### The Big Questions: Who Should Rule? And How? One of the most fundamental questions running through _A Song of Ice and Fire_ is: Who should rule in the Seven Kingdoms?. This isn't just a fictional question; it has real philosophical importance because, like the people of Westeros, we also have to figure out who should rule us. Philosophers have been thinking about politics for ages, and looking at hypothetical situations like the world of Westeros can be a great "thought experiment" to test out these theories. The book introduces us to the perspective of the English philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679). Imagine Hobbes as a maester at court, observing the chaos. Hobbes lived through a real-life "game of thrones" during the English Civil War, which influenced his ideas greatly. According to Hobbes, conflict happens for three main reasons: people fight for possessions, to defend themselves (even preemptively), and for glory. Think about the barbarous clans in the Mountains of the Moon fighting for possessions, Robert Baratheon trying to assassinate Daenerys out of preemptive defense, or Khal Drogo fighting for glory. Given all this conflict and the need to contain human selfishness, Hobbes believed society needs an all-powerful dictator, a "Leviathan," to ensure rules are followed through negative consequences. He wasn't a fan of democracy; an absolute ruler who appoints their successor is his ideal. This contrasts sharply with the way Robb Stark became King in the North, where his authority came from his bannermen choosing him, but once they chose, they couldn't easily back out without being oathbreakers. Hobbes would have found things to admire in the Mad King Aerys II's court, seeing a king centralizing power and ruling with an iron fist, where the king's word was law and tradition (like trial by combat) could be overridden. Hobbes saw himself as a realist who understood that dangerous truths needed to be faced. He'd argue that ambitious nobles like Tywin Lannister and even honorable ones like Ned Stark, by defying the king or prioritizing honor over pragmatism, endangered the realm just as much as any tyrant. The Starks, in particular, could have used a lesson from Hobbes about self-interest; Ned trusting Littlefinger and Robb relying on Lord Frey's sworn duty rather than understanding their self-interest proved disastrous. It really makes you wonder: how much should leaders prioritize practicality and self-interest over traditional notions of honor or duty for the sake of stability? Then there's Niccolò Machiavelli (1469–1527), another philosopher who knew a thing or two about the struggle for power. Machiavelli's famous book, _The Prince_, gives advice on how to gain and keep power, using historical examples. The War of the Five Kings, with its constant struggle, perfectly illustrates many of Machiavelli's lessons. He argued that two main forces shape the battle for power: _virtù_ (skill) and _fortuna_ (luck or circumstance). _Virtù_ isn't fixed; it's the ability to adapt your skills, whether that means courage in battle like Robb or manipulation like Littlefinger. Machiavelli suggests that a concern with traditional morality can actually make strong characters like Ned Stark vulnerable, while those willing to act immorally at the right time can prevail. He doesn't necessarily advise being immoral, but rather avoiding thinking in terms of morality altogether when it comes to power. Actions are good or bad only based on whether they increase or decrease one's power. However, making yourself hated can backfire by provoking rebellion. Characters like Viserys Targaryen, Robert Baratheon, Ned Stark, and Robb Stark made basic mistakes according to Machiavelli's lessons. Viserys's arrogance alienated the Dothraki. Robert, despite his initial _virtù_, let his emotions dictate his actions and was a poor judge of advisers. Robb, a good general, made the fatal mistake of relying too much on untrustworthy allies like Walder Frey. This highlights the tension between traditional loyalty and Machiavellian pragmatism. Machiavellian _virtù_ is often shown by characters who aren't necessarily in the highest positions but are skilled manipulators, able to disguise themselves and act independently, surviving by adapting to circumstances. Littlefinger is a classic example; lacking military power, he uses his intelligence, spy network, and ability to manipulate others to maintain influence regardless of who is on the throne. He offers assistance to everyone but never commits more than necessary and uses others to do his dirty work, masking his involvement. Arya, too, shows _virtù_ in her adaptability and survival skills, though like Littlefinger, she isn't initially a military leader. Jon Snow, however, embodies both the "lion" (force) and the "fox" (cunning) that Machiavelli described as necessary, adapting his appearance and actions to survive among the wildlings even while maintaining his true loyalty. A key Machiavellian lesson is the importance of appearance over reality. A ruler should _seem_ to be merciful, faithful, humane, religious, and upright, and even be so in reality, but must be ready to change when needed. Genuinely possessing these qualities could be fatal if they prevent you from misleading others. Tyrion Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen are presented as characters best illustrating Machiavellian _virtù_. They can make their own luck, adapt, and deceive. Tyrion is great at making sudden changes and manipulating circumstances, though his weakness is being easily distracted by women. Daenerys builds her power on the affection and fear of her followers (the freed slaves), who are completely loyal. Machiavelli said "The best fortress which a prince can possess is the affection of his people," and Dany embodies this. Her ability to be loved and feared, deceive, influence, and make dispassionate decisions makes her a strong contender. Ultimately, like Machiavelli's Italy, Westeros shows that power is fleeting, and even the most powerful can fall if they become complacent or meet someone more skilled. There's no true security, only the constant struggle. It makes you consider: are there times in our own lives when appearing virtuous is more important than _being_ virtuous? And is relying on affection from others truly the strongest form of power? ### What's the Deal with Morality in Westeros? Beyond the political maneuvering, the book delves into ethical questions, often contrasting traditional philosophical views with the harsh realities of the game of thrones. **Virtue and Happiness:** Does living a virtuous and just life lead to happiness?. Plato thought so, claiming a just person is happy and an unjust one is wretched. Many traditional epic stories follow this idea, but _A Game of Thrones_ presents a different picture. Ned Stark seems the epitome of virtue—loyal, courageous, dutiful—but his virtue doesn't lead to happiness; he's betrayed and executed. This seems to challenge the Platonic view. Aristotle had a slightly different take, suggesting happiness also requires external goods. Ned, despite his virtue, lacked the external support needed for happiness, ending in misfortune. Cersei, on the other hand, has external goods but lacks the internal character and virtue needed for true, long-term happiness. This makes you think: is virtue enough for happiness, or do external circumstances play a role? And what does true "happiness" even mean? **Lying and Deceiving:** In a world of constant scheming, lying and deception are rampant. Philosophers generally agree that lying involves intending to deceive someone into believing what you say. Saying something false isn't necessarily lying if you believe it's true (like Catelyn accusing Tyrion based on false information). Even saying false words sarcastically isn't lying because you aren't committing to their literal meaning. Things get tricky with coerced confessions. Could Ned's false confession of treason to save his daughters be considered not a lie because he was under duress? Some philosophers like J. L. Austin suggest words uttered "under duress" aren't truly "said". However, Ned _did_ have a choice, like Sir Thomas More, who chose death over lying. So, while coercion might make Ned less blameworthy, it doesn't mean he wasn't lying. What about withholding information? Simply keeping someone ignorant isn't deception unless there's a clear expectation or obligation to provide that information. As Hand, Ned had an obligation to tell the king about Joffrey's parentage, so both he and Cersei deceived Robert by keeping it secret. Is lying worse than other forms of deception?. Some philosophers like Kant and Chisholm think so, arguing there's something uniquely wrong with lying directly to someone's face. Most people seem to intuitively feel it's better to deceive indirectly, like Cersei letting people _infer_ Joffrey's parentage rather than explicitly stating he's Robert's son. Other philosophers, however, argue that while different, lying isn't necessarily morally worse than other deceptive tactics. They might agree with William Blake that "a truth that’s told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent". One argument for why lying might be worse is that it gives the audience fewer options – they can only believe or question your sincerity, limiting their autonomy. With indirect deception, the audience has to make an inference, and thus bears some responsibility for their false belief. Daenerys, for instance, is seen as bearing some responsibility for being deceived by Mirri Maz Duur because she jumped to a conclusion, even though the maegi intended it. It's like showing off an expensive dagger and getting robbed – you might be partly to blame for making it easy, but it doesn't lessen the thief's responsibility. Indirect deception offers more autonomy; Daenerys could have simply asked Mirri Maz Duur for clarification. Of course, deception is generally accepted in certain situations, like playing poker or, notably, war. "Deceiving an enemy is both just and lawful". Robb Stark fooling the Lannisters by splitting his forces is an example of this. However, some like Barristan the Bold might argue there's "small honor in tricks". Outside of these specific cases, deceiving the king probably isn't acceptable. Is it _worse_ to deceive a king? Consequentialism might argue yes, because misleading someone so powerful can have extremely dire consequences, like Joffrey's lie leading to innocent deaths. This leads us to ask: when is deception permissible? Are some forms of deception truly worse than others? **Just War:** The book examines the War of the Five Kings through the lens of "just war theory". This theory traditionally says a war is just if it's fought by a "legitimate authority," for a "just reason," and in a "noble fashion". Who had the legitimate authority after Robert died is a huge question, with multiple claimants (Joffrey, Stannis, Renly, Robb). Even opposing sides in a civil war can potentially wage a just war if their leaders have the support of their followers and are considered legitimate authorities by them. A "just cause" for war could be self-defense, defending a weaker nation, protecting innocents from tyranny, or preventing human rights violations. Stannis believes he has a just cause in claiming his inheritance. Renly's motivation seems less justifiable. Daenerys wants to reclaim her homeland, which we might empathize with, but does it justify the death and destruction?. Robb believes he fights for freedom from tyranny, seeing Joffrey as cruel and capricious like the Mad King. Joffrey, perhaps unaware of his parentage, might see his actions as self-defense. While Robb is seen as conducting war more nobly, treating prisoners humanely and showing consideration for civilians, his true _intention_ might be questionable. Was his war really for a free North, or was the greater motivation avenging his father's execution?. Joffrey, meanwhile, clearly violates principles of just conduct with his cruel, arbitrary punishments. This makes you think: can wars ever truly be "just"? And how much do a leader's hidden motivations affect the justice of their cause? **Moral Luck:** This philosophical concept explores how luck can influence our moral character and the moral evaluation of our actions. _A Song of Ice and Fire_ highlights the ugliness of a society with brutal social arrangements and inequality, but it also shows how the "haves" and "have-nots" face different kinds of dangers. Philosophers argue that moral character isn't just what someone _does_, but what their actions _reveal_ about the character they already possess. Tyrion, for instance, shows bravery during the Battle of the Blackwater; his actions reveal his existing virtue, rather than creating it in that moment. The sources suggest Tyrion's compassion, empathy, cleverness, and even bravery might stem largely from his life circumstances – his "constitutive luck". Being a dwarf in a disdainful family and society shaped his traits. Would he have been so empathetic to other outcasts like Jon Snow or Sansa if he hadn't experienced being an outcast himself? Probably not. This raises the question: if our character is shaped by luck, how much are we truly responsible for who we are? "Resultant luck" is another type, where the outcome of an action influences its moral evaluation, even if the intentions and efforts were the same. Tyrion carefully planned the use of wildfire; because it succeeded, he's seen as a great strategist. But if, despite his care, an accident had happened and King's Landing burned, the outcome would have been disastrous, and our moral evaluation might be different, even though his actions and intentions were the same. Kant argued that only acting for the right reasons matters for moral responsibility, regardless of outcome. Tyrion acts to protect Shae from Cersei, showing respect for her as a person (treating her as an end, not just a means), regardless of whether his efforts ultimately succeed. The problem of moral luck is a paradox: we intuitively believe people are only responsible for what they control, but luck clearly influences both who we are and the outcomes of our actions. This makes us wonder: can _anyone_ truly be held morally responsible for anything? It's a deep puzzle, and Tyrion's story makes it vividly clear. **Moral Relativism:** Are there universal moral truths, or are morals relative to individuals or cultures?. "Moral universalism" says some truths are universal, while "moral relativism" says they're relative. "Cultural relativism" notes that different cultures simply _have_ different moral codes. This can help explain why actions that seem wrong to us, like those of the Dothraki, are accepted within their culture. Observing these differences, through Dany's eyes, challenges our gut reactions. Cultural relativism teaches us not to assume our moral practices are based on a universal standard and to be open-minded about other cultures, even if we don't adopt their codes. We shouldn't be dogmatic about our own morals when faced with something strange. However, this doesn't necessarily mean all moral codes are equally valid or that we must accept practices we find deeply wrong. It's about understanding _why_ different cultures have different views. This makes us consider: are there any moral rules that are truly universal, applying to everyone, everywhere? Or is morality simply a matter of cultural perspective? ### What's Real? What Can We Know? And Is Anyone Sane? The philosophical journey continues into the nature of reality, knowledge, and even the concept of madness in Westeros. **Metaphysics and the Mind:** Metaphysics asks about the ultimate nature of reality. In Westeros, with seasons lasting years, magic, and supernatural creatures, these questions get complicated fast. What _is_ real? What is the fundamental nature of the universe when magic can seemingly violate the laws of nature?. A key metaphysical question is about the nature of persons and the mind. We have physical bodies, but we also think, feel, and experience. Philosophers wonder what it's like to have certain experiences, like pain. Thomas Nagel famously asked what it's like to be a bat, suggesting we can't truly know. Applied to Westeros, we might ask: What is it like to be a direwolf?. Bran's skinchanging is fascinating here. Does he _know_ what it's like to be Summer, or only what it's like for _him_ to be inside Summer's body?. It raises the possibility that in this world, consciousness might be shared or that one person's consciousness can operate through another being's senses. The book touches on "physicalism," the idea that everything depends on physical stuff and can be explained physically. Some philosophers argue that anything that exists must have an effect, and physical effects must have physical causes. Maester Luwin not believing in the Children of the Forest because they have no observable effect illustrates this idea. Science, which explains the world physically, supports physicalism. However, magic in fantasy challenges comprehensive physical explanations. The idea of "phenomenal zombies" (physical duplicates without consciousness) might be possible in Westeros _because_ of magic, suggesting a different metaphysical reality than our world. This leads to big questions: Is consciousness purely physical? Can science explain everything about reality, or are there aspects (like magic or consciousness itself) that require a different understanding? **Epistemology (The Study of Knowledge):** Epistemology is all about what we know, how we know it, and what "knowing" even means. It helps us make informed decisions. Sometimes characters make mistakes because they fail to truly _know_ something. Lord Commander Mormont _thought_ Mance Rayder's army was like a Southern one and fought the wrong way, failing to understand Mance was a different kind of "king" leading "free men". Jon and Sam struggle when they fail to believe in things despite evidence, showing a lack of "epistemic humility" (knowing when you _don't_ know or when your ignorance has been challenged). Arya, by contrast, survives by accurately recognizing her current role and adapting. We often rely on the testimony of others for knowledge, which philosophers call "epistemic trust". This trust gets stronger with independent verification. The Night's Watch avoids "dogma" (unquestioned beliefs handed down from authority) by allowing members to swear vows before their own gods. Dogma is seen as an enemy to epistemic humility because it claims beliefs are true just because the dogma says so, creating a circular justification. Melisandre's unquestioning belief in Stannis as Azor Ahai, despite contradictory evidence like his sword not giving off heat, is an example of harmful dogma. This makes us reflect: how do _we_ know what we know? Are there beliefs we hold dogmatically without realizing it? How can we be better at recognizing when we might be wrong? **The Problem of Evil:** Given the immense suffering and evil in Westeros, the book brings up the philosophical problem of evil. This is the challenge of reconciling the existence of evil with the idea of a good and just God (or gods, in Westeros). If gods are good and powerful, why do they allow evil? Characters like Brienne question whether the gods care about men any more than kings care about peasants, highlighting this issue. It's a question that resonates beyond fantasy: how do we make sense of suffering in the world if we believe in benevolent higher powers? **Knowledge, Power, and Insanity (Foucault):** The book explores the blurry line between sanity and insanity in Westeros, often drawing on the ideas of philosopher Michel Foucault. Foucault argued that "knowledge" of insanity depends on those with "power" to define it, and their power increases by labeling people as insane. Joffrey, as king, uses his power to declare Ser Dontos a "mad fool," creating that identity for him. Dontos internalizes this label and behaves accordingly. This is an example of the "power/knowledge nexus". The book questions why some acts of brutality are labeled "mad" (like the Mad King's) while others are seen as justified or logical (like Jaime pushing Bran or Robert ordering Dany's assassination). Foucault would suggest that by labeling others as mad, a person places themselves within the group of the "sane" or "logical," avoiding scrutiny. Robert justifies assassinating Dany by linking her family to madness, using this "knowledge" to assert his "power". Foucault also distinguished between "sovereign power" (outward force like executions) and "disciplinary power" (subtle power that encourages self-governance). Jon Snow wrestling with his Night's Watch vows illustrates disciplinary power; he fears not living up to the code, not just physical punishment. Dany questioning her own sanity because her family is known for madness shows how a constructed identity can be internalized, influencing behavior. Foucault's key point is that any sorting or categorizing of individuals is an act of power, and when done arbitrarily by authority, it's dangerous. We should question such categories, including our present understanding of mental illness, to avoid abuses of power. As Dany asks, "Is it so far from madness to wisdom?". Based on how power defines sanity in Westeros, the answer seems to be no. This pushes us to consider: how do labels and categories in our own society affect people? And how can we recognize and challenge arbitrary uses of power? ### Fate, Freedom, and Finding Yourself The world of Westeros is filled with talk of destiny and prophecies, which brings up the philosophical idea of fatalism. **Fatalism, Freedom, and Authenticity:** Fatalism is the idea that the future is already set and can't be changed. The Starks' words "Winter is coming" take on a fatalistic weight. Many philosophers think fatalism clashes with human freedom; if the future is decided, aren't we just going through the motions?. Characters often feel constrained by forces like youth, gender, class, or tradition. Westeros society often dictates a person's "purpose" based on these categories. Robb's purpose is to lead House Stark; a woman's purpose often doesn't include ruling. However, philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre argued for absolute freedom, saying that in moments of reflection, we find no external force _compelling_ us to act. Every action requires a choice, and we are responsible for it. Cersei might feel she _must_ act against Ned to protect her family, but Sartre would say she is still choosing. Choosing one path when faced with conflicting obligations (like Ned choosing between loyalty to the realm and loyalty to his family) is what Sartre, following Heidegger, calls "authenticity". Authenticity is the opposite of fatalism; accepting fate is giving up freedom. Dany might believe fate guides her, but Sartre would say it's her choices, and denying this would be "inauthentic". There's a philosophical argument called the "Idle Argument" which suggests that if something is fated, there's no point in acting. But this is flawed. Fatalism doesn't mean your actions don't matter; the fated future might _only_ happen _because_ of your actions. Jon doing his duty at the Wall might be the reason the Others fail to invade, even if their failure was fated. Using fatalism as an excuse for inaction is seen as "bad faith". Philosopher Martin Heidegger saw freedom not just in isolated choices but in fulfilling one's life as a whole. This isn't escaping your past but fulfilling it. Life presents us with many possible paths, and to be an "individual" or live "authentically," we must choose one and stick to it, even if it means fulfilling a purpose we didn't initially choose (like Jon choosing the Night's Watch over his Stark obligations). The struggle for authenticity is the struggle to make something of your life, becoming who you are by fulfilling the purposes assigned by fate (your past, history, character). The Greek poet Pindar captured this: "Become who you are". This makes us ponder: how much of who _we_ are is determined by our circumstances or past? And how do we make choices that feel truly "authentic" in a world that often seems to push us in certain directions? **Martial Arts and Virtue:** Connecting Eastern philosophies to the physical discipline shown in the series, the book looks at martial arts like Arya's Water Dance. Virtue theories aim to teach us how to live a good life. Western traditions like Aristotle emphasize reason controlling desires. Eastern traditions like Zen and Taoism, however, focus on direct experience, finding the true self, living in harmony with nature, and achieving an "egoless presence" with a "mind like water". Arya's journey from a girl wanting to be a knight to learning the Water Dance and becoming an apprentice assassin touches on these different paths to a "good life" or at least effective survival. It makes you consider: can physical or artistic practices teach us things about living a good life that pure reason can't? ### The Game of Thrones: A Philosophical Strategy Finally, the book looks at the "game of thrones" itself through the lens of "game theory". **Game Theory 101:** Game theory is a mathematical way to model strategic interactions where agents use strategies to achieve goals. It helps predict likely actions and suggests the "best" strategy based on desired outcomes. It can help players navigate the tension between self-interest and cooperation. Think of it as a personal Hand, advising you, predicting others, and crafting strategies. Game theory focuses on achieving an outcome but doesn't judge if the outcome is morally right. The core assumptions are rationality, self-interest, and investment. Players are assumed to act rationally to maximize their expected payoffs. However, in Westeros, the ideal of chivalry (courtesy, honor, fair play) complicates things. Jaime Lannister notes that an honorable enemy is predictable because they won't lie or break oaths. But is honor truly _rational_ in the context of game theory if lying serves your interests better?. Spotting deception is key. Game theory suggests that if a promise doesn't serve an opponent's goal, it shouldn't be believed. Littlefinger, a master strategist, advises Sansa to keep foes confused by being unpredictable, even making moves that seem against her. This masks her "true endgame," making her hard to read using typical game theory assumptions. Love is also a complication, often seen as irrational. Maester Aemon says "Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty," which is why groups requiring absolute loyalty, like the Night's Watch or Kingsguard, forbid marriage. Love creates divided loyalties. However, even where outlawed, love persists. Nietzsche suggested there's "a drop of reason in madness," implying even love might have some strategic element. **Beyond Simple Rationality:** Game theory can still be useful even when actions seem irrational. By looking at an irrational action (like someone wanting to kill a helpless child) and working backward ("reverse induction"), you can hypothesize a situation or "game" where that action makes strategic sense. Catelyn uses this process after Bran's fall to deduce that someone was afraid of what Bran knew, leading her to suspect Jaime. This shows that recognizing seemingly unpredictable events can actually provide crucial information in a "game of incomplete information". By understanding a diversity of commitments and viewpoints, players can adapt strategies. The game of thrones is a complex game of incomplete information; no player knows everything about others' goals, payoffs, or strategies. Knowing Joffrey isn't Robert's son, for instance, changes the game entirely for everyone. The best players are often those with the best information or advice, like Littlefinger and Varys, whose power comes from brokering information. Tyrion is highlighted as a gifted player. He understands his strengths (his mind) and weaknesses. He advises Jon not to forget who he is and make it his strength, which is Tyrion's own approach. Tyrion avoids "wishful thinking" (like Sansa's misplaced trust) and relies on realistic assessment. He's good at reading others' motives and typing them as players. Tyrion excels at turning "zero-sum games" (win or lose) or one-time interactions into situations where he can win or at least survive, often by forging alliances and reframing the stakes. His capture by Catelyn Stark illustrates this. By observing his captors, he identifies that sellswords are motivated by reward ("payoff") rather than duty, creating an opportunity for alliance. He turns a trial into a trial by combat, then leverages a precarious relationship with Bronn by making it advantageous for Bronn to champion him. This shows how understanding different players' goals and reframing the game can dramatically improve one's position. It makes you think: how much of our own interactions are a "game"? And can understanding the "payoffs" or goals of others help us navigate complex situations? ### Wrapping Up As this briefing shows, _Game of Thrones and Philosophy_ uses the detailed and captivating world of George R. R. Martin to explore fundamental philosophical questions. From the ancient debates about rulership and virtue to modern concepts like moral luck and game theory, the series provides a rich tapestry for examining human nature in conflict. It makes for some truly easy-to-read and interesting explorations of ideas that have puzzled thinkers for centuries! By looking at characters like Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, and many others through a philosophical lens, we can gain deeper insights into their choices and fates, as well as perhaps our own world. It invites us to think about difficult questions without getting too bogged down in any single topic, offering a wide range of perspectives. As the book itself suggests, reading allows us to live a thousand lives, and exploring these philosophical ideas through a beloved story is a great way to do just that.