sellswords, or within the person who commands them? The Spider concludes, “Power resides where men believe it resides. No more, no less.”12 The issue with chivalry is that it does not encourage anyone to believe it could reside within a woman, unless she was, like Arya, Brienne, or Daenerys, truly exceptional. But even then, an exception as such does not disprove the rule.

  Within Sansa’s songs, all knights are gallant, maids are always beautiful, the season is always summer, and honor always rules. Chivalry is unproblematic because no one is unhappy with their role. There are no Aryas or Briennes or Daeneryses in the songs; there are only Sansas—women who want nothing more than to be the ideal lady.

  But life is not a song, and thinking this way does not help women flourish. Even Sansa realizes this eventually. After she suffers a severe beating from the Kingsguard at her King’s command, a kind maester patches her up and tries to comfort her. Before, Sansa would have taken these gentle words to heart, as when her Septa told her, “A lady’s armor is courtesy.”13 At this point, though, Sansa disregards this coddling as worthless prattle in the face of real injustice. She realizes how vulnerable she is when there are no “true knights” to protect her. When the maester tells her, “Sleep a bit, child. When you wake, all this will seem a bad dream,” she thinks to herself before passing out, “No it won’t, you stupid man.”14 Sansa has come full circle from thinking that chivalry dictates the proper role each person should play. Now she concludes of the men around her, “They are no true knights . . . not one of them.”15

  The Death of Modern Chivalry: Good Riddance

  “I like dogs better than knights. . . . A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he’ll look you straight in the face.”

  —The Hound16

  Homosexual love is another thorn in chivalry’s side. Martin approaches this topic mostly through Renly and Loras, who are knights and lovers. Overall, though, not much commentary is made on homosexuality throughout the series, and that is precisely the point. The people of Westeros often forget that homosexuality exists, and when they are reminded, they often remark that it is strange, or abnormal, or very rare. The chivalric love stories are always about knights and ladies. Knights and ladies play specific romantic roles; the knight who wins a tourney places a laurel on the lap of the woman he crowns the Queen of Beauty. Loras crowned Sansa, who swooned at the romantic gesture, but in the TV series, we see Loras has eyes only for Renly. Loras could not, however, crown Renly King of anything in the tourney because a knight is supposed to woo a lady, as Florian wooed Jonquil. It is known.

  Medieval chivalry was homophobic, sexist, classist, ableist,17 and probably racist, too. This is one reason why chivalry, as it has been historically construed, is not a just ethical code. The chivalry of Westeros also adopts many of these problematic ideologies from its culture at large. One might think, however, that “modern-day chivalry” is able to avoid these oppressive pitfalls and be an honorable code of ethics.

  Modern-day chivalry promotes rigid expressions of sexuality as well, though. Chivalry dictates gender roles, and heterosexuality is woven throughout the chivalric interpretation of gender. Even if someone claims that being nice to other people or defending those who can’t defend themselves is a chivalrous ideal, we should recognize that the ideal comes at a price. Modern-day chivalry is invoked primarily as an ethics for how people romantically attracted to each other should interact. How people should act depends on their gender, however. Additionally, chivalry specifies rules only for interacting with someone of the opposite gender. For instance, if two women were out on a date, chivalry couldn’t dictate who should pay for the meal, or whether one should hold a door open for the other. Likewise, if two men were in a relationship, chivalry would be unable to explain how the two men should support each other. Modern chivalry presents itself as a universal code of ethics, but really, it offers guidance only for heterosexual men and women.

  Simone de Beauvoir argued that modern chivalry wove itself into the heterosexual narrative of romance that many French girls in the 1940s imagined for themselves. In this narrative, men played a specific, chivalrous role: “He [a man] is the liberator; he is also rich and powerful, he holds the keys to happiness, he is Prince Charming. She [the girl] anticipates that in his caress she will feel carried away by the great current of life.”18 Girls imagine a specific role for themselves: waiting for Prince Charming to carry them away. Girls who dream of a “Princess Charming” find these dreams and desires ignored and unacknowledged.

  Clearly, George R. R. Martin understands that people are not always satisfied with the roles their society encourages or dictates. Arya claims that she will not grow up to be a lady, and Brienne was so dissatisfied with her role as a highborn lady that she asserted that no one could marry her until they bested her in combat. (No one ever did.) Likewise, Daenerys proclaimed herself Khaleesi and Queen even though neither Westeros nor the Dothraki were accustomed to having women leaders. Each of these women had to struggle against social norms in order to live the kinds of lives they wanted for themselves.

  This is not to argue that societies shouldn’t be in the business of helping people understand and choose different social roles. The argument against chivalry isn’t an argument for social anarchy. The Southron religion in Westeros, for instance, worships the Seven: the Father, the Mother, the Smith, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Crone, and the Stranger. Focusing on these as seven societal roles/positions is not necessarily unjust or oppressive, since the roles are distinct but not mutually exclusive. A person can be a father and a smith. A single woman could be maiden, mother, and crone in her life. Therefore, it’s possible for Catelyn to see the image of her maiden daughter Arya in the warrior. When she does, Catelyn muses on a piece of theology: “Each of the Seven embodies all of the Seven. . . . There was as much beauty in the Crone as in the Maiden, and the Mother could be fiercer than the Warrior.”19 Societal roles can help us form identities, build communities, and understand our strengths and weaknesses. Societal roles are not oppressive unless groups of people are categorically denied access to roles of value (like being a warrior, valiant and honorable). Bran’s case is a little more complicated; he is crippled and so cannot fulfill his dream of being part of the Kingsguard. This fact in itself isn’t oppressive; the oppression comes when Bran thinks he will not be able to fulfill any valuable role in life. His father’s bannermen encourage this thought by whispering that it would be more honorable for Bran to kill himself. It is not until Jojen comes along that Bran realizes being a knight is not the only way to be a hero—cripple and hero are not mutually exclusive categories.

  Recognizing that people do not function in only one social role their whole lives can help us understand the extent to which our societies encourage us to take on different roles, to explore and change our social identities. Chivalry missteps when it presumes to know which roles are best for us based on our gender and based on its presumption of our sexual orientation. In this way, chivalry is akin to a well-meaning but too-restrictive parent. It needs to let its children grow up and find their own way in the world.

  Women, Not Wards: What Has Humanity Made of the Human Female?

  Beauvoir argues that even if there are biological differences between men and women, it is cultures and societies that put certain values and meanings on those differences. Gender has primarily a cultural meaning (not a biological one), and so if we want to see why Beauvoir thinks that “one is not born, but rather, becomes a woman,”20 then we must ask ourselves “what humanity has made of the human female.”21

  Chivalry has made the human female into a Lady. Well, historically, it made certain women into ladies (specifically, highborn European women). Even if we try to st
rip chivalry of its classist and ethnocentric trappings, it still clings to its sexist framework. The chivalric lady is a kind of ward and not an autonomous human adult. This is not to say that it’s unjust to have anyone ever be a ward under someone else’s protection; many people consider their children to be their wards. However, children eventually outgrow their roles as wards. The problem is having someone as a ward permanently when they are able to function as an autonomous person.

  Feminist philosophy, therefore, sees chivalry as oppressing women by formulating a specific role that not all women want for themselves, and, further, by devaluing the role that women are supposed to play. Of course, some women fit naturally with the ideal of what being a “lady” entails, but many don’t. By propping up the lady as the best and most proper image of a woman, chivalry silences many other forms of womanhood, demanding that all “proper” women look and act a certain way. Under chivalry, a lady can be seen as honorable, but never quite as honorable as a knight, since a knight can help others besides himself. The ward is never as valuable as the sword that protects him or her, or as the man who wields the sword. Men are also limited by chivalry; being a “knight (in shining armor)” or a “prince (charming)” may offer a bit more breathing room to express one’s personality, but not if a man wants to do anything ladylike, such as singing, dancing, or—heaven forbid—sewing.

  Some might object that thinking of chivalry along gender roles is too simplistic. Even in Westeros there are myriad subcultures in which gender roles are tweaked and changed. For instance, in Dorne, it is not out of the ordinary for a woman to have martial training. The Dornish were descended from the Rhoynar and their warrior-queen Nymeria, after all. However, this means that other regions of Westeros categorize women from Dorne based on their ethnicity. Dornish women are known for being not quite like “regular” women of Westeros. For instance, when Tyrion is asked about the strangest thing he’s ever eaten, he asks if a Dornish girl counts. Ethnic exceptions exist for gender roles, but in being exceptions, they leave the rule untouched.

  In the end, power dynamics can be hidden in how we conceive of ourselves as men, women, citizens, adults, children, and nations. As a result, we can imprison people when we believe we are actually helping them. Instead, we should examine the cultural connotations of what being a knight or a lady means, and try to understand that if we are seeking a just ethical code, chivalry is not a good choice. If a knight is a follower of chivalry who upholds justice and promotes human flourishing, then “there are no true knights.”

  NOTES

  1. George R. R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons (New York: Bantam Books, 2011), p. 878.

  2. George R. R. Martin, A Storm of Swords (New York: Bantam Dell, 2005), p. 339.

  3. George R. R. Martin, “The Hedge Knight,” in Legends, ed. Robert Silverberg (London: Voyager, 1998), p. 518.

  4. George R. R. Martin, A Clash of Kings (New York: Bantam Dell, 2005), p. 757.

  5. “Women’s History: Gloria Steinem Quotes,” About.com, accessed June 2011, womenshistory.about.com/cs/quotes/a/qu_g_steinem.htm.

  6. George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones (New York: Bantam Dell, 2005), p. 473.

  7. Ibid.

  8. Martin, A Clash of Kings, p. 47.

  9. Gayatri Spivak, “Righting Wrongs,” South Atlantic Quarterly 103 (2004), p. 542.

  10. Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex (New York: Alfred K. Knopf, 2009), p. 12.

  11. Martin, A Game of Thrones, p. 220.

  12. Martin, A Clash of Kings, p. 132.

  13. Ibid., p. 50.

  14. Ibid., p. 490. In a small way, a lady’s courtesy can be her armor; Sansa’s composure and politeness do save her from beatings in a handful of circumstances; however, it’s not foolproof armor. As polite as Sansa is, Joffrey is sometimes just in a foul mood and so she amasses a collection of bruises from Ser Meryn and Ser Boros (since it is not kingly for a king to hit his lady . . . himself).

  15. Ibid., p. 490.

  16. Ibid., p. 288.

  17. “Ableist” refers to manifestations of a discriminatory attitude toward people who are not considered able-bodied, that is, people with disabilities. When the bannermen in Winterfell whisper that Bran would have more honor if he killed himself rather than living as a cripple—that’s ableist.

  18. Beauvoir, Second Sex, p. 341.

  19. Martin, A Clash of Kings, p. 497.

  20. Beauvoir, Second Sex, p. 283.

  21. Ibid., p. 48.

  PART FIVE

  “STICK THEM WITH THE POINTY END”

  Chapter 17

  FATE, FREEDOM, AND AUTHENTICITY IN A GAME OF THRONES

  Michael J. Sigrist

  “Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness.”1

  “Winter is coming.” For centuries these well-worn words may have expressed little more than the stern mind-set of the North, but they take on a prophetic and fatalistic force as the drama of A Game of Thrones unfolds.

  Fatalism is the idea that the future has been set in advance and cannot be changed. “Winter is coming.” Nothing can be done to avoid this. The best one can do is to prepare. Let’s call this idea—that the future is already determined—“metaphysical fatalism.”2 Metaphysical fatalism is an ancient idea that endures to this day. Any notion that the future has already been written, that certain events are destined to happen, or that one’s future has been predetermined assumes the truth of metaphysical fatalism.

  We can link that sense of fatalism to two other concepts—freedom and authenticity—in order to better understand the dramas and destinies that conspire in Westeros. Many philosophers believe that fatalism poses an insuperable challenge to human freedom. If the future is already written, then nothing can be done to change it; therefore human freedom is an illusion. This view implies its converse: if we are free, then it is fatalism that is the illusion. These two views vie uneasily throughout A Song of Ice and Fire. It seems that one can believe only in freedom or in fatalism, but that may be the real illusion. Perhaps you can believe in both.

  The Freedom to Be or Not to Be

  Take the story of Daenerys Targaryen, a tale that begins well before the first chapter of A Game of Thrones. Her father, the Mad King Aerys II, was slain by Jaime Lannister. Fleeing King’s Landing, her mother, Rhaella, gives birth to Dany and Viserys aboard a ship and then dies. Daenerys and her brother, born of the dragon blood and heirs to the House Targaryen, spend their childhood as paupers on the streets of Braavos, only to end up as wards of the mysterious Illyrio Mopatis. When we first meet Dany, she is a shy young girl, only vaguely aware of the intrigues in which she herself unwittingly plays a central role. If fate is at work at this point in Dany’s life, it seems to come at the cost of her own freedom and self-

  determination. Her youth, her gender, and the machinations of her brother and Illyrio are forces shaping her life in ways she can scarcely recognize, let alone control. Her fate appears to be out of her hands.

  Readers will know that the Dany who emerges from the fires of Khal Drogo’s funeral pyre—and the Dany who unleashes herself on the East in the later books—is anything but the shy, meek girl we meet at the start. This later Daenerys owns the stage like perhaps no other character in the series—a woman in full control of her actions, upending the world, waging war, trampling on convention, responsible only to herself. And yet, her resolve and fortitude are made possible by her sense of fatalism, not despite it. It is only when she is certain that fate is somehow in control that she feels truly free.

  The coincidence of fate and freedom is not solely a privilege of Dragon princesses. Most of us intuitively understand that fate and freedom are not really as opposed as may first appear. Many of us struggle to find a meaning or purpose that has been, as it were, decided for us, and we believe that discovering this purpose will prove profoundly liberating. But should we take this as anything more than an inspiring sentiment? Could it really be that a purpos
e one has not chosen is the key to one’s freedom? Consider again the case of Dany: perhaps her belief in her own fate is mistaken, though it provides the resolve she needs in order to succeed in her freely chosen mission. Or conversely, perhaps her sense of autonomy is the illusion needed in order for her to fulfill her destiny.

  The French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre (1905–1980) believed that human beings, and human beings alone, were utterly free of fate. He coined a pithy slogan to explain this idea: “Existence precedes essence.”3 Everything besides humans, according to Sartre, has an essence or nature. An essence is that which makes a thing the kind of thing that it is. For example, while there are vastly many different kinds of trees, there is something that is true of each one by virtue of which it is a tree. This essence need not be some ethereal property “treeness” that is there in addition to bark, leaves, root systems, or cell structure. A thing’s essence might just be a set of necessary and sufficient properties. Sometimes a thing’s essence—this is especially true of artifacts and tools—is just the use or purpose for which it is made, as the essence of a hammer is to drive nails, and of a watch to tell time.

  Philosophers from ancient to modern times have tried to discover the human essence, in the hope that this would reveal the meaning of human life. For example, the Greek philosopher Plato (424–348 BCE) believed that the human essence is reason, and therefore that the best life for a human is a rational life devoted to wisdom. By contrast, another Greek philosopher, Epicurus (341–270 BCE), believed that humans, like all animals, are essentially pleasure-seeking beings, and he argued that therefore the best human life is one dedicated to achieving an optimal amount of pleasure.4