A Clockwork Orange

Ironically, the treatment to which Alex is subjected is nothing other than state-sanctioned violence and control: in order to reform a violent criminal, the state has determined that using violence is justified. Alex himself is initially credulous, thinking that the government would never approve the filming of such atrocities, stating:

This was real, very real, though if you thought about it properly you couldn’t imagine lewdies actually agreeing to have all this done to them in a film, and if these films were made by the Good or the State you couldn’t imagine them being allowed to take these films without like interfering with what was going on. (119)

This notion of The Limits of Authority is explored further in the Themes section. The novel questions those who are ostensibly on the side of “the Good or the State” versus those, like Alex, who lash out against those corrupt authorities.

In addition, Alex is reduced to an objectified product of an experiment. Time and again he is belittled, his wishes are ignored, and his humanity is denied. For example, his unique style of speaking—the language that serves as a significant part of his identity—is turned against him. When his eyelids are forced open for the first session, Alex says, “This must be a real horrorshow film if you’re so keen on my viddying it” (117). Of course, for Alex, “horrorshow” means good, even excellent. But the aide who is strapping Alex to the chair and clamping his eyelids to his forehead replies, “Horrorshow is right, friend. A real show of horrors” (117). This turns Alex’s slang against him and reveals how little these doctors, nurses, politicians, and other authorities understand Alex. Later, when speaking with Dr. Brodsky, the doctor takes note of Alex’s unique way of speaking: “‘Quaint’ […] like smiling, ‘the dialect of the tribe’” (132). The doctor’s tone and demeanor are clearly condescending, and the references to “dialect” and “tribe” have the effect of relegating Alex to a lower class. In the doctor’s view, he does not use fully developed language, only dialect, and he belongs to a tribe, not to an advanced society. While “tribe” is no longer considered pejorative in 2022, at the end of British imperialism in 1962, it was frequently employed in that manner. With this, Burgess is not merely exploring a generational divide but the problematic and prejudicial ways different classes or groups of people are granted—or denied—humanity.

Still, it is difficult to argue that Alex hasn’t been a clear blight on civilized society; he is a brutal thug, a thief, a liar, and even a murderer. He has expressed no remorse for any of his criminal activities and spends much of his time mired in self-pity at the injustices done to him. Yet one might question whether the society that the authorities are trying to protect from Alex is actually a civilized one. As stated earlier (in Part 1, Chapters 4-7 Analysis), Alex is the product of said society. The newspapers are filled with reporting on violent crimes, robberies, and rapes and its emphasis on consumer capitalism as a form of instant gratification is out of reach for many and obviously devoid of spiritual fulfillment. Ludovico’s Technique fits the very definition of cruel and unusual punishment; they are stripping him of his free will, as explored further in Themes, Free Will as Essential to Humanity. Alex no longer has the capacity to choose between “good” and “evil”—terms which are never as simple as their absolutes would suggest—and he has forfeited his rights in the name of keeping social order. Shortly after he thinks he will refuse any more treatments—“I had my rights” (125)—he notices the bars on the window, representing the impossibility of escape. His story resonates with the long tradition of government authorities experimenting on prisoners, testing new and unproven treatments for mental and physical ailments on a literally captive audience.

In the end, Alex can no longer even defend himself. When the orderly comes into his room as Alex attempts to escape, Alex cannot harm him and cannot protect himself when the orderly decides to rough him up: “And he pulled me up by like the scruff of my pyjama-top, me being very weak and limp, and he raised and swung his right rooker so that I got a fair old tolchock clean on the litso” (138-39). In addition, he can no longer make moral choices—perhaps the worst consequence of his reformation. After his altercation with the orderly, he invokes a biblical lesson: “I had to escape into sleep from then was the horrible and wrong feeling that it was better to get the hit than give it. If that veck had stayed I might even have like presented the other cheek” (139). Yet this is not because he is feeling particularly Christlike, though the statement does invoke martyrdom; rather, it is because he has had a moral lesson imprinted on him through chemical intervention.

When Alex is taken to the theater room for his final session, he has fully become an object to be fetishized: the former criminal turned “true Christian,” in the words of Dr. Brodsky (147). The privileged guests at the session take voyeuristic pleasure—except the chaplain—in the demonstration of Alex’s meekness, weakness, and emasculation. When the attractive, half-dressed young woman is trotted out to Alex on the stage, under the spotlight, his typical reaction is stopped in its tracks: “I would like to have her right down there on the floor with the old in-out real savage, but skorry [quick] as a shot came the sickness” (147). Essentially, he has been chemically castrated, as well as robbed of true moral choice. Still, Alex’s story does not lend itself to simple, moral conclusions. Ironically, Alex used to mete out the same kind of punishments to others weaker than himself, others who could not defend themselves. Burgess weighs the questions of whether Alex deserves this punishment—whether anyone deserves this kind of punishment—and whether government overreach and medical hubris can ever be justified.