The Theology of Game of Thrones

Despite its gratuitous sex and violence, the universe of the Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire series by George R.R. Martin is a moral, religious universe. And one that in some aspects might even be mistaken for a Christian universe.

There are a number of different religions in the Game of Thrones universe:

• The Faith of the Seven – the modalist version of Christian Trinitarianism that dominates Westeros
• The Old Gods – the religion of the First Men of Westeros, centered around ancient trees
• The Drowned God – honored in the Iron Islands

These are more eastern, centered in Essos:

• The Lord of Light – centered around fire, rather like Zoroastrianism
• The Many-Faced God – the assassin cult of the Free City of Braavos
• The Great Stallion – religion of the Dothraki cavalry hordes

This diversity of religions makes it hard to pinpoint a single "theology" behind the series. Still there are some recurring themes among the religions that underscore important aspects of the story.

The Faith of the Seven and the cult of the Many-Faced God have in common that the Divinity or Divine Principle appears under different guises. And of course Bran's warging and greensight, which seems allied to the Old Gods, brings out this theme of a single underlying center with diverse appearances. With each chapter of the series told from a different character's perspective, warging and multiple faces are arguably the central theme of the books, if only subconsciously. One might say they constitute the cosmic view of the series.

In contrast, Christian orthodoxy specifically rejects modalism, the idea that the Persons of the Trinity are simply different appearances, roles, or "offices" of the one God.

The religions of the Lord of Light and the Drowned God both emphasize death and rebirth/resurrection. The priests of the Lord of Light are actually able to bring people back from the dead. Further the religion of the Drowned God adds an element of redemption: consider the refrain of the Drowned God: "What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger." I argue that this principle of redemption through suffering and death represents the moral theology, or soteriology (theory of salvation) of the series.

Consider the arcs of the protagonists and the antagonists, the good and the bad characters, and how justice is meted out. There is a strong tendency for the good characters to have been victims of the abuse (e.g., Tyrion, Sansa, Bran, Arya, Davos, Jon, Brienne, and somewhat Dany and Jaime) at the hands of the bad characters. It's an apt observation that difficulties can produce moral growth. On the other hand, the bad characters more often than not come from a background of power and privilege without suffering, e.g., Joffrey, Tywin, Cersei, Walder Frey.¹

So suffering and dying, whether figuratively or literally, leads to moral redemption. And wealth and power are sources of moral corruption. It sounds a lot like Christianity.

Where this conception falls short of Christianity is that it fails to realize the possibility of sin. There are two ways to receive suffering: either one can accept it as a source of truth and humility, or one can become bitter and spiteful. Martin's universe seems to recognize only the first possibility, or at least to presume that people who suffer overwhelmingly rise into the first camp. (Meanwhile privilege almost deterministically makes people evil and selfish.) For this reason, the universe of Martin seems to reflect the current secular notion of victimization—in which membership in a victim class automatically assures one's righteousness and innocence—much more than it reflects Christianity.

Perhaps some of the popularity of George R.R. Martin's series can be attributed to its riff off Christian cosmic and moral beliefs, or at least off the aspects of Christianity that have yet to be completely effaced from culture in the West.

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Notes

1. Not sure where to put Ramsay Bolton in this scheme. Were his story fleshed out more, he might have even been a counter-example to my argument.

A Fascinating World

Imagine what it would be like to have been born on a planet in another galaxy to another race with its own history, physiology, and culture. In some ways it would be wildly strange, but in some ways it would have to be remarkably similar, given the universal requirements on rational animal life, but for that no less unsettlingly alien to anything you can imagine now. How fascinating it would be to explore such a world!

But for the experience to be complete, you could have no notion of what you know here and now, your present life. There would be no secondary world such as the one on which these imaginings implicitly depend. So the world you knew, the only one you would know, would seem utterly normal and complete in itself.

Now tell me this: how does the situation I've described differ from your own present situation?