By: Patrick T. Adams
I was 16 years old the first time I picked up a dystopian thriller: George Orwell’s haunting vision of a zero-privacy future, 1984. It was unlike anything I had read previously because its content struck me as something that was possible and to some degree already realized, especially since the Patriot Act had recently been signed into law. At the time, my hormonal teenage mind was easily overcome with paranoia that the government was keeping tabs on me, as if my school cafeteria fart jokes and awkward flirtation with girls were enough to pique the interest of U.S. government bigwigs.
Still,
teenage melodrama aside, there is some credibility to the genre of dystopian
fiction. It brings the abstract concepts of a decaying culture and/or the
political state (really, the relationship between the two is reciprocal) to the
perceptual level, showing the depravity possible to human beings in the absence
of rational values. The genre’s latest popular incarnation is Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games, and it is a great
example of many philosophical subjects ranging from ethics to politics.
Set in
a future North America is the powerful nation of Panem, where its regime, the
Capitol, exercises hegemonic dominance over its surrounding districts, 12 in
all. As a way of reminding its citizens who is in control, the Capitol annually
subjects Panem’s youth to a lottery in which 24 individuals between the ages of
12 and 18 are chosen at random, one male and one female from each district, to
compete in the Hunger Games, a brutal gladiator style death match. The Games
are broadcasted nationwide, like a violent version of Survivor or American Idol,
and watching is mandatory for Panem’s citizens.
When
Katniss Everdeen’s younger sister is selected as one of the “tributes” from
District 12 to participate in the Games, Katniss volunteers to take her place
knowing that her sister is far too weak to survive. As Katniss and the other
tributes enter the Hunger Games arena, moral questions begin to surface,
especially between Katniss and her fellow District 12 tribute, Peeta, whose romantic
affections for Katniss add a further layer of moral complexity.
Since
the rules of the game dictate that there be only one winner – or more aptly
put, one survivor – the tributes face a contrived
(this is important) moral dichotomy between pragmatism (dispense with
ethics in favor of what “works”) and death. Some of the stronger district
tributes, called the “Careers”, have no problem with taking the pragmatic route,
ruthlessly slaughtering the other tributes, and even seem to sadistically
relish in doing so. As for the other tributes, some choose to be evasive and
non-confrontational, hiding in the woods hoping to simply outlast the others,
while Katniss tries to remain resourceful and tactical in her survival.
However,
there is a much deeper and more pivotal ethical issue involved with the Games,
and that is the principle of the initiation of force (i.e. attempting to gain a
value by using physical force or fraudulent means rather than productive or
honest means). While the specifics are unclear, the reader can infer that the districts’
widespread economic indigence and social depravity is caused by the Capitol’s
brand of rule. What is clear is that the economy is centrally planned, where
each of the 12 districts is designated for a particular economic activity. For example,
District 12 is coal mining and District 11 is agriculture. Since the means of
production seem to be owned by the Capitol, this would suggest some variation
of socialism, although it doesn’t appear there is a complete abolition of
private ownership.
Such
is the case with the Capitol’s totalitarian rule of the Districts: mass
starvation and subsistence living. In an abstract sense, the Capitol severs the
tie between mind and action, and Collins smoothly ties this to perceptual
concretes. Since the Capitol views its citizenry as chattel, it’s not hard to
see the culture’s fascination with murderotica, forcibly throwing teenagers
into a bloodbath for the vicarious entertainment of Panem. This is what is
meant by a contrived ethical
scenario. The tributes are coerced into abandoning any rational convictions
they might hold about respecting other human life.
As far
as human will is concerned, it is divided into two conceptual categories, the
latter causally dependent upon the former: thought and physical action. To
establish a disconnect between the two categories, by reversing the
cause-effect relationship, is anti-reality, but this is precisely what the
Capitol’s initiation of force represents. Since reality is absolute, individuals
must actively observe the facts of reality and then integrate them into
knowledge in order to act according to their needs. When force is initiated
against an individual, the mind can no longer carry out this function of
translating thought into action as needed. The aggressors also have to abandon
the principle that the mind must sustain itself epistemically, thereby burning
the bridge between their own minds and reality. When concretized in real life
applications, the consequences are disastrous, as depicted in Panem where individuals
are in a perpetual do-or-die mode of existence, especially within the Games.
This
leads to another theme of the novel: Do the tributes have an alternative to the
barbarism of the Games? Collins answers yes, and rightly so. Katniss defies the
Capitol in small ways, which appear to be the developmental stages of a
rebelliousness to mature later in the sequels. In the Capitol Training Center
before the Games begin, Katniss fires an arrow amidst the Gamemakers, a
powerful committee of game officials, just to grab their attention. And in the
novel’s most poignant scene, Katniss uniquely honors a fallen fellow tribute –
just 12 years old – that helped her to survive.
Since
I have not yet read the sequels, Catching
Fire and Mockingjay, I don’t know
exactly how rebellion against the Capitol plays out, but with the regime’s advanced
technology described in the series’ first installment, it’s probably a very
onerous task. If there’s a mark against the novel, though, it’s the unlikely
technology, from agile hovercrafts to genetically engineered wasps. It’s not
that these sorts of things are impossible to human ingenuity, but that they
would materialize in Panem where the districts aren’t even free to grow their own
food. An application as narrow and complex as genetic engineering takes years
of condensing a broad range of scientific concepts. The human mind functions
through principles, needing to think long-range, translating
thought into action as needed, but this process is substituted and bridled with
the immediate dictates of the Capitol.
When I’m
reading a novel, I like to become so engaged in the story that I forget I’m reading,
but the unconvincing technology served as an occasional reminder that I was
just reading a book. Many dystopian novels tend toward this same technological
exaggeration, the most notable of which are George Orwell’s 1984 and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Some exceptions that fully
show how irrationality disintegrates society include Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, also demonstrating the
happiness possible to individuals, and William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, a literary case study in mob rule.
Making
the intellectual concession of “practicality” to totalitarianism only
strengthens the false dichotomy between what is moral and what is practical.
While the Capitol regime is patently evil, they still seem to make incredible
innovations. Metaphysically, this creates a false dilemma between unprosperous,
highbrow idealism and amoral, but wealthy pragmatism. Faced with the guns of
the Capitol, I’m sure the Districts are left to ask, “But what are we to do?”
Fortunately,
Katniss is the answer to this question. Her character coupled with Collins’ suspenseful
plot pacing lends The Hunger Games
its distinctive ferocity, an embattled retaliation against statism and a
declaration of free will. With the context of rising government intervention in
the real world, it’s not hard to see why these themes resonate with such a
large audience. On that note, may your will be ever in your favor.
