Of empathy, and good intentions gone sour
I'm sure the Game of Thrones fans have already watched the latest episode of the hit show on HBO. The show has gone into quite some controversy lately, what with all the gore displayed on screen, and the violence against women, and a number of other controversial issues. But last weekend's installment of the epic story provided yet another piece of food for thought, many believing both author George RR Martin and the show creators DB Weiss and David Benioff have gone too far this time (for the umpteenth time, by the way).
The reason for this contention? An innocent girl, a young princess who has done nobody any harm, being sacrificed by her ruthless (but evidently conflicted) king father as a means in his desperate plight to gain the throne that's "rightfully his by law", and to fulfill his destiny of becoming king no matter the cost. A fanatical move by a fanatically self-obsessed, yet unbelievably complex character whose inner conflict between love for his family and his belief that he has no say in the direction that his destiny is leading him.
But that is not what this post is about. The problem here is about empathy. A number of viewers and analysts have pointed to the fact that this episode, like so many others before it, is raising some tricky moral questions: do we only care about the fates of people that we have become intimately familiar with, while neglecting and outright ignoring the many tragedies that have marred this world (and evidently, many other imaginary worlds beyond it)?
As one review of this episode said, "But why does "Game of Thrones" continue to subject its viewers to harrowing instances of violence against beloved characters? It seems that the showrunners want such scenes to raise questions of morality for the audience. While Weiss knows fans are affected by losing their favorite characters, he's also interested in why we don't react as strongly to the deaths of characters we don't know as well. "So instead of saying, ‘How could you do this to somebody you know and care about?', maybe when it’s happening to somebody we don’t know so well -- maybe then it should hit us all a bit harder," Weiss said. Rather than feel concern only for those with whom we connect, perhaps "GoT" challenges viewers by asking us to find sympathy for the larger tragedies that don't directly affect us."
This of course extends to our world, the real world. Because the same question is very valid for real-world politics. The world is full of countless tragedies, and people have become so accustomed to being constantly served pieces of painful information about all that pain and loss, that their tolerance threshold to injustice and suffering has become rather high - which, as many would argue, is a natural protective reaction against going insane. Thus, we end up only caring about people, stories and fates that we can identify with and can resonate with us - and this extends into politics and affects the way we perceive policy of nationwide and global importance. It could often lead us to making choices and decisions on policy that are not necessarily favourable to society as a whole, or beneficial to a maximum number of people. But we do not necessarily do it out of selfishness, but rather because we allow emotion and empathy to govern the way we think - which is a human thing. In other words, people (and hence, the electorate) is prone to extending their narrowly, individually defined views and perceptions onto society at large - at times to others' detriment. It seems that moral principles tend to become less valid and lose their weight and meaning when some nameless mass of people whom we've never met are involved and affected.
As another review of GOT's latest episode said, "War, Game of Thrones always reminds us, totally blows. However, it especially blows when your father is Stannis Baratheon and he deliberately sends your pirate buddy away to Castle Black so no one will warn him that child sacrifice is not the kind of thing that endears you to seven kingdoms worth of people who just want to stop having swords shoved through them."
My question is, is empathy ultimately the enemy of good policy? Or is the seemingly cold-blooded use of sheer statistics really the preferable option when we are considering policies potentially affecting entire segments of society, as opposed to the few people who are present in our narrow attention horizon, and whose names and stories we can cite in detail, and be impressed about?
The reason for this contention? An innocent girl, a young princess who has done nobody any harm, being sacrificed by her ruthless (but evidently conflicted) king father as a means in his desperate plight to gain the throne that's "rightfully his by law", and to fulfill his destiny of becoming king no matter the cost. A fanatical move by a fanatically self-obsessed, yet unbelievably complex character whose inner conflict between love for his family and his belief that he has no say in the direction that his destiny is leading him.
But that is not what this post is about. The problem here is about empathy. A number of viewers and analysts have pointed to the fact that this episode, like so many others before it, is raising some tricky moral questions: do we only care about the fates of people that we have become intimately familiar with, while neglecting and outright ignoring the many tragedies that have marred this world (and evidently, many other imaginary worlds beyond it)?
As one review of this episode said, "But why does "Game of Thrones" continue to subject its viewers to harrowing instances of violence against beloved characters? It seems that the showrunners want such scenes to raise questions of morality for the audience. While Weiss knows fans are affected by losing their favorite characters, he's also interested in why we don't react as strongly to the deaths of characters we don't know as well. "So instead of saying, ‘How could you do this to somebody you know and care about?', maybe when it’s happening to somebody we don’t know so well -- maybe then it should hit us all a bit harder," Weiss said. Rather than feel concern only for those with whom we connect, perhaps "GoT" challenges viewers by asking us to find sympathy for the larger tragedies that don't directly affect us."
This of course extends to our world, the real world. Because the same question is very valid for real-world politics. The world is full of countless tragedies, and people have become so accustomed to being constantly served pieces of painful information about all that pain and loss, that their tolerance threshold to injustice and suffering has become rather high - which, as many would argue, is a natural protective reaction against going insane. Thus, we end up only caring about people, stories and fates that we can identify with and can resonate with us - and this extends into politics and affects the way we perceive policy of nationwide and global importance. It could often lead us to making choices and decisions on policy that are not necessarily favourable to society as a whole, or beneficial to a maximum number of people. But we do not necessarily do it out of selfishness, but rather because we allow emotion and empathy to govern the way we think - which is a human thing. In other words, people (and hence, the electorate) is prone to extending their narrowly, individually defined views and perceptions onto society at large - at times to others' detriment. It seems that moral principles tend to become less valid and lose their weight and meaning when some nameless mass of people whom we've never met are involved and affected.
As another review of GOT's latest episode said, "War, Game of Thrones always reminds us, totally blows. However, it especially blows when your father is Stannis Baratheon and he deliberately sends your pirate buddy away to Castle Black so no one will warn him that child sacrifice is not the kind of thing that endears you to seven kingdoms worth of people who just want to stop having swords shoved through them."
My question is, is empathy ultimately the enemy of good policy? Or is the seemingly cold-blooded use of sheer statistics really the preferable option when we are considering policies potentially affecting entire segments of society, as opposed to the few people who are present in our narrow attention horizon, and whose names and stories we can cite in detail, and be impressed about?