Rhetoric, The Other, and Boycotting Ender’s Game

“For me, reason is the natural organ of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning. Imagination... is not the cause of truth, but its condition...”

— C. S. Lewis, Bluspels and Flalansferes: A Semantic Nightmare

by Stefan Knibbe

[Warning! There will be spoilers!]

It seems that the recent film Ender’s Game (featuring such big names as Harrison Ford and Ben Kingsley) has become the target of a boycott (Skip Ender's Game). The reason is that the author of the novel (Orson Scott Card) on which the film is based has been an outspoken opponent of gay marriage.

Both his views and the boycott are, in my opinion, unfortunate, as they distract from the work itself which does not come anywhere near the topics of gay marriage or heteronormativity (Ender's Game has no romantic elements and features a mostly pre-pubescent cast). Even though I do not share Card's views, I am, in general, uncomfortable with the idea of reducing the worthiness of artistic works to the particular views of their creator/creators, especially if the piece does not seem to be propagating those views. With Card in particular, I am convinced he is a master of literary rhetoric, and has used his talent to say some powerful things about otherness and our ability as people to overcome seemingly insurmountable differences, even if we think he does not live up to those ideals in his personal life.

Though in the history of philosophy, Aristotle is well known for what he has to say about how to use rhetoric to move audiences, it is Plato's storytelling that is the best demonstration of this art. Plato’s masterful writing displays not merely a profound mastery of dialectic, but also a deep understanding of the power of story to move the audience. So why is story effective at moving audiences? Because our deepest assumptions and responses to the world already exist before we start reasoning, and our reasoning is usually influenced by them. Our deep set feelings, which get formed all the time in our everyday experience, cannot simply be abandoned when we decide to think theoretically. Consequentially we see that dialectic (i.e. arguments) tend not to change people’s deepest convictions, even when they are very compelling.

To use an example from my own life, as a young adult I had heard compelling biblically-based arguments both for and against classifying homosexual acts as wrong. However, it was not arguments that eventually forced me to reconsider my views on this topic. Rather, it was the entrance into my life of some homosexual persons whom I still love very dearly. It was living beside these friends and sharing in their experiences which allowed me to take the issue seriously and empathize with the people at its heart, as I could not do when considering the subject abstractly.

Yet, how can a rhetor relate to his or her audience if the audience members have not experienced the issue under discussion and don’t know anyone who has? How can a rhetor not just make an argument, but make an argument meaningful in that deep sense necessary to change people’s deepest convictions?

By using story: it is through stories that we experience (vicariously) those things which are unavailable in our everyday lives. The character Jojen Reed, in George R. R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire series (or Game of Thrones, as the HBO adaptation is called) puts it nicely, saying: “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies... the man who never reads lives only one” (George R. R. Martin, A Dance With Dragons).

What I consider to be Orson Scott Card's opus, Speaker for the Dead, is a great contemporary example of story as rhetoric. Speaker for the Dead picks up with Ender as an adult trying to come to terms with guilt and responsibility, both for the violence done to other students in the battle school, and for the horrible genocide which humanity unleashed (and in which Ender played a major part) on the insectoid aliens during the events of Ender’s Game.

In this novel, the issue of otherness is approached by asking the reader a number of questions: Are there such things as true aliens, that is to say, people or other beings with whom there is no common ground and with whom no meaningful communication is possible (called Varelse in the novel)? Could someone who has committed a horrible crime like genocide, even if they repent, ever form a relationship with, and be reconciled to, his/her victims (in this case, the aliens of Ender's Game)? How ought victims to respond to unprovoked violence?

The fantastical aliens and machines of Speaker for the Dead give rise to some of the most provocative questions about otherness. However, it is by way of the reader's relationship to the human characters of Speaker for the Dead that Card (rather sneakily I must say) brings his readers to an understanding of, and reconciliation to, otherness.

In the beginning of the story we are introduced to, and quickly come to hate (or at least I did) two characters: a selfish, self righteous, and obstinate scientist on the one hand, and a fanatical, unsympathetic, religious zealot on the other. At the beginning of this story these two seem hellbent on tearing their community to pieces. They could not be less appealing. By the end of the story, however, the reader comes to see the personal trauma and the misguided love which has driven these two into conflict, and the reader is left feeling compassion for these two lost souls, rather than hatred. This does not mean the reader comes to approve of what these characters have done in the story. Rather the thesis seems to be that there are no such things as Varelse: there will always be a way to understand and find value in other people, even if we don't agree with them. For me, the experience of reading this book was more influential in changing the way I view those who (to me) hold abhorrent views than any purely logical argument.

So what does this say about the current scandal and debate surrounding the Ender’s Game movie? On the one hand, those protesting Card could question whether he is living up to the sense of openness he himself champions in Speaker for the Dead. On the other hand, we must consider what exactly the “Skip Ender's Game” crowd is protesting. Surely it is not the content of Ender's Game which, in its novel form, held not even the slightest hint or suggestion of sexual attraction. (As I said earlier, not only does the novel not address romance, the characters are all prepubescent.) Thus it seems safe to assume that these protestors are not objecting to the content of the movie.

No, the object of their protest can only be Card’s personal views on gay marriage and homosexuality. I've mentioned Card makes a passionate case that people are more than their worst characteristics in Speaker for the Dead. Thus I believe that to decide Card’s work, and Card as a person, have nothing to offer based only on his views regarding homosexuals or gay marriage is as problematic as judging anyone else, in their entirety, because of one of their beliefs (be it about religion, philosophy, class, or politics). Just as I think it would be a mistake to dismiss all of Martin Luther King Jr.’s good work because he (supposedly?) had extramarital affairs (though I think such behaviour wrong and hurtful), I likewise think it would be a mistake to boycott everything associated with Orson Scott Card on the basis of his views on homosexuality. Rather, I plan to approach Card's work (including Ender's Game) the same way I try to approach all books and movies: not passively, but prepared to think critically about the work’s message, as well as the vision of the world it presents.

Stefan Knibbe is a Junior Member at the Institute for Christian Studies, focusing his philosophical studies on history, religion, and politics.

See Card’s response to the "Skip Ender's Game" protest here.