Natterings On Class

I've just finished reading Without A Summer, which is a lovely book, and the third of its series. The first book is basically "Jane Austen with magic", and while further books in the series dive a little more into intrigue and action (and the first already has more of those than most Jane Austen), that's a good way to look at it. Which does mean, naturally, that the protagonist is the daughter of the landed gentry, with all the associated privileges. In the first book, she has to worry about marriage prospects and life choices, but not about starvation; love and family and art, but not the ability to pay the rent.

I'm not arguing with this choice, mind. I'm just thinking about it because the third book addressed some issues of class rather more directly, with the protagonist paying rather more attention to the subtle--and not so subtle--gradations of status and class. Her father is worried about crop failure leading to financial hardship (see the title), but not so much so that he can't provide easily some cash for (spoiler cut here) near the end of the book, in a way that's very much in contrast with the people whose lives are much less comfortable for the lack of such money. And she has to worry about her sister being snubbed by--or prey to--those with much higher standing within the aristocracy, and there's the way people's reactions to her change depending on whether or not they're aware of her own status...

But, you see. Finishing this book, I immediately started reading Player of Games. (Which I think most of you all have read already, but it's my first go at it, so no spoilers, please!) That's set in the Culture, a post-scarcity society where you really can have any physical object you want, just for the wanting. And to an extent that made for some cognitive whiplash.

But. Let me explain. There's the protagonist, you see, who is (I think deliberately) not a very sympathetic person. He's a man who plays games, and who is very good at it. And within this society of no financial distinction--where "how much property do I have" and "how much can I indulge my leisurely hobbies" and "will I be able to survive tomorrow and feel safe" are never questions to distinguish groups of people at all--this man is...bored.

There's no risk, you see.

And to an extent, his desire for risk is glamorized, at least by him. Someone notes that his problem is that he doesn't live in an Age Of Heroes. Gambling games have no risk or thrill when you can suffer no real losses. He feels, it seems, that he has been quietly and gently robbed of some greater fulfillment in life, because what he does can never really matter.

Ah. But you see, he's not really longing for risk. What he's longing for is...well.

Inequality.

Let me explain, starting with a very useful illustrative passage:

"He caught up on some correspondence. Mostly it was in the form of requests; to visit other worlds, take part in great tournaments, write papers, comment on new games, become a teacher/lecturer/professor in various educational establishments, be a guest on any of several GSVs, take on such-and-such a child prodigy... it was a long list.

"He turned them all down. It gave him a rather pleasant feeling."

He has, a little earlier than this, confided to a friend that he does actually have a fear, or at least an anxiety. That he'll eventually meet someone who's more naturally talented at games, and lose his status as one of the absolute best at game-playing. In a world where anyone can have anything, reputation and status still exist as non-fungible and limited possessions. Where he has friends who seem to take pleasure in doing new things because they want to do those things, he takes pleasure in being better than other people. (And he is certainly called on it by some of them, which is part of why I feel he's not meant to be very sympathetic at this point; the author is keenly aware of how unpleasant this person is.)

But ultimately, he's not looking to risk himself, or he wouldn't take such pleasure in turning down requests, or have anxiety about the potential of losing his status. He's looking to distinguish himself from others as better, and he can only do this if others are somehow worse, or at least worse off. He wants to be in an age more like that of Without A Summer, where people are very sharply distinguished indeed.

And, as with most people who long for such a society earnestly (rather than in play), he imagines himself as one of those at the top. Not one of the street-sweepers or gamblers who've lost all they own, but as someone risking everything, and winning, while the risk is proven to be real by other people losing.

That's his boredom in the post-scarcity society. Not that he isn't challenged, but that his challenges can't be proven by the failures of others. I think about that, and what class really means, especially when people talk about things like poverty in compared-to-everyone-else terms. ("You're not really poor! You're not starving in the streets like those people over there.") Status isn't itself an evil, but it has that seed of evil in it, where it turns into class. Where one's privileges are not only relient on, but defined by, others being worse off and with less freedom.

I look forward to reading the rest of the book, but oh, it's so interesting to see a man wish for something terrible, and vaguely think that he's somehow superior to other "complacent" and "do-gooder" types for having that wish.