Morality games

If The Lord of the Rings was the seminal standard of the fantasy genre in the modern age, then, without question, Game of Thrones claims that crown in the postmodern (and post-sexual-revolutionary) one, where what constitutes evil and depravity is always up for debate.

HBO had plenty to work with in the depravity department from George R.R. Martin’s medieval-style novels in which rape, incest, mutilation, and violent death occur nearly as often as the banquets and jousting (probably more often). Yet the cable network upped Martin’s ante, adding explicit brothel and gay-sex scenes that never appear in the books. (At one point, the frequency of female nudity reached such a level, Saturday Night Live joked that one of the producers must be a teenage boy.)

Plenty of teenage boys must be watching, and plenty of everybody else as well. Thrones’ ratings have grown exponentially every season until it now ranks as cable’s second-most-watched show, topped only by the similarly nihilistic Walking Dead—an especially eye-popping feat given that it airs on a pay channel while the competition is available with any basic package. And those are just the legitimate numbers. Because Thrones also happens to be television’s most pirated show, tens of millions of viewers aren’t officially counted.

But you probably knew that. Because, unless you’ve been living in a television-, magazine-, and internet-less world, you must have heard at least some of the buzz surrounding Thrones. Given the extreme content listed above, it would be easy to credit its popularity to the prurient interests of an indiscriminate audience.

I’m not recommending anyone watch the show (and not attempting here to add to the cottage industry of debates about whether Christians should watch it). However, as an entertainment analyst, I would argue that, along with superb world-building, plotting, and characters, Game of Thrones’ themes are the greater draw for fans.

The Seven Kingdoms is a world in which the wicked routinely prosper, and, as in Christ’s parable of the unrighteous steward, it rewards its own for their duplicity. (Note: spoilers ahead.)

In the first season, the upright family man, Ned Stark (Sean Bean), is hoist on his own honor and loses his head for extending mercy to an enemy. The show frustratingly undercuts the following irony from the book, but Ned’s son Rob is similarly assassinated when he tries to do the moral thing by marrying a girl he sleeps with in a moment of emotional weakness. Then, in the fifth season, Ned’s other son, Jon Snow (Kit Harington), is offed, again for trying to do justice amongst unjust men (though, of course, whether he will remain offed and whether he is really Ned’s son is a matter of raging speculation).

And yet, there are a few forces for good who’ve avoided the knife in the dark by being as crafty as the forces for oppression. Arguably the most beloved character of this sprawling, congested epic is the half-man Tyrion Lannister (Peter Dinklage). Tyrion stands as the anti-Frodo, an alcoholic cynic who keeps company with prostitutes and was raised in the snake pit of politics with the deadliest of vipers. However, while he knows how to scheme and plot with the most treacherous of his family, he uses his background primarily to befriend outcasts and protect the weak.

This brings up Thrones’ other surprisingly uplifting quality—its Lost-like penchant for redeeming its villains. Or at least putting us in a position to root for their redemption rather than their damnation.

Tyrion’s brother, Jamie, begins the story as the worst of sinners. A would-be child-murderer, he deserves the disgust the viewer naturally feels toward him. Little by little, however, we see glimmers that there is still a soul inside Jamie’s corruption. A soul worth saving that, through painful loss, comes to know some level of repentance.

In subtle, probably sometimes unintentional ways, Game of Thrones argues for an immutable moral order. A critique at TheFederalist.com persuasively demonstrates that for all the sexual content, the story’s heroes are those who most exhibit the most sexual virtue.

Martin offers messy choices to deeply flawed but still-principled characters, and then shows them trying to choose the best of a bad lot. The implications aren’t as simple as, if the good guys win, peace and justice are restored. Sometimes, smear campaigns effectively redefine good (or, at least, best possible) decisions. As when Tyrion risks his life to protect the city of King’s Landing but is soon after viewed as a tyrant and liar by the very people whose lives he’s saved. Still, he keeps trying to save them.

Unlike the buzzy but lower-rated House of Cards, Game of Thrones isn’t entirely a contest of which conniver will triumph in a deathly power struggle. Some in Westeros are self-sacrificing, some are righteous. They’re also sometimes sinful and unwise, and often at the mercy of the unrepentantly wicked. From the Bible we know the truth of this scenario. But Thrones doesn’t know the whole truth that J.R.R. Tolkien knew. And if Martin were Tolkien, his heroes would be better able to bear both their shortcomings and their trials knowing that a “burned hand teaches best” and a “far green country” where all wrongs will be righted awaits them at the end.

Listen to Megan Basham’s review of Game of Thrones on The World and Everything in It.