The Hunger Games: A Christian Response

READER ADVISORY: This review contains a major spoiler about the last volume in the series—warning ahead!

THE HUNGER GAMES SERIES

(Note: this reflection was originally written in 2012, prior to the publication of both The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and Sunrise on the Reaping. If you are unfamiliar with the story of the first three books, please read our review of those first.)

When the Hunger Games story releases its grip on you long enough to let you think about it, certain elements don’t add up. For instance, District 12 is the coal-mining center: Appalachia. An area that now comprises all or part of five states and millions of square miles but appears to be reduced to one small town, population 8000. Wouldn’t Panem need a slightly larger mining operation to power its other districts, much more the Capitol itself, where residents live in luxury reminiscent of declining Rome? As in that ancient empire, the elites maintain control with skimpy bread and the annual circus, which puts the regions against each other. But the games are so brutal and capricious, with the deck shamelessly stacked, that resentment should have overcome rivalry long ago. And a few (not many) plot twists seem dictated more by the need for something to happen at the end of the chapter than by the demands of the story itself.

RELIGION IN THE HUNGER GAMES?

But two things struck me on my second reading. For one, there is no hint of any religious consciousness.  Not even the occasional swear word. This seems unusual for dystopian fiction, where ultimate values take center stage, if only to clarify that God has failed. In this world, there’s no church, no prayer, no spirit, no afterlife—not even remnants of half-baked paganism. It’s not anti-religious; it simply imagines a future in which religion does not exist.

This may be more true to the author’s worldview than human nature. Humanity seems to have a built-in spiritual dimension that has outlasted all predictions of its demise. The Enlightenment couldn’t reason it away, Darwin could not dislodge it, Mao and Stalin could not stamp it out—in fact, it flourishes best when times are worst. The decadence of the Capitol bears some resemblance to the practical atheism of contemporary culture, where “spirituality” is a fashion statement. But religion is absent even in the destitute provinces of Panem, where it’s needed most.

Instead, the state is God. When a contestant dies in the arena, a hovercraft appears and lifts the body as though by a divine hand. Later, his or her picture appears in the sky for a fleeting moment before darkness returns, and the soul—if there is such a thing—is consigned to oblivion. The Capitol assumes powers of manipulation and coercion that would have made Mao and Stalin swoon with envy: it can turn water to blood, dictate the weather in the Games arena, spy on multitudes through its omnipresent cameras, invade minds and alter memories. Further, unlike most totalitarian systems, the Capitol does all this with no pretense at common good. The games are openly billed as punishment and coercion.  This god is all wrath.

MORALISM IN THE HUNGER GAMES

And yet (striking factor #2), this world is intensely moral, at least for those whose ethical radar has not been disconnected. Katniss is always doubting her motives, upbraiding herself for insincerity or cowardice or selfishness. Her north star is her family, particularly her sister Primrose. Peeta’s moral compass is within: “I don’t want them to change me in [the arena]. Turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not.” Peeta has an integrity that Katniss doesn’t; he’s sure of something good and true, and doesn’t seem as violently self-doubting. As long as he stays out the hands of the omnipotent state.

THE END OF IT ALL: MORE QUESTIONS

SPOILER PARAGRAPH!

In Mockingjay, the last volume of the series, all illusions fall. The Capitol will fall as well: that’s the good news. The bad news is that the revolution reveals itself to be almost as brutal as the regime it set out to depose, and Katniss, the invaluable symbol of revolt, can’t wash the blood from her own hands. It’s better than the old days, but with no standard to determine what “better” really means, all we have to look forward to is another slide into darkness.

Kids looking for answers will not find them here—and that’s not necessarily bad. The purpose of fiction, I’ve heard, is not to provide answers but to ask the right questions. That’s a task that the Hunger Games series accomplishes only in part. There’s a frenzy of questions: What’s real? What’s right? What’s good?  These are all legitimate, yet the way they are asked throws doubt on the very premise: Is there such a thing as real, right, or good?

THE THEME OF THE HUNGER GAMES

In many interviews, Suzanne Collins has stated the theme of the series in rather unsatisfying terms: it’s anti-war, anti-manipulation, anti-violence. Some conservative reviewers see it as anti-big-government as well. I think we can all agree that war, violence, and totalitarianism are bad things. But the real war is within. Katniss Everdeen vindicates, even personifies the scriptural proposition that “There is none righteous; no, not one.”  “We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction,” says a character in Mockingjay. So, is there any hope?

Not really. While it’s easy to say what The Hunger Games is against, what it’s for is not so obvious. “I don’t want them to . . . turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not,” vows Peeta, while Katniss worries that the games will turn her into the monster she really is. But with no intuition or doctrine of anything that transcends their immediate world, one monster is ultimately as good as another.

SHOULD WE READ THE BOOKS?

The immense popularity of these books is not only wide but deep; there’s obviously more to their appeal than a heart-pounding plot. Might it be that, even after decades of self-esteem training, young readers know on a subconscious level that they’re not that good? Do they only admire Katniss’s strength and determination, or do they also identify with her struggle?

The main question Christian parents are asking is, Should I let my kids read The Hunger Games? I would give a qualified Yes. The violence can be disturbing to sensitive readers, but the books are remarkably free of bad language and sex. (Even implausibly so—in Catching Fire, Peeta and Katniss sleep together several times but don’t “do anything.”  Um . . . I would advise against that, kids.) Christian readers can put the books down with a sense of relief that there is a remedy for our violent condition, but to fully accepting the story’s premises, without hope for anything better, could only lead to despair. I wouldn’t give it to a teen who was prone to depression.  Unless I could be there when she finally turns last page, and say, “So now you know the problem.  Do you want to hear the solution?”

READ OUR REVIEWS OF THE SERIES:

• The Hunger Games
• Catching Fire
• Mockingjay
• The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes
• Sunrise on the Reaping