As I sat on the edge of my reclining movie seat, clutching the scratchy cloth with all my strength, I couldn’t relinquish my attention from the movie screen no matter how much I protested. I had kept my eyes and ears shut for a good part of “The Dark Night,” but had only just realized what an embarrassment I was to comic book fans everywhere. It was as this moment in the movie where I felt my heart pause, with its only hope of revival in the decisions of fictional characters.
The Joker had just shuttled citizens of Gotham onto one ferryboat, and prisoners of the local prison onto the other. As they sat anxiously awaiting their fates, the Joker offered the most difficult prerogative any human can face: weighing the value of one’s own life, against the value of another.
YouTube DirektThe Dark Knight
Although each of the Joker’s actions were gasp-worthy in their own rights, this scene not only highlighted his incontrovertible malevolence, but also the ethical decisions of potentially innocent bystanders. In preying on the instincts of human nature, the Joker allowed himself inherent control over the pawns in his evil game.
Adam Curtis’ documentary “The Trap,” underscores the idea of freedom as a paradox, with “game theory” as an integral part of human instinct and behavior. The “game theory” holds that the actions of every person are motivated by the presumed response of those with whom they interact. As a result of this theory, early psychiatrists held that life was essentially based on strategizing against one another in order to propagate personal gain. Within this theory, it is the “prisoner’s dilemma” that I struggle with most. The ultimate decision of whether to support or betray another, with only the consideration of one’s own gain, does not seem as definite as Curtis’ documentary makes it seem. While scholars, such as R.D Laing, believed that freedom was merely a guise for further power and manipulation, where people only had the option of acting selfishly, the very scene from “Batman” shows that human decisions are not innate. It is not the ultimate decision or motivation that defines human nature, but rather the internal battle that ensues to link each end.
For that matter, it seems necessary to connect the second theme of “personality by numbers.” Curtis highlights the trend in early psychiatry of diagnosing illnesses and personality traits through a mathematically determined test, with a limited number of answers, and even fewer questions. Undoubtedly, the idea of game theory and the prisoner’s dilemma assume that every person will automatically care about what the other thinks. While this certainly holds true to most decisions (even those made by self-proclaimed rebels or free-spirits), these theories leave out entire groups of people, including those that the psychiatrists diagnosed.
Last summer, I was a counselor for children with special needs at a sleep away camp in California. As I spent every waking hour with my campers for a month, I formed bonds with each of them, and learned to distinguish their personalities from their disabilities. While some campers seemed to function in a seemingly typical manner, the decisions of others were undeniably affected by their mental handicap. Many campers, in fact, made decisions for no one but themselves. When their instinct told them to act, they did so without questioning how their counselors or friends might react. This lack of social inhibitions was their instinct. Can they, then, live their lives without ever playing a role in game theory? It seems that the very doctors who sighted and overemphasized their disabilities provided no insight into the lives of their patients at all.
Game Theory, Prisoner’s Dilemma, and the psychiatry on which Curtis dwells, sections life into actions and outcomes, shrugging off freedom as a machine for social control. Maybe instead, we should view live as many of my campers, casting theories aside and living through the moment.
