You’re excited for the Game of Thrones, Season 5 finale. So am I.

You’re feeding your excitement by reading recaps, reviews, and predictions on the internet. So am I.

You like philosophy and theology. Maybe you’re interested in questions of theodicy, such as, “Does a just and compassionate God govern the word?” I am, too!

You’re willing to read philosophical reflections on Game of Thrones. Good – because I have written some.

Science fiction and fantasy are my favourite genres of film and literature. Writers import contemporary social issues into fictional settings, future or past. We fans enter the imaginative world, detaching from our habitual opinions. We explore anew our own values, beliefs, and ideas.

Game of Thrones, in its outrageous brutality, is an image of our world. In our world, people enjoy watching dogs and humans fight to death. Soldiers kill parents in front of their children. Terrorists burn people alive. Armies fight until they decimate a continent. Men rape women in front of an audience. Avaricious politicians arm religious ideologues, and ideologues turn on their patrons. Brokers sell slaves and sex workers. Parents sacrifice children, believing it will help win (and end) war.

In our world, and in the Game of Thrones world: Good is rarely rewarded. Evil is rarely punished. Moral logic does not drive world events.

In Westeros, Stannis Baratheon believes that burning his daughter Shireen will bring him good fortune. But he is wrong. He cannot magically control his fate in a random world. To me, his grasping seems desperate, confused.

I don’t share his beliefs; I don’t believe in him.

In Essos, Daenerys Targaryen nurtures an extinct dragon species back to life. Well, why not? In her world as in ours, climates, habitats and technologies change. Species disappear and re-appear. Daenerys’ dragons harm some people, ultimately saving others. Again, why not? Within its ecosystem, each species both helps and harms. Even a world of accidents sometimes tends towards something good.

I share her beliefs. I believe in Daenerys.

Funny, aren’t I? I despair and I hope. I know the universe is not rational; but I want it to lean towards a compassionate justice.

In what do I hope? Perhaps, as a clergy person, I should say: God. But my reactions to the gods in Game of Thrones lead me to a different answer.

The North’s old nature gods, worshipped in the weirwood, speak directly to people’s thoughts, feelings, and dreams. They share their secrets with a chosen few, killing others who come too close.

The South’s new gods represent seven facets of the human psyche. At one time, perhaps, their priests were deep psychologists of the soul. Now, however, their devotees know them only through scripture, interpreted harshly and literally.

Essos’ “Lord of Light” is said to battle forces of darkness. Yet he seems rather dark himself, consuming innocents in fire, offering his adherents only visions of inevitable destiny.

On the Iron Islands, the Drowned God’s followers are baptized in the ocean. They chant, “What is dead shall never die.” Murderous raiding is their trade.

In Braavos, death is known as the many-faced God. This god’s compassionate followers euthanize the suffering and execute the wicked. Death, which comes in many forms, can be a welcome escape from life.

The gods in Game of Thrones — modelled on gods worshipped in our world — offer little hope.

Divine redemption won’t come in a sweeping flash. Dany’s dragons, majestic and terrible as they are, won’t bring it. Daenerys says she wants to “break the wheel” of the cyclical struggle for political power. So far, the story suggests she can only dent it.

Redemption comes in small bursts, in her world and in ours. Through human attempts at compassion, conciliation, and foregoing revenge. Philosopher Michel Foucault said that power is diffused through populations; so is resistance. Power can lead to evil acts; it also prompts acts of resistance. Little acts, popping up everywhere.

I despair of a cosmic moral logic. But I hope in local moral feeling.

Deep feeling may be a psychological manifestation of God — or not.

Sometimes, in our world, despair of heaven sparks personal responsibility — also known as character development.

That’s what I’m excited to see in the finale.