Humanizing the 'other'

There's a quote from later in our tale that goes something like this.  Pippin brings up to Gandalf whether, due to all of his power, he is dangerous.  Gandalf replies, "Dangerous?  Surely not to all.  But certainly those who I oppose would call me that."  I've always liked that quote.  It is difficult to say whether someone is kind or cruel without taking context into account.  I can be - and try to be - both.  Nice to those I know who are my friends, and fierce when that, too, is necessary.  I have difficulty respecting people who can be described as "Wouldn't hurt a fly."  There must be times when we need to be able to act harshly.  Kindness is an attribute; it shouldn't be a whole personality. (Which is also why "nice guy" is a meaningless phrase.  But if you want to know more about that just click the previous link)

In this chapter, "A Knife in the Dark," Strider leads Frodo and company through the wild towards Rivendell, their current destination.  Along the way we hear stories and begin to understand the deeper complexities of Middle Earth (and Strider).  The company comes to rest at Weathertop, a high hill that has served as a watch tower in the past.  They get a lay of the land from it, and then decide to camp there.  They also find some firewood nicely piled.  But Black Riders are spotted.  Sam tells Strider they should leave.  Strider says, "There is still hope," he said, "You are not alone.  Let us take this wood that is set ready for the fire as a sign.  There is little shelter or defense here, but fire shall serve for both.  Sauron can put fire to his evil uses, as he can all things, but these Riders do not love it, and fear those who wield it."

"Sauron can put fire to his evil uses, as he can all things."  There is nothing inherently evil about fire, nor even destructive.  A fire can be used as both a shelter [from cold] and a means of defense.  In our time, coal and wood burning are a way to make energy, which can be used for all sorts of things.  But fire can also be used for evil, such as arson.  It's a tool - there is no morality attached to its existence.

Gandalf's quote from above deepens this idea - applying it to people, not things.  In battle, the Free Peoples are just as fierce as Sauron's armies.  We can call the Free People's 'determined' and 'brave' and 'clever,' and the hosts of Sauron 'stubborn' and 'reckless' and 'manipulative,' but the latter words denote a morality.  To Sauron, the Free Peoples are stubborn in fighting him, reckless in sending Frodo with the Ring into Mordor, and manipulative by pretending the Ring is elsewhere (as Aragorn will in Return of the King).  Gandalf and Sauron are both dangerous to their foes.  But we tend to see Gandalf as being dangerous when he needs to be, and Sauron as just being dangerous.  The text, with the exception of a few quotes from wise characters, also reinforces this.  Sauron exists only to bring harm to the world - Gandalf can also do fireworks.

Thus we come to the application to our world.  We know our community, our city, our country very well.   We are aware there are layers.  But "other" nations do not earn this sort of discerning view.  Here I don't even mean just enemy nations, though certainly there is that.  For example, we may believe Al Qaeda exists only to destroy the West.  More than that, our culture teaches that.  While there may be strength to be earned in building a community around an 'other' that is antithetical to our own, there are obvious moral problems.

More learned folk may realize Al Qaeda must have some constructive goals, even if those goals are not known to us.  Even if those goals might not see constructive to us, they believe they are being constructive.  In college I went to an event sponsored by the Chabad House (A very religious sect of Judaism) which encouraged students to marry Jewish women or else Judaism will cease to exist.  But as upset as I was by that idea, they thought they were doing the right thing.  They thought their ideas were constructive.

But even outside of our enemies, we do this.  We can know the faults of our society and we may in fact despair at them.  We see other societies or nations and don't see the same problems, and so we long for them.  In doing so, we similarly gloss over the faults in that society.  We are used to a set of problems and because we don't see that exact set of problems we assume there are no problems.  This is best applied to dating: it is very easy to become focused on the faults of our current partner, and so when we meet someone new without those faults we assume there are no faults.  Of course, we can all realize this is ridiculous.  But even the wiser of us, when we are with someone and meet someone who is not wrong in the same way, there is a moment of "Ah!  If only so and so was like this person!"  We may eventually realize that's a useless thought, but there is always that moment.

Humanizing the 'other' usually refers to the enemy.  We need to see our enemies as human beings.  This is true.  But we also need to see our heroes, as those who seem faultless, as human beings.  Here's a visual:

Evil-----------------------------------Humans-----------------------------------Perfect

If we view someone as evil, we must raise them up in our mind and realize that we are only seeing their "dangerous" side.  They are not this way to their families.  If we view someone as perfect, we must bring them down in our mind (off the pedestal, as it were) and realize this person, by definition, has faults.

I realize, looking at the above spectrum, that I have put 'evil' on one side with 'perfect' being its opposite.  But imperfect does not equal evil, nor does good equal perfect.  But I can't figure out another set of words to use.  Our heroes are perfect and our enemies are evil.  I'm sure there is a whole other post exploring that idea, but for now I'll leave it at this:  Perfect means there is nothing more that needs changing.   If one is evil, therefore, a lot of change is required on their part before one stops being evil.  But usually the burden of change is put upon the evil person.  A lot of change is required on YOUR part before you stops being evil.  Let's flip that.  If we view someone as evil, WE must stop viewing them as that.  A lot of change is required on OUR part so that we don't see them as evil.  Everyone, not just the "good guys," enjoys fireworks.

Age is greater than beauty

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

Timeless, aren't these words?  They convey, if there must be one, the central tenet of these texts.  They does not shed light on the plot.  Their truth runs deeper than that. This is one of the Creative Wizard's core lessons:  Don’t judge superficially.  Age gives validity.

The poem alerts us to this through its lyrics.  It does not say “All that glitters is not gold;” The lesson there is to be wary of deceptions.  As written, it urges us to take a careful look at all we see.  We cannot judge it quickly.

How can you know if a wanderer is not simply lost unless you observe for a while, finding patterns and purpose where originally none were apparent?  How can you say the old does not wither, unless you wait for it to be older, still – just in case time was wanting.

Ashes appear only where fire once was.  “Renewed” & “Crownless again” both imply the future shall mirror the (glorious) past.  Our text will not end with a new era – it will end with an old era that was interrupted being re-established.

In honor of the Gettysburg address’ 150^th anniversary I will keep this post to 272 words (poem included).  These words speak for themselves.  It is a poem of great worth.

Addressing the important - not just reacting to the urgent

"The shadow of the fear of the Black Riders came suddenly over them again.  Ever since they had entered the Forest they had thought chiefly of getting back to the Road; only now when it lay beneath their feet did they remember the danger which pursued them..."

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In this week's chapter, "Fog on the Barrow-Downs," Frodo and company leave Tom's house, get attacked by a Barrow-wight (A kind of wraith which was originally supposed to be related to the Black Riders), get saved by Tom, and then finally return to the Road.  They have spent 3 chapters in the Old Forest, which is half of the time (measured by chapters) they've spent on their whole journey.  So far as the Hobbits are concerned, the Old Forest is as big as a part of their adventure as anything else!  So it is no wonder, as they reach the end of the Old Forest, they believe the hardest part of their journey might be done.  But in fact, they only recall the danger from which they first fled.  As it is said, "From the frying pan and into the fire."

A friend of mine taught me an important distinction.  Lots of things are important, but sometimes some are plainly urgent.  They don't just need careful and focused attention, but they need it now.  In fact, action is needed almost more than attention.  The situation must be resolved.  And if I do nothing, the situation will still be resolved, just without my input, and therefore likely not in a way I'd desire.  If I wish to have an effect, I must act immediately.

When the hobbits were in the Old Forest, the evils it contained became urgent.  The trees and the barrow wights were the danger they were facing.  Even though the inhabitants of the Old Forest have no idea about the Ring, and probably don't really care (Tom Bombadil is actually immune to it - he doesn't turn invisible when he wears it and, when Frodo puts it on and vanishes from the sight of his companions, Tom can still see him as if nothing happened), they are still barriers that must be surmounted.  They cannot be ignored.  Even when the Black Riders are on the minds of the hobbits, they are relegated to a position of potential threat, rather than present.

How many times have we needed to prioritize dangers and goals and hopes and evils.  We cannot deal with them all at once, and we are not always in control of them (indeed, it would not be problem if we had control over it).  Sometimes one takes over our present life and must be dealt with at that moment.  Let's imagine your wedding is falling apart.  This is important.  But then your car breaks down on the road.  That becomes urgent, even if we can all agree it probably isn't as important.  An urgent issue is one that must be addressed (and keep in mind: ignoring an issue is still a way to react to it, even if it is a particularly poor one).

But an urgent issue can cloud our judgment.  The idea of coming home to someone, even someone you aren't in love with, might be look doable after dealing with a broken car.  And indeed it is doable.  Sometimes urgent problems have a way of making important problems seem negligible.  Your car had to be dealt with at that moment.  Your marriage has been falling apart for a while.  No rush to get out.  Dealing with the car was exhausting.  Why address another crisis?

Before the text tells us Frodo and company remembered the true danger they faced, it tells us this: As soon as the hobbits return to the Road and are out of the Forest, Frodo remarks:  "Well, here we are again at last!"  'Again'.  Why again?  They've never been to this part of the Road.  Personally, I'm uncertain as to why they know this is the Road.  Is it common knowledge there is only one Road (which would explain why that word has been capitalized these past few chapters).  What does Frodo mean when he says "again"?

We understand his meaning when we realize he does not mean the Road.  He means the Quest.  He means the danger, the important danger.  Urgent Vs Important can be a helpful dichotomy, but it can also be distracting.  If you only deal with the urgent, you may ignore the important.  And how does something become urgent?  Usually there are signs a problem is coming.  If you deal only with what is urgent, you are never in control.  You are always aiming your hose at the latest blaze, rather than the source of the fire.  You are fighting the tentacle of the octopus closest to you, rather than aiming your sword at its head, thus rendering all tentacles useless.

Read the first paragraph again.  The phrase "shadow of the fear" implies a kind of dread - it is an emotional impact.  They realize this danger, the danger of the Black Riders, is now urgent.  But Frodo has already acknowledged the danger on his own terms.  "Again, we are facing the crux of the problem.  Again, we are facing evils we know nothing about and are nearly powerless against.  Again, we are back to the important problem."

"Well, here we are again at last".  Why at last?  It is not as if they've been here before, as previously shown.  So what at last?  Again, Frodo means the Quest.  Frodo has been yearning for this.  Frodo, we can deduce, has always known the Old Forest has just been a digression.  Frodo, throughout the book, has shown remarkable focus to the Quest - he does not get distracted.  He bravely tells his friends he must leave when he might have remained in Buckland, he presses Gildor for information even though it is clear Gildor does not want to say too much, and then Frodo leaves the safety of Tom Bombadil's house.  Frodo has never lost sight of his goal, and he seems to understand the gravity of it.  Frodo is relieved to be back on course 'at last'.  Frodo is invigorated, not exhausted, at the opportunity to tackle it.

May we be like Frodo, who faces urgent problems with vigor and then, when he can face the important problems, breathes a sigh of relief, not because the urgent problems are no more, but because the important one can finally be addressed.

Roots of wisdom

"Who are you, Master?" Frodo asked.
"Eldest, that's what I am.  Mark my words, my friends - Tom was here before the river and the trees; Tom remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn.  He made paths before the Big People, and saw little People arriving.  He was here before the Kings and the graves and the Barrow wights.  When the Elves passed westward, Tom was here already, before the seas were bent.  He knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside."

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Such is Tom Bombadil introduced to us, albeit about halfway through the chapter.  This chapter is called "In the House of Tom Bombadil," and has been challenging readers for decades.  Tom's house is full of wonders, not least of which are his wife Goldberry (who almost seems to have the quality of an ancient Siren) and Tom, himself.  Both seem jolly and joyful beyond reason, yet both are also shown to be wise and grave when needed.  That the Creative Wizard was able to concoct characters such as this is a testament to his skill.

Tom tells many stories to our companions.  The narrative gives us summaries.  One story is the origin of the Old Forest.  It is this story I wish to focus on.



"It was not called the Old Forest without reason, for it was indeed ancient, a survivor of a vast forgotten woods; and in it there lived yet, ageing no quicker than the hills, the fathers of the fathers of trees, remembering when they were lords.  The countless years had filled them with pride and rooted wisdom, and with malice."

I am curious about the term "rooted wisdom."  Wisdom is generally seen as a positive in the text, but here it is listed with pride and malice.  And it isn't "Pride and rooted wisdom, but also with malice."  In that case we would agree that pride can be positive, and therefore the trees are proud and wise but also filled with malice.  But no.  It is pride and rooted wisdom and malice.  All three are bad things.  What to make of this?

In order to begin to shed light on this question, let's back up in the sentence.  What filled them with these things?  The countless years.  But we know that Tom was here before them.  Tom is filled with neither pride nor malice.  But he is wise.  But is this wisdom rooted?  What does that even mean?  Let's take an example from American history.

We know that the pilgrims were farmers.  They did not leave England because they could not farm and were hungry.  They were able to provide their own sustenance.  They left for a different purpose.  But, after arriving in North America, they had difficulty farming.  The crops they brought did not grow as well as they had back in England.  They had to learn how to plant Maize.

150 years later, the Crown's forces were the most powerful military in the world.  And yet they were defeated in Lexington and Concord by a militia of farmers who were both less trained and less numerous.  The British Regulars were used to fighting columns of men in the open.  When militiamen shot at them individually from trees and behind walls, they did not know how to react.  Their superiority melted away.

Both pilgrims and the British regulars had rooted wisdom.  They were experts in their craft, but only in a limited way.  They knew what to do and understood how it worked.  But they weren't able to see beyond it.  To them, their solution could fix anything - even if it were like fitting a round peg into a square hole.  The hole would relent.  It just had to.

And so, we see that rooted wisdom is when your wisdom becomes stuck in its practice.  When you begin to believe the action is the wisdom, rather than an application of it.  This is similar to what we were discussing last week about metaphors.  There is a limit to the benefit.  And beyond that, it becomes a hindrance.  A skilled salesperson is not only good at selling cars, but rather understands sales more broadly, such that s/he can sell most things.  Selling is the wisdom.  Selling cars is the applied wisdom.  But if one cannot figure out how to sell products because they are unlike cars, that wisdom has become rooted.

I am a teacher.  One of the difficulties I face is that every child I work with is an individual.  What motivates one does not motivate another.  There is one child who, if I give her an assignment, I know she will do the work correctly.  Another child, if I assign him a worksheet, I also need to sit with for a few minutes to help him understand it.  There is a child who, when she is angry, needs me to sit down with me and talk about her feelings.  Another child, when he is angry, I turn him toward the street and he and I yell as loud as we can until he feels he's gotten his anger out.  Then we can talk.

These solutions are child-specific.  They are applied wisdom.  There is a wisdom beyond them:  Every child has a unique set of needs that must be met.  This may seem obvious, but if you have ever heard an adult say "When I was a kid, all I needed was..." then you have seen rooted wisdom.  Perhaps even you have said it.  If your solution to any problem involves one particular action, you are dealing with rooted wisdom.

Rooted wisdom is applied wisdom that has forgotten where it is from.  Forgotten its purpose.  Rooted wisdom is to put faith in the action rather than the purpose.  Obviously one must act, but one must remember why one acts.  If your wisdom is rooted, then if your action fails, you will blame the problem for being too hard, as if the problem should have been easier and no one should expect you to be able to deal with this kind of problem.  If your wisdom is applied, you can take a step back and reflect on what you're trying to do, and how best to do it.  If your wisdom has become rooted, you cannot effectively react to new problems.

The trees of the Old Forest are, literally, rooted to the ground.  Tom, of course, is not.  But that literal difference represents so much.  The trees are incapable of seeing the big picture.  They are, inherently, the center of their world view.  Tom can walk around something - he can see it from many sides.  The trees only see things from where they are stationed.  The trees, when they do move, move only to destroy what threatens them.  The one tree whose name we do learn, the one that attacked Merry, is called Old Man Willow, which conjures up all sorts of grumpy and misanthropic images.  Indeed, "Get off my lawn!" has never seemed more appropriate...

But Tom moves out of a desire to explore and wonder at the world.  Tom dances.  Tom sings.  Tom has a wife.  Tom is constantly interacting with the world, and we get the feeling he is enamored with it all.  Tom possesses wisdom, but he also possesses the wisdom of perspective.  Tom applies his wisdom, but it does not become rooted.

I love music.  I have my favorite albums growing up from the 2000s and 90s.  But I also love finding new music.  I think the music I grew up with is amazing, but I also am enamored with some of today's hits.  I'm not sure the strangeness of Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines" will ever replace for me the weirdness of The Avalanches' "Frontier Psychiatry," nor the gorgeous sounds and video of Lorde's "Royals" will supplant Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's rendition of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", though I enjoy all four songs and artists.  But, then again, the beauty of Lindsey Sterling's violin and the honest reflection behind Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole's rhymes have set a new artistic standard in my mind.

Musical artists are the vehicles by which we enjoy music.  But don't confuse the vehicle for the destination.  Don't get so caught up in what you love that you forget why you love it.  The world is full of wondrous things.  Nostalgia can be comforting, but it can also become a prison.  Make sure, every once in a while, to unroot yourself, shake the dirt off your legs, and do something new.  Dancing and singing en route is not required, but it is highly recommended.

Holy Texts as art

This week’s chapter is called The Old Forest, and in it we continue to follow the company’s journey. Fatty Bolger’s fear of this place is no old superstition, we soon find. Whether the forest is haunted or evil or simply bothersome, it is an obstacle to be overcome. The trees speak to each other and move to block the hobbits’ path. The sun is blotted out by their branches and even sounds are muffled. We are told of a time the trees tried to attack the Shire, though they were beaten back by the Hobbits.  There is a mysterious path in the tall grasses that seems to move and change, and Merry wonders how any such path is made – who would travel here enough to make a path? Indeed, our thoughts turn to the Ents, and we understand why there is a need for tree-herders.

Suddenly the Hobbits begin to feel sleepy. Merry and Pippin quickly give in, leaning against some trees, but Sam and Frodo try to resist. Frodo goes to a creek to get some water while Sam wonders why he feels so tired. Sam hears a snap and a splash and goes toward the source.  He finds a tree holding Frodo down in the water. He pulls Frodo out, and they soon find Merry’s lower half sticking out of a tree (The snapping sound evidentially the tree closing itself up.) After pulling unsuccessfully, Sam proposes lighting a fire.

“’We might try to hurt or frighten this tree to begin with,’ said Sam fiercely, ‘If it don’t let him go, I’ll have it down, if I have to gnaw at it,’… But Frodo, without any clear idea of why he did so, or what he hoped for, ran along the path yelling help! help! help!”

From this we might be tempted to conclude that Frodo, the hero of the tale, falls to panic, while Sam, the humble gardener, shows great resilience and determination in the face of this crisis.  However, the results of their actions are not as we would expect.

Sam’s plan, well intentioned as it was, fails.  Once the fire is lit, Merry shouts from within the tree to put out the fire or “’He’ll squeeze me in two, if you don’t. He says so!’”  Meanwhile, Frodo’s panicked shouting, as useless as it seemed, precipitates the arrival of their savior. Now, it is my opinion that Frodo’s shouting doesn’t attract this being’s attention – he is surprised when he finally sees Frodo and Sam, but we cannot ignore the possibility that Frodo’s cries invoked some magic. As we will see, Tom Bombadil has immense power. And we have already seen the Old Forest’s power. Middle Earth is more than a faraway land with great evil and great heroes. There are also some elements that are well beyond our own world.

And this is where metaphors can become obstructive, not enlightening.  This tale we read did not happen.  We do not live in Middle Earth – its geography is not a lesson to us.  We do not live in Middle Earth, its magic does not apply to us.  It would be tempting to discuss what “Old Forests” are in our life.  Or maybe blind panic to situations can be more effective than thoughtful reaction.  That is the purpose of Holy Texts, of course.  To enlighten.  But Holy Texts are not instruction manuals.  Holy Texts do not present answers in 5-step processes.  Holy Texts are art.  Holy Texts are written interpretations of the world around us.  Some of the words have deep meanings.  Some have simple meanings.  Some have many meanings, some have one.  But some are mere flourishes of inspiration.

I do not say ‘mere’ to be dismissive.  I mean it simply.  There is nothing wrong with inspiration for the sake of inspiration.  And there is nothing wrong with enjoying and celebrating the inspiration.  But to place more meaning on it than intended, that is the problem.

There are times when we see events and ascribe meaning to them that have no right to earn meaning.  It is raining, thus I wasn’t meant to go outside.  I met my spouse at a party I attended on a whim – I was meant to go to that party.  I had a great Latin teacher and now I have a degree in Classics, so I was meant to have such an inspirational teacher.  I missed my taxi and was late getting to the airport and so I missed getting on my flight on 9/11; there must be a purpose I was left to do.

It is comforting to think in such ways.  When our life goes well, it is nice to believe something guided us.  And when it goes wrong, it is comforting to think that there WAS a path, we just missed it.  This is not to reject responsibility, but it is scary to be alone.  It is eases the terror that comes with freedom.  I am free to act in whatever way I want, but something will help me determine the best way.  The belief system is not problematic per se.  I do it, too.  Even so many atheists believe in Karma or good energy or gut intuition.  There must be something, something wiser, something to guide me.

But what does that say about human nature?  We crave meaning.  We search for – and find – patterns that are not real.  We find patterns that are not there!  We would rather lie to ourselves than admit ignorance.  How else do so many books on dating exist?  It is not so simple:  If so-and-so does this they like you.  Some say that action is a positive indicator, some say a negative one.  Who is willing to say it is not a reliable indicator of anything?  Further, who would accept that answer??

We want answers, even if they are false.

But the Old Forest isn’t representative of anything.  It is a flourish of inspiration.  A chance for the Creative Wizard (Tolkien) to show off a new and unparalleled world, where trees threaten to crush people if they are burnt down.  A world where trees attack civilization.  THOSE things are ripe with metaphor.  We can dig deep into either of those sentences.  But the Old Forest, itself, has little meaning.  And it would be a mistake to believe otherwise.  Every brushstroke has a purpose, but not every brushstroke has a meaning.

We must not, in the absence of Truth, accept mere ‘answers.’  It is good to know.  It is wisdom to accept what is not known.

(Note:  I don't think I was fated to have the late, great Dr. Fiveash.  But, oh, I am glad I did.)

Who owns the problem?

This week's chapter is called "A Conspiracy Unmasked."  We have followed Frodo and his companions from Bag End to Buckland.  All along their path they were dogged by the Black Riders about whom we are told little, except that they are servants of the Enemy.  Clearly, evil is afoot, though its terror is in its mystery.  What are they and how can they be fought?  So a chapter titled "A Conspiracy Unmasked" would certainly seem to hint towards explaining their background.  But no.  Another conspiracy is unmasked.

Frodo arrives in his new home in Buckland, which Merry and Fredegar (Fatty Bolger) have prepared for him.  After the welcoming is through, Frodo confesses to his friends that he actually means to leave the Shire altogether, and that this move was a ruse.  Merry surprises Frodo by telling him that they know, but that they will not allow him to leave them.  Frodo persists that he must go.  "'You do not understand!' said Pippin.  You must go - and therefore we must, too.  Merry and I are coming with you.'"

So Frodo's company grows from 2 to 4.  The next step is to discuss how to move forward.  The 4 hobbits agree to go through the Old Forest (rather than on the road).  Fredegar objects, saying they will get lost and that it is as dangerous as the Black Riders.  The company disagrees.

"Well, do as you think is best!" Said Fredegar.  I am more afraid of the Old Forest than of anything I know about: the stories about it are a nightmare; but my vote hardly counts, as I am not going on the journey."

How many times have you been given advice by someone who isn't really involved in the situation?  That in itself is no bad thing.  It is always useful to get an outsider's perspective.  Someone who can see the situation without the tunnel vision of personal investment.  Seeking out that kind of 3rd party advice is key to successful decision making.

But it is a 3rd party.  They are not involved.  They don't have to do the thing they advise - you do.  That's where the phrase "easier said than done" comes from.  Someone might give you advice that absolutely addresses the problem, but isn't right for you.   More likely, they'll be making some assumptions that are incorrect because they have incomplete information.  That's the problem of 3rd party advice - they don't know all the nuance of the situation.  They know only what they've been told.  So they fill in the blanks themselves based on their own experience.

In this case Fatty Bolger, not being able to conceive of something more terrifying than the Old Forest, can't understand why anyone would go there.  "Black Riders" are just two words to him that he's been told should frighten him. The "Old Forest" conjures up so many nightmarish memories that he stops thinking rationally and reacts emotionally.  It's why people list "public speaking" as a fear worse than death.  They will have had some poor experience that turned them away from public speaking.  But the concept of death is beyond them, there isn't an emotional fear to it.  Even the way we deal with death - as a passing or eternal sleep - pacifies the fear we should feel about it.  But if you've had a bad experience speaking publicly, you are going to react to the possibility of doing it again emotionally.

As long as the Black Riders remain in Bolger's mind an idea he's never really encountered, he can never understand it.  His visceral fear of the Old Forest will always trump the fear he knows he should feel about the Black Riders.  Experience trumps knowledge.  In fact, experience blinds knowledge.  But that is for another day.

So though we turn to an outsider for their perspective, we must know that, by them being an outsider, their advice may be misleading, as they take their fears and experiences and hopes and superimpose them upon you.  Fortunately, when you are given advice by someone outside the situation, you are under no obligation to take it.  You should consider it, you should see if it shines new light on the situation, but you have the freedom to refuse.  You can always say no.

But this works both ways.  If you are giving advice to someone, understand that they can refuse your advice.  We can sometimes think: Oh no - they've come to me!  They must be at their wits end - who would come to me for advice??  I better be say something good, or else I'm going to get them into a world of hurt.  Or:

They have come to me - this is good.  I am wise and level-headed.  I can see the situation without bias and dole out a proper judgment.  If only they do what I say, they shall avert disaster.

No, you aren't.  Take the crown off your head.  Your advice likely isn't the only advice they're requesting.  Even if they haven't asked others, they've surely gone through a list of ideas in their head.  They know your idea isn't the only possibility.

As for the first person, you are not then responsible for the outcome.  Don't take the burden on and become a martyr.  They needed your advice precisely because you weren't part of the situation.  Don't now get involved.  But don't go the other way and say, as I've been told at times, "I don't want to give out bad advice - I don't want to steer you wrong."  To this I find myself thinking "I am not going to follow your advice word for word.  I just need another perspective, an outsider's perspective.  I'll evaluate what you say like I've evaluated all the other ideas I've  heard so far.  I've rejected all of them, so if your idea is truly awful, don't worry, I'll reject it, too."

For the second person, them asking you for advice doesn't put the mantel of responsibility on you.  They still own the problem.  Not you.  And they still own the solution.  And the aftermath.  They should hear what you say, since they asked, but they do not need to listen to it.  And if they don't listen to your advice and the situation gets worse, don't gloat over them that if they had only listened.  That kind of talk might make you feel better, but makes them feel much worse.  And they're probably already feeling pretty crappy.

When someone asks us for advice, we don't need to be as deferential as Fatty Bolger.  Our voice and opinion has value and we should demand it be seen as such.  But to force our idea upon them, to believe our advice is going to be their guiding light, that is where we can go wrong.  And so, the next time you give out advice, don't be shocked or upset when it isn't followed.  You only know the Old Forest.  But the recipient has traveled the Road and knows the Black Riders.  And, when that problem is solved, their journey goes on, even if your part ends.  What they choose to do has to take them beyond just that immediate danger.  It must get them to Mordor.

And only they can know how to go there.  It is their life.  Trust them to lead it well.

Gildor and Herbie: A study in rules

"[Gildor went on,] 'The Elves have their own labours and their own sorrows, and they are little concerned with the ways of hobbits, or of any other creatures upon earth.  Our paths cross theirs seldom, by chance or purpose.  In this meeting there may be more than chance; but the purpose is not clear to me, and I fear to say too much.'"

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This week is the first double-portion of our cycle.  The two chapters, "Three is company" & "A Shortcut to Mushrooms," follow from when Frodo and Sam set out from Bag End with Pippin to their meeting with Merry near Buckleberry Ferry.  On their journey, we meet a range of new creatures, from the most foul to the most fair.  We see the Black Riders (The as-of-yet-unidentified Nazgûl), hunting for the hobbits.  Though their origin is not explained, we see that they are terrifying and that, when they are near, The Ring's power over Frodo grows.  We, like Frodo, have many unanswered questions.

So it is fortunate the hobbits run into a group of travelling Elves.  Pop culture tells us that Elves are wise and good and helpful.  Frodo knows less, but he knows the Elves are friends of Gandalf and can be counted upon to know many things.  However, as Frodo converses with the Elves, he realizes they are not as open as he had hoped.

The Elves are indeed wise.  They are kind to the hobbits - they allow them to walk with them for some time and, when they leave, they provide provisions for the hobbits.  But as Sam notes when Frodo asks how he feels about Elves, having met them:   "They seem a bit above my likes and dislikes, so to speak,' answered Sam slowly.  'It don't seem to matter what I think about them.  They are quite different from what I expected - so old and young, and so gay and sad, as it were.'"

The Elves have a particular quirk, which is that they wish to be kind to those who are good, and yet they know so much about the terror that awaits them.  Telling them would only alarm them, and in any event the Elves don't appear to wish to meddle in the lives of individuals.

'And I warn you that peril is now both before you and behind you, and upon either side.'

'You mean the Riders?  I feared that they were servants of the Enemy.  What are the Black Riders?'

'Has Gandalf told you nothing?'

'Nothing about such creatures.'

'Then I think it is not for me to say more - lest terror should keep you from your journey... You must now make haste, and neither stay nor turn back; for the Shire is no longer any protection to you.'

'I cannot imagine what information could be more terrifying than your hints and warnings,' exclaimed Frodo.

I am reminded of a chapter in I, Robot called "Liar!"  By some accident, the roboticists create a robot that can read minds.  The robot, Herbie, is still bound to the 3 laws of robotics.  Herbie reads minds while going about his duties.  In the course of this he discovers Susan, one of the roboticists, has fallen in love with one of her coworkers, Milton.  Herbie knows Milton does not share these feelings.  In reading her mind, Herbie sees that Susan's uncertainty causes her harm.  The 1st law requires Herbie to intervene.  However, Herbie also knows that telling Susan the truth will also cause her harm.  So he lies.

Eventually the truth comes out and Herbie, realizing the damage he has done to the humans around him, self-destructs as he is trying to explain why what he was doing was supposed to be helpful.  We can understand Herbie's point of view, even as we realize how ill-advised it is.

Gildor - the particular Elf Frodo is speaking with - wants to be kind to Frodo and wishes to help him, but he also refuses to get too deeply involved in his adventure.  This contradiction causes him to be non-committal, which from his point of view allows him to help but also remain aloof.  However, from Frodo's perspective, Gildor's lack of details allows Frodo's mind to fill in the blanks with terror beyond comprehension.

Eventually Frodo, in his frustration, says this: "'It is said: Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes.'  'Is it indeed?' laughed Gildor.  'Elves seldom give unguarded advice, for advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill.... But if you demand advice, I will for friendship's sake give it.  I think you should now go at once, without delay.'"

When pressed and pressed, Gildor relents against the custom of his race.  Similarly, when Herbie was pressed, he realized it was impossible to know the minds of humans and sustain the First Law.  While Herbie self-destructed (as the robots are programmed if they ever break one of the laws of robotics), Gildor errs on the side of emotion and friendship, rather than trusting in Fate.  And so we see living beings are better than robots.

That might seem like an odd thing to say in an interpretation of Lord of the Rings, where electricity is hardly present.  But surely we all know people who follow rules more rigidly than the rules were designed to be followed.  In a litigious world like ours, the letter of the law can trump (and distort) the spirit of the law.  It is important, then, we recall the spirit of the law and try to determine its purpose, and not just read the letters.

But most of my readers are not lawmakers or judges or police.  So 'law' here is too strong a word.  But there are rules we must follow, and times when we must break those rules.  When are those times?  How can we know?  It is easy to say "Speeding is OK if you're driving an injured person to the hospital."  But there are times when multiple choices are equally good.  And there are times when multiple choices - the only choices we have - are equally bad.  What guides our judgment then?

I hope we will, when life demands it of us, make choices for the sake of friendship.  Even if we have our own labors.  Even if we have our own sorrows  Even if we are so engrossed in our current activity  that we are little concerned with the lives of other people.  Even if our paths cross seldom, and when they do it is unclear if they have crosses by chance or by design.  Even if we fear to say too much.  Even if all that is true, I sincerely hope that we choose for the sake of friendship.  I hope we should say too much, and trust too much in the judgment of our friends, than say too little, and deprive them of knowledge because we feel they could not handle it.

Friendship should always trump wisdom.