In The Man in the High Castle, various characters try to alter history, whether that means assassinating a prominent writer or intervening in an important election. It follows, then, that many of these people believe that they have a great deal of agency over their lives. But on the other hand, some of the protagonists—particularly Jewish artist Frank Frink and Japanese bureaucrat Nobusuke Tagomi—frequently consult the I Ching, an ancient Chinese oracle that suggests fate is the result of mysterious, unalterable chance. As the novel’s various protagonists struggle to reconcile the randomness of fate with their own actions and choices, they come to realize that their lives are neither purely random nor purely a result of their choices. Instead, The Man in the High Castle suggests that both individual life—and historical reality—are the result of various people’s choices interacting with one another in surprising ways; neither agency nor chance determines the future on its own.
The Nazi-dominated world of The Man in the High Castle is shaped by a Fascist outlook, which dictates that people have complete agency over history—and therefore that people should act quickly and independently of others. As Joe—the novel’s most deeply committed Fascist—explains to Juliana, “what is wanted is the deed […] you never find true Fascist talking, only doing.” Joe’s emphasis on action over language suggests that, rather than trying to make sense of the world as it is, one should merely try to alter it. Plastics expert Baynes similarly reflects on this Nazi fascination with agency: “they want to be the agents, not the victims, of history. They identify with God’s power and believe they are godlike.” Instead of seeing themselves as the “victims” of either historical or spiritual forces, Fascism dictates that people have complete and total power over their circumstances. In this framework, no other being—not even God—can be seen as having any agency. Moreover, the Nazis constantly assert their human power to alter worlds: they describe outer space, for instance, as “the future arena in which the affairs of man will be acted out.” In contemplating the vastness of the solar system, most people would reflect on their relative insignificance. The Nazis, however, see merely another territory to conquer and reshape.
At the same time, many of the protagonists rely on the I Ching to predict a future they see as uncontrollable and inevitable. Frank feels that every time he asks the oracle a question (even about entirely personal matters), his destiny will reflect the randomness of the universe: “here came the hexagram, brought forth by the passive chance workings of the vegetable stalks. Random, and yet rooted in the moment in which he lived, in which his life was bound up with all other lives and particles.” Whereas the Nazis preach agency and action, Frank feels himself to be at the mercy of “passive chance.” Importantly, Frank’s sense of powerlessness is rooted not in low self-esteem but in an understanding that is his own needs are intertwined with so many other people’s. Additionally, though Tagomi takes full responsibility for killing two Nazi henchmen, both he and Baynes see this action as inevitable. “We are all doomed to commit acts of cruelty or violence or evil,” Baynes muses; Tagomi feels that “no human intelligence” can make sense of this murder, and that he must turn to the “five-thousand-year-old joint mind” of the oracle. Both Baynes and Tagomi believe that they are often forced to act by destiny or “doom”—to them (unlike to the Fascists), even “deeds” do not always reflect conscious choice.
Ultimately, the novel suggests that neither human action nor blind chance is important on its own; instead, in an interconnected world, each individual’s actions combine in surprising and mysterious ways to produce the future. “There is no answer,” Tagomi reflects, “even in the oracle. Yet I must go on living to day to day anyhow.” While Tagomi has none of the certainty that Joe and many of the novel’s other Fascists share, he refuses to merely become a “victim” of history. Therefore, though Tagomi remains realistic about his relative lack of power, he still decides to “go on living,” making choices and adapting with each new day. Baynes echoes this sentiment, reflecting that “we can only control the end by making a choice at each step […], we can only hope. And try.” Along the same lines, author Hawthorne Abendsen—who has relied heavily on the I Ching to write his beloved book—also insists on his own agency. When Juliana asks if the oracle is fully responsible for The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, Abendsen is frustrated by the implication that the “did nothing but the typing, and that’s neither true nor decent.” Moreover, while he still feels that he “can lean on the oracle now and then,” he is the one who “decided” to move to town and make himself vulnerable to Nazi attack. Abendsen acknowledges the force of the I Ching, and he does (eventually) admit the role of chance in his own success—but he also retains a sense of identity and personal pride. Most crucially, he alone decides what makes him happy, something no oracle (or other person) can predict for him.
Lastly, the plot of The Man in the High Castle demonstrates that people’s actions do sometimes have great force. “Can anyone alter the future,” Frank wonders toward the beginning of the novel, “all of us combined…or one great figure…or someone strategically placed, who happens to be in the right spot.” Juliana’s life is changed (and Abendsen’s life is saved) because of a chance meeting with Joe in a diner, and Frank makes jewelry and sells it to antiques dealer Childan, and that jewelry then acts as Tagomi’s portal to an alternate reality. In making its various characters and stories dependent on one another, the book is structured to emphasize both agency and chance. People can make change, The Man in the High Castle suggests, but never in the way they might expect to.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Agency vs. Chance ThemeTracker
Agency vs. Chance Quotes in The Man in the High Castle
Their view; it is cosmic. Not of a man here, a child there, but an abstraction: race, land. Volk. Land. Blut. Ehre. Not of honorable men but of Ehre itself, honor; the abstract is real, the actual is invisible to them. Die Gute, but not good men, this good man. It is their sense of space and time. They see through the here, the now, into the vast black deep beyond, the unchanging. And that is fatal to life […] What they do not comprehend is man’s helplessness. I am weak, small, of no consequence to the universe. It does not notice me; I live on unseen.
Oy gewalt! he thought. What’s happening? Did I start it in motion? Or is someone else tinkering someone I don’t even know? Or - the whole lot of us. It’s the fault of those physicists and that synchronicity theory every particle being connected with every other; you can’t fart without changing the balance in the universe […] I should take my tools, get my motors from McCarthy, open my shop, start my piddling business, go on despite the horrible line. Be working, creating in my own way right up to the end, living as best I can, as actively as possible […] I’m too small, he thought, I can only read what’s written, glance up and then lower my head and plod along where I left off.
Listen, I’m not an intellectual—Fascism has no need of that. What is wanted is the deed. Theory derives from action. What our corporate state demands from us is comprehension of the social forces—of history. You see? I tell you; I know, Juliana.
Nevertheless, Mr. Baynes thought, the crucial point lies not in the present, not in either my death or the death of the two SD men; it lies—hypothetically—in the future. What has happened here is justified, or not justified, by what happens later. Can we perhaps save the lives of millions, all Japan in fact?
But the man manipulating the vegetable stalks could not think of that; the present, the actuality, was too tangible, the dead and dying Germans on the floor of his office.
Laying his coat over a chair, Frank collected a handful of half-completed silver segments and carried them to the arbor. He screwed a wool buffing wheel onto the spindle, started up the motor; he dressed the wheel with bobbing compound, put on the mask to protect his eyes, and then seated on a stool began removing the fire scale from the segments, one by one.
And what will that leave, that Third World Insanity? Will that put an end to all life, of every kind, everywhere? When our planet becomes a dead planet, by our own hands?
[Baynes] could not believe that. Even if all life on our planet is destroyed, there must be other life somewhere which we know nothing of. It is impossible that ours is the only world; there must be world after world unseen by us, in some region or dimension that we simply do not perceive.
We can only control the end by making a choice at each step.
[Baynes] thought, We can only hope. And try.
On some other world, possibly it is different. Better. There are clear good and evil alternatives. Not these obscure admixtures, these blends, with no proper tool by which to untangle the components.
We do not have the ideal world, such as we would like, where morality is easy because cognition is easy. Where one can do right with no effort because he can detect the obvious.
