Game of Thrones and Philosophy (18 page)

Dany is frightened and appalled by the ceremony. This new culture is so different from her own that she cannot help but feel disgusted. Of course, the reader is also appalled by the celebration. Compare it to the last wedding reception
you
attended! Such overt sexuality and violence are strongly discouraged in our culture, but as the magister points out, it is commonplace for the Dothraki.

Though both Viserys and Dany seem to condemn these practices, moral relativism tells us that they are mistaken in doing so. Notice that Illyrio, who is acquainted with the Dothraki culture, does not seem surprised by the display. Likewise, the Dothraki spectators see no cause for alarm or outrage. In fact, they are exhilarated by the fighting and fornication. So, must we also accept that this strange celebration is morally permissible in this culture?
We
may be reluctant to do so, but for Dany, learning the Dothraki way of life is a necessity.

Pillage and Plunder

“This is the way of war.”

— Khal Drogo (“The Pointy End”)

At first, Dany listens to Ser Jorah’s stories about the Dothrakis’ ruthlessness with astonishment and fear. But as she grows accustomed to her new role, Dany learns to love her husband, and at least tolerate his followers. She adopts the Dothraki ways in her new role as
khaleesi
, the leader’s wife, “talk[ing] like a queen” (“Lord Snow”), learning her people’s language, donning their garb, and eating their food.

The shocking part comes after Dany discovers that she is pregnant with the Khal’s son. During a ceremony to celebrate her pregnancy, she eats a bloody horse’s heart (“A Golden Crown”). Only then does she fully join herself with the life force of the Dothraki people. Her brother Viserys does not adapt as Dany does, and he pays the price for it. In a way, the audience becomes accustomed to the Dothrakis’ practices as well, at least to a certain extent, because Dany is our guide in this foreign land and her bravery and resilience make her a highly sympathetic character.

Dany adopts many of the Dothrakis’ social practices, but her tolerance for their
moral
actions goes only so far. After Khal Drogo decides to overtake the Seven Kingdoms to restore Dany to her rightful place as queen, his people pillage the other horse tribes along the way. The Dothraki warriors brutally rape and murder everyone they encounter, not discriminating between men, women, and children. Dany is infuriated and disgusted by the violence, and she saves one of the women, a healer, who is about to be gang-raped by several of the warriors. Upon witnessing another rape, Dany orders Jorah Mormont, a follower from the Seven Kingdoms, to make the warriors stop their pillaging. He replies: “Princess . . . you have a gentle heart, but you do not understand. This is how it has always been. Those men have shed blood for the
khal
. Now they claim their reward.”
14
One of Dany’s servants, a Dothraki, says that the warriors “do this girl honor” and Khal Drogo himself says, “This is the way of war. These women are our slaves now, to do with as we like.”
15

Clearly this clash of moral codes causes tension between Dany and her people. The reader is likely just as horrified as Dany by the brutal way the warriors treat their captives. On the one hand, Dany realizes that this is the way things are done among the Dothraki—they don’t consider rape wrong under these circumstances. But on the other hand, Dany cannot just ignore the rape. It’s not something to get used to, like eating horse meat. It’s something she believes is wrong, period.

The Morality of the Seven Kingdoms and Beyond

As we’ve seen, there are two important lessons that we can learn from cultural relativism. First, we should not assume that our moral practices are based on a universal, rational standard. Second, we need to keep an open mind about other cultures’ practices, even if we have a difficult time accepting them. We do not have to go so far as to adopt another culture’s ethical codes, but neither should we be dogmatic about our own. This is especially true when we are confronted with a strange and mysterious world like the one we find in
A Game of Thrones
. There’s a difference, however, between accepting that different cultures have different moral practices and a moral relativist’s claim that we should therefore be tolerant of
all
differences we encounter. In the end, we must reject moral relativism. No matter what culture we’re in, some actions are wrong. Which actions are those? Eating horse meat? Probably not. Sibling incest? Maybe—depends on the circumstances. Rape? Definitely.

NOTES

1
. George R. R. Martin,
A Game of Thrones
(New York: Bantam Dell, 2005), p. 103.

2
. James Rachels, “The Challenge of Cultural Relativism,” in
Philosophy for the 21st Century
, ed. Steven Cahn (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 2003), p. 595.

3
. George R. R. Martin,
A Clash of Kings
(New York: Bantam Dell, 2005), p. 328.

4
. George R. R. Martin,
A Storm of Swords
(New York: Bantam Dell, 2005), p. 444.

5
. Jesse Prinz,
The Emotional Construction of Morals
(New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 2007), p. 224.

6
. There may also be a biological disinclination toward interest. See Prinz,
Emotional Construction
, p. 255, for a discussion.

7
. Ibid., pp. 188 and 233.

8
. Martin,
A Game of Thrones
, p. 485.

9
. Ibid., p. 833.

10
. Martin,
A Clash of Kings
, pp. 497–498.

11
. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), many nations do not have active laws in place to prevent illegal sex trade and human trafficking, which
may
suggest that the practice is less morally blameworthy there than in other nations.
http://www.unodc.org/unodc/en/human-trafficking/index.html
.

12
. Martin,
A Game of Thrones
, p. 103.

13
. Ibid., p. 101.

14
. Ibid., p. 668.

15
. Ibid., p. 670.

Chapter 16

“THERE ARE NO TRUE KNIGHTS”: THE INJUSTICE OF CHIVALRY

Stacey Goguen

The Dark Side of Chivalry

“It is chivalry that makes a true knight, not a sword. Without honor, a knight is no more than a common killer.”

—Ser Barriston Selmy
1

“Hodor doesn’t like those much. . . . He likes the stories where the knights fight monsters.”

“Sometimes the knights are the monsters, Bran.”

—Bran Stark and Meera Reed
2

Chivalry as an idealization and an ethical code is a strong theme in A Song of Ice and Fire. Sansa Stark, a highborn girl, is the primary embodiment of this idealization; she of all the characters in the series most thoroughly believes (at first, at least) in the valor, the romance, and the justice of chivalry.

Sansa’s journey, however, from her home in Winterfell to the capital of King’s Landing and then to the isolated Eyrie in the Vale represents another theme: the darker side of chivalry, where fully armored adults hit defenseless children, kings rape their queens, and anointed “knights” are not knights at all. Sansa, a teenager, starts off
A Game of Thrones
by being betrothed to a prince—her dream come true; however, by the end of
A Feast for Crows
she is smuggled away to a remote corner of the continent, the (arguable) kidnap victim of a man old enough to be her father, who has more than a familial interest in her.

Although Sansa, with her auburn hair, looks much more like her Southron mother from the Riverlands, she shares an important personality trait with her Northern father: naiveté in thinking that honor runs the world. But as we see Sansa’s naive worldview crumble book by book, we also see that her flaws and the corrupt ethics of others are not the only cause of tragedy; chivalry itself holds something dark within its songs of strong knights and beautiful ladies.

Chivalry Is Misguided

“In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women.”

—Knighting Ceremony
3

Sansa interacts frequently with a bodyguard named the Hound, who hates knights and knighthood as much as Sansa loves them. He tells her, “There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don’t ever believe any different.” Sansa gives a standard teenage reply to this, shouting, “You’re awful!” The Hound merely retorts: “I’m honest. It’s the world that’s awful.”
4
Unfortunately for Sansa, the world of A Song of Ice and Fire sides with the Hound.

It’s no coincidence that the Hound’s brother, who is possibly the most ignoble, sociopathic character in the series (an impressive claim, given some of the other characters!), is also a knight. Sansa claims of Ser Gregor, “he was no true knight,” but she must say the same of Ser Meryn Trant, who slaps her across the face at the behest of her king and betrothed, Joffrey Baratheon. And what of the Kingsguard of the Mad King Aerys—the most honored knights in the land, sworn to protect the royal family—who stood outside the king’s door and did not stir as the queen screamed? Their duty was to protect her . . . but not from the king? There have been enough false knights throughout the history of the Seven Kingdoms to fill every castle from Dorne to the Wall.

So are we seeing systematic disregard of a moral code, or is the moral code itself part of the problem? Are there true chivalric knights who uphold justice, or is chivalry itself flawed as a moral code? There are upstanding men and women in Westeros, no doubt, and the irony should not go unnoticed that the knight who arguably adheres most to an ethical standard of knighthood is a woman—Brienne, the Maid of Tarth. A few virtuous knights, however, are not enough to save chivalry, for it does indeed fail as an ethical code.

Chivalry falls short in two main ways. First, it fails to accomplish what it sets out to do: protect those who cannot protect themselves. Knights are supposed to protect a lady’s honor, but by focusing on protection as the paramount moral duty, chivalry exalts the sword that protects and (unconsciously) devalues the body that cannot protect itself, which leads to moral vulnerability. Chivalry explicitly claims that it does the opposite: it raises up the “fairer sex” on a pedestal of moral reverence. However, as the activist Gloria Steinem once pointed out, “a pedestal is as much a prison as any small, confined space.”
5
The denizens of Westeros might put it: a pedestal is only three walls away from being a Sky Cell, and a prison counts as “protection” only in a twisted sense of the word.

Second, the injustice is not just that chivalry is an imperfect way of accomplishing a worthy goal; chivalry picks a flawed goal to begin with. It aims to protect the weak instead of empowering them to protect themselves. Moreover, since chivalry picks out women as a whole class of people who are in need of perpetual protection—even as adults—chivalry does not help people lead fuller, more flourishing lives. Instead, it creates rigid social roles that not only punish people when they try to step outside them but also cheapen social relations, turning them into caricatures. At the end of the day, chivalry treats many adult women like children, overvalues the role able-bodied men play as eternal protectors, and even slips in assumed heterosexuality here and there as part of the roles knights and ladies play.

Therefore, chivalry itself is unjust—regardless of the high moral standing of some people who adhere to it. It’s not merely that some knights abuse the power given to them, but rather that the code of chivalry requires an unequal balance of power from the start. It propagates the vulnerability of women and further propagates oppressive frameworks of social relations and romantic love.

Some might object that in Westeros we see chivalry functioning within a homophobic, sexist, classist society. By this account, chivalry itself could be separated from these less savory social prejudices and distilled into a truly just ethical code. However, while the chivalry of Westeros has been influenced by its larger social values, we shouldn’t forget that it also helps shape those values. Chivalry doesn’t just soak up sexism; it inherently endorses and promotes it.

Moreover, this critique of chivalry extends well beyond Martin’s fiction. The Western world—albeit somewhat different from Westeros—is not unacquainted with the ideal of modern “knighthood.” A knight is a man who holds open doors for his lady, who woos her with romance, and who protects her. A good man is commonly described as a knight in shining armor or Prince Charming. But chivalry is as much a misguided ethical code in our world today as it is in Westeros. It too narrowly conceives the moral roles each person should play and, furthermore, fixes certain people into a status of vulnerability, which ultimately forces on them a status of inferiority. As Sansa learns, along with Martin’s readers, chivalry does not promote human flourishing. There are no true knights because a knight adhering to chivalry is inherently being unjust.

Sansa and her Songs

“Life is not a song, sweetling.”

—Petyr Baelish
6

At the beginning of the series, Sansa thinks life is like a song. While various characters chide her for her naiveté, they rarely suggest that listening to such songs day in and day out is somehow inappropriate. Several characters remark that music is appropriate for girls, but girls alone. Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish and the Hound come the closest to criticizing Sansa’s upbringing. Littlefinger warns her, “Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow.”
7
The Hound mocks Sansa for being like a little bird that sings songs to please other people; however, he also acknowledges that she has been taught these songs and trained to sing in this way. He derides her for being childish, but she has been encouraged to be childish in this manner. Then again, Sansa really is still somewhat of a child, and as the royal princess Myrcella once pointed out, “We’re children . . . we’re
supposed
to be childish.”
8
But are even adult ladies supposed to be childish? According to chivalry, the answer in a sense is yes.

Chivalry treats (highborn) women as having a childlike status and then assumes that that status is a natural trait. Just as Sansa has been taught and encouraged to take on certain childish traits, chivalry encourages women to be vulnerable and dependent. It also encourages other people (especially knights) to treat women as if they are in a perpetually vulnerable state.

The postcolonial feminist philosopher Gayatri Spivak can help us here. Pointing out how imperialism and sexism can interact with one another, Spivak argues that when people from one country try to help people from another country, they run the risk of treating those people like children, even if they don’t mean to. She argues that this problem often arises when people think they have a duty to right the wrongs befallen on others, while doubting that those others will ever be able to stand up for themselves and right their own wrongs. These “saviors” end up becoming oppressors; they start treating the people they’re helping as forever dependent and vulnerable—subhuman and childlike. Perhaps not coincidentally, Spivak claims, “we reproduce and consolidate what can only be called ‘feudalism.’”
9
Just as feudalism turns some countries and people into vassals, chronically dependent on their lieges for protection, anyone trying to help someone else can fall into this pattern of unconsciously treating them like children.

Spivak, however, isn’t arguing that we shouldn’t help people. Helping people is good. Helping people because it’s your duty is also good. Immanuel Kant (1724–1804), for example, argued that morality stems from duty. So thinking you have a duty to help other people is not the problem. The problem arises, as Spivak says, when you think you are responsible for someone else because they are not responsible for themselves. The problem occurs when you perceive your role not as dutiful temporary guide but as dutiful eternal babysitter.

Knights do not perceive their guardian role as temporary. For instance, when fired, Ser Barristan proclaimed that he lived as a knight and thus would die as a knight. Furthermore, the people of Westeros do not perceive women as outgrowing their need for protection. For instance, Catelyn slit a man’s throat and pried a dagger away from her own by grabbing the blade with her hands and biting her attacker, yet people still considered her as vulnerable as any other woman. Men and women are held to the ideals of knight and lady—the protector and the protected—regardless of an individual’s need for such protection.

In her landmark work of feminist philosophy,
The Second Sex
, Simone de Beauvoir (1908–1986) discussed how social customs can be confused and entangled with physical facts. We consider many customs to be grounded in some fact that justifies them. To make this point, Beauvoir quoted George Bernard Shaw (1856–1950) on racism: “The white American relegates the black to the rank of shoe-shine boy; and then concludes that blacks are only good for shining shoes.”
10
Likewise, chivalry relegates ladies to their pedestals, then from this concludes that ladies are fit only to stand on pedestals and not get their dresses dirty. The custom creates the narrative from which it was supposedly derived.

Some might object that women really are physically weaker than men. Most women just don’t have the muscle mass to protect themselves against a hostile man, so women need knights for physical protection. To debunk this idea, consider Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish, a man of small stature. He was even smaller as a teenager, when he tried to fight Catelyn’s betrothed one-on-one for her hand in marriage. He lost. Badly. And yet Petyr is more than capable of protecting himself. He knows there is more than one way to skin a cat, and there is more than one way to overpower your enemies. He points out to Ned Stark (poetically while in a brothel) that since he can’t win by fighting his enemies, he will fuck them (over) instead (“You Win or You Die”). Similarly, when Syrio Forel is teaching Arya sword-fighting, he points out that the “knight’s dance” of using brute force is not the only way to fight. Strength and muscle mass are not the only ways to protect yourself; agility, speed, cunning, intelligence, and stealth (the Water Dance) will also do the trick. No one has ever denied that women can excel at these things, least of all fucking people over. It is said in Westeros that poison is a woman’s weapon, and Cersei points out to Sansa that crying and sex are also weapons for manipulating people.

And yet, chivalry sets women up as an entire group of people who, by virtue of being women, need protection. Always. For example, Grand Maester Pycelle discusses the “frailty” of the female sex in reference to Cersei, the queen regent, who is as ruthless and ambitious a leader as any. Or again, when Lord Stark finds Arya’s sword Needle he remarks, “This is no toy for children, least of all for a girl,” even though she had disarmed Prince Joffrey, who was not only bigger than she, but better trained.
11
In the HBO series, when his sons make fun of Bran for being a bad shot, Lord Stark asks which of them were marksmen at ten. Meanwhile, Arya, only slightly older than Bran, scores a perfect bull’s-eye. Yet no one seems to consider what Arya could do if she had been given formal training like her brothers.

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.