In exploring the death of the prisoner, “A Hanging” suggests that humans’ innate fear of death can make illogical behaviors seem sane. The story revolves around the anticipation and aftereffects of hanging a prisoner, and on either side of the event, Orwell and his comrades behave in ways that allow them to distance themselves from the reality of what is taking place. In the early stages of the story, the superintendent rushes the hanging to get to breakfast, apparently indifferent to the cruelty of the punishment; once the deed is done, the whole prison laughs at horrifying stories over a shared drink, just feet from the hanging body. In each case, people react to the horrifying reality of death with seeming detachment and dark humor. Orwell and his peers are at first desensitized to the prisoner’s murder, but when their ignorance is disrupted by moments like a friendly dog greeting the prisoner or the prisoner’s religious chanting, they cannot return to their insensitivity comfortably, as they’re forced to recognize that a human being is being killed. Rather than dwelling on that fact, however, the men become desperate to put the prisoner and his death behind them. Orwell himself realizes, in an epiphany just before the man is hanged, how outrageous it is to take a human life; the realization disgusts him. And yet he does not protest the death; like the rest of the onlookers, he only wishes it to be over faster (“the same thought was in all our minds: oh, kill him quickly, get it over”). Their laughter after the hanging suggests the regiment has moved on from the event, but it is likely a failing attempt to distract themselves from the reminder of their own mortality (and their roles in executing a man). The story suggests that rather than facing death honestly, people more often react with callous denial—itself a way of pretending, for a time, that they aren’t under a death sentence themselves.
Mortality and Denial ThemeTracker
Mortality and Denial Quotes in A Hanging
[The guards] crowded very close about [the prisoner], with their hands always on him in a careful, caressing grip as though all the while feeling him to make sure he was there. It was like men handling a fish which is still alive and may jump back into the water. But he stood quite unresisting, yielding his arms limply to the ropes, as though he hardly noticed what was happening.
A dreadful thing had happened—a dog, come goodness knows whence, had appeared in the yard. It came bounding among us with a loud volley of barks, and leapt round us wagging its whole body, wild with glee at finding so many human beings together. […] For a moment it pranced round us, and then, before anyone could stop it, it had made a dash for the prisoner and, jumping up, tried to lick his face.
We looked at the lashed, hooded man on the drop, and listened to his cries—each cry another second of life; the same thought was in all our minds: oh, kill him quickly, get it over, stop that abominable noise!
[Breakfast] seemed quite a homely, jolly scene, after the hanging. An enormous relief had come upon us now that the job was done. One felt an impulse to sing, to break into a run, to snigger. All at once everyone began chattering gaily.
We all began laughing again. At that moment Francis’ anecdote seemed extraordinarily funny. We all had a drink together, native and European alike, quite amicably. The dead man was a hundred yards away.