Is the novel a solution to ethics?

October 13, 2021
• Literary Theory, Book Analysis

Literature, particularly the novel, is known to allow a nuanced exploration of ethical dilemmas. As Moltow (2006) notes, it is capable of doing so by its “ability to illustrate, challenge and test a moral perspective, and so help to reveal and illuminate features of the ethical life that cannot be apprehended via traditional philosophical reflection alone.”¹ There is a dichotomy between literature and moral philosophy. While the former tells us what a character ‘does’ or ‘might do’, the latter focuses on what they ‘ought’ to do¹. A naive application of Hume’s Fact-value distinction might argue that what ‘should’ be done can in no way be derived from what ‘is’, making literary narratives inconsequential to ethical realities. But, Hume himself rejects ethical-rationalism and argues that “moral distinctions are not derived from reason but rather from sentiment.”² 

It is along these lines that Asher (2017) argues that literature, by serving as “a recalibration of emotions”³, can help improve a readers’ normative understanding and ethical awareness by providing an experience of the affective lives of different characters and contribute varied emotional perspectives to the same problem. Amitav Ghosh’s novel “The Hungry Tide”⁴ has at its core a major ethical dilemma, inseparably entangled with other concerns, that it tries to explore—‘man-animal conflict & the human costs of conservation’. I argue in this essay that while Ghosh presents us with a sophisticated picture of this conflict, it struggles to give us a resolution that is anything more than nominal.

We are introduced to the conflict quite early into the novel when we read Nirmal’s account of the tide-country: “At no moment can human beings have any doubt of the terrain’s hostility to their presence, of its cunning and resourcefulness, of its determination to destroy or expel them.”⁵ Throughout the novel, we are presented with many examples. Sometimes they appear as neutral coexistence like the creatures that make their way into the house only to be shooed away⁶, and at other times as brutal displays of violence on both sides. From Nilima’s warning about the vast number of lives lost regularly to man-eaters⁷ to the trapped tiger attacked by the mob⁸ and Orcaella calf violently killed by the propellor of a government boat⁹, we see the more gruesome aspects of life in the tide-country. But, as we dive deeper into the narrative, we see this conflict intertwined with our understanding of wildlife conservation and its politics. 

While the story does not cast any doubt on the value of animal lives, we see the paradox of theory and praxis in the effects of conservation that conflict with the livelihood of the rural communities. The Forest Department emerges as a corrupt bureaucracy that uses its power to exploit these communities with no concern for the animals (like the orcaella calf⁹) except when their jobs were on the line when the villagers attacked the tiger⁸. Kusum’s tears reveal to us how the conservation efforts made “[their] lives, [their] existence, worth less than dirt or dust”¹⁰; how the interplay of caste, class, and neo-colonialism made their interests less important than of those “who love animals so much that they are willing to kill [the settlers at Morichjhapi] for them?”¹⁰ The maintenance of the reserve forest becomes more about the economic benefits to the government, being “paid for by people from all around the world”¹⁰, than protecting nature, making the human costs of conservation completely moot.

The two sides of this dilemma are further exemplified in the contrast between Fokir and Piya. Piya’s class privilege is apparent in her naive assumptions about Fokir11 and willingness to put herself at risk to stop the killing of tigers¹² or dolphins¹³, while on the other hand, Fokir, despite respecting nature in his own way, has experienced the realities of the forest and is ready to kill the tiger at a moments notice¹². Even after Kanai points it out, Piya finds it hard to acknowledge her complicity in the burden that conservation brought on the communities.¹³  

Further, the conflict becomes profoundly linked to border politics and the relocation of refugees. Through the story, we see how Dalit refugees from Bangladesh are displaced from the tide-country to faraway unfamiliar lands and kept in “concentration camps”¹⁴ in the name of protecting the tigers. Conservation becomes an excuse to violate their right to free movement, with the state abusing its power to control the refugees’ lives. Their return to Morichjhapi, an island already used by the government for plantations¹⁵, emerges as a form of protest that even the leftist government violently opposes¹⁴. While almost all would agree that the massacre was morally wrong, we are placed in the dilemma of not knowing what should have been done with the Morichjhapi settlers for allowing them to stay, as Nilima believes, could have been a slippery slope¹⁵.

When it comes to resolving these dilemmas, we do not get much, if at all. It is only after Fokir’s sacrifice that Piya realizes her moral duty and decides to listen to the fishermen and create a conservation project that does not place “the burden of conservation on those who can least afford it”¹⁶, a project with no clear concrete plans and one that Piya, as Nilima notes, “had no idea what she was getting into.”¹⁶ Even if community-aware conservation is proposed as a relative improvement, only so much can be done by one foreign national on a small island. Similarly, with regards to the refugees, we are left teary-eyed and empathetic after hearing their tale with no ethical resolution in sight. Ghosh simply does not give us a straight answer, and I would argue that it is better this way. The role of literature in the context of moral philosophy is not to pass judgment, for if it did that, it would instead lose its value in allowing the readers the space to contemplate the dilemma and explore a solution that they can believe in. However, if Ghosh’s goal was to make us think, he has clearly succeeded.

References:

1. Moltow, D. T. Ethics and fiction : moral philosophy and the role for literature. (University of Tasmania, 2006).

2.  Cohon, R. Hume’s Moral Philosophy. in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (ed. Zalta, E. N.) (Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University, 2018).

3.   Asher, K. Literature, Ethics, and the Emotions. (Cambridge University Press, 2017).

4.  Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

5.  pg 8. the tide country. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

6.  pg 93-94. kusum. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

7.  pg 258. the megha. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

8.  pg 317. a killing. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

9.  pg 371. casualties.  Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

10.  pg 283. crimes. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

11.  pg 321. interrogations. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

12.  pg 318. a killing. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

13.  pg 325-326. Interrogations. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

14.  pg 124-125. morichjhapi. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

15.  pg 230. habits. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).

16.  pg 424-425. home: an epilogue. Ghosh, A. The hungry tide. (Penguin Random House India, 2019).