Finding Wisdom TWOgether

This week's chapter is "The Breaking of the Fellowship."  It is, fittingly, the final chapter in "The Fellowship of the Ring."  The Fellowship has reached the Falls of Rauros and must abandon their river path.  They must now choose which way to go - west to Minas Tirith or East to Mordor.  The decision is laid upon Frodo, who asks for an hour to walk and think it over.

While he is away from the group Boromir finds him.  He repeatedly asks Frodo for the Ring, his requests growing more forceful and threatening as Frodo resists.  Finally he moves to sieze the Ring from Frodo.  Frodo puts on the Ring and runs away.  Boromir returns to the rest of the Fellowship and confesses what he has done.  Everyone splits up to find Frodo, though in a disorganized fashion.  The chapter ends with Sam finding Frodo and the two of them leaving the other six behind to go to Mordor.

For this week's lesson, I'd like to call attention to something Boromir says when he first finds Frodo:

"May I stay now and talk for a while, since I have

found you? It would comfort me.  Where there are

so many, all speech becomes a debate without end.

But two together may perhaps find wisdom."

While this is a ruse - Boromir is after power, not wisdom - there is truth in these words.  We need look no further than Social media.

The conversations go on and on and everyone wants to have their voice heard.  Truly 'a  debate without end.'  But being heard and contributing to the conversation aren't the same thing.  I recently engaged in an online debate about how to change people who are racist.  I am a strong believer in organizations like Life After Hate, who fight racism by helping those in hate group gets out of them.

Many people, understandably, don't have compassion for racists.  They would prefer to shame them or make them feel unsafe.  "Make Racists Afraid Again."  And in our very divided culture, compassion for racists is seen as defense of racism.  The way I see it, you can do both.  Those on the left believe racism is a conscious choice someone makes, and so the only way to stop being racist is to, well, choose to stop being racist.  But racism is taught, and it is difficult to just decide to unlearn what one has learned.  You need a supportive community to assist you through the transition, which is where Life After Hate comes in.

Anyway, I was talking to a friend of mine on Facebook and we were going back and forth, not really getting anywhere.  Then someone else chimed in to say I was defending racists and shouldn't value how they feel.  My friend agreed but we continued our debate.  But this person kept butting in, and by the end, they were saying I was racist.  My friend would not defend me.

Meanwhile, at about the same time, I was having a private conversation on messenger with a friend of mine who is a right-wing Christian.  He had said, knowing how seriously I take my Judaism, that he was concerned at the increasing resentment the left has against religion.  I challenged him on that and said it was really resentment against Christianity, and specifically right-wing Christianity.  The left doesn't have an issue with other religions (the left's antisemitism is racial in nature.  Their problem is with Jews, not "Judaism").  I then said LGBT voices are being heard and empowered on the left, and that right-wing Christians believe those people are sinners, so while he may not like the resentment, it isn't irrational.  We went back and forth, with him saying some things that were homophobic, which I let slide for the sake of making a greater point.  By the end of the conversation he said that if he had a neighbor who was LGBT, he wouldn't have a problem with it and would still be a good neighbor to them.  I then advised him that if his coreligionists shared that approach, the resentment might be lessened.

We were only able to come to that conclusion because we had that conversation privately.  If it had been public, two things would have happened differently.  One, one of my left-wing friends would have chimed in and called him out for being homophobic.  This would have inevitably changed the conversation into a defense of his character.  Two, even before anyone else chimed in, I would have felt compelled to push back, in order to be seen as a good ally, rather than let him say his piece so that I could "meet him where he is".  If I didn't, someone may have chimed in and said I was giving his views a platform, and that I shouldn't be empowering homophobia.  Then the conversation would have changed into a defense of my character.  Such a conversation cannot lead to wisdom, which involves honest investigation, experiencing discomfort, and being open to new ideas.  Instead, the discussion would have become a performance, with everyone wanting to showcase which side they are on.

There is value in public social media conversations, but that value is in communal support (or shame), or in spreading information directly  to the people.  But if you want wisdom, you should not expect it from a Tweet or a Facebook status.  There are simply too many people, and "all speech becomes a debate without end."  Wisdom is best found in a frank discussion with one other person.  The more people you add, the more difficult finding wisdom becomes.

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What's Your Gollum?

Kids love bugs.  I did, too, when I was younger.  But I don't any more, and this is why:  One day I was coming back from a walk around the block with my parents and I saw a dead bug on the ground.  Intrigued, I went to touch it.  But it was not dead, and it bit me (or pinched me, I'm not sure).  I have a clear memory of this.  I hate bugs now - and moreover, they scare me.  At this point in my life they probably always will.

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This week is another double portion.  We read "Farewell to Lorien" and "The Great River."  The Fellowship leaves (Loth)lorien behind and continues their Quest.  The elves give the Fellowship boats on which they can float down the Anduin river, which runs toward Mordor.  The first chapter concerns these, as well as other gifts the Fellowship receives from the elves.  The second chapter follows the Fellowship as they journey down the river.

Throughout these chapters, and those leading up to them, there are hints of a creature stalking them.  Though none catch a direct glimpse at him, the evidence is stacking up.  Sam thinks he sees something hiding behind a log on the river.  Frodo recalls that Haldir thought he saw an unusual creature following them Lothlorien, and Aragorn says he believes it's been following them since.  Gollum has found the Fellowship.  Soon after Sam's (possible) encounter, the Fellowship is attacked by orcs.  It's left unclear whether Gollum actually had a hand in summoning them or not, but the Fellowship suspects it is no coincidence.

Of course, Gollum's part in the story of the Ring is no small one.  He possessed the Ring for a long time.  He is the one who told Sauron it was a Baggins who had the Ring, leading to the Black Riders being sent to the Shire.  And he has much more to do before our text is done.  Like that bug that pinched me, Gollum is everpresent, even when he is hidden.

While I'm hesitant to say I was traumatized by that bug, it has certainly stayed in my mind long long after that experience.  It took me a long time before I could be comfortable with anything besides an ant or a fly.  I would vacate entire fields because I saw one bee, and I would simply leave rooms whenever I caught glimpse of a spider.  I once had a mosquito hawk get into my kitchen.  In response, I got a pot cover and spatula and dueled the damned thing for about half an hour before it finally flew into a vent.  I've gotten a little better, but only because I don't let my fear control me.  I still have the fear.

People with trauma talk about reliving the experience.  It stays with them.  You may only be mugged at gunpoint once but you will flinch at sudden movements from strangers for months or years afterwards.  It guides your life against your will.

Most people with trauma, who do not treat it successfully, either engage with it fully or they refuse to even approach it.  Almost drowned at sea?  They never go near the ocean again, or they commit their life to the Coast Guard.  Abused by a parent growing up?  They never raise their voice against their child (and have a hard time forgiving themselves if they ever slip), or they decide their kids should have the same upbringing they did "Since I turned out ok."

In this way, Gollum represents unresolved trauma.  Not always seen, but just around the corner - maybe calling orcs to attack.  He has unnatural eyes.  He walks on his hands and feet in a strange hunch (This is what Haldir says).  He is mysterious and frightening and powerful.

But we also know the truth.  Gollum, once we meet him, is clearly pathetic.  He can't actually hurt anyone in a fair fight.  His power is in fear, ambush, and allies (like orcs or Shelob).  If you're traumatized by driving because you survived a car accident you will lose a lot of time by insisting on walking everywhere.  A car won't hurt you again, but you the trauma is obviously still affecting your life.  You may think you are avoiding the trauma, but in reality that level of avoidance is a form of control.

Previously we had talked about finding the root cause of social and personal problems.  This is similar, but more about the impact of not approaching those causes head-on.  It can seem easy to avoid trauma, but that has a cost.  Only therapy, requiring one to confront trauma in a guided way, allows one freedom from it.

In psychoanalytical terms this is called "reconciliation with the father."  The basic idea is one has a conflict with a parent growing up and the memory of that conflict drives much of your adult life: You can strive to avoid all such conflicts or you can constantly engage in such conflicts.  But the most healthy response is to learn how to face it, thus allowing you to follow a path of your own choosing.  That's why Luke's refusal to fight at the end of the Return of the Jedi is so powerful.  Killing his father is obviously a bad choice.  But killing the emperor also feeds into the cycle of violence that got them both there.  Instead he sets up an opportunity for he and his father to fight on the same side.  It is risky, but so is all forgiveness.

Obviously the world is wider than Freud.  We don't always have a parent to reconcile with - sometimes it is something else.  But we all carry something from our past, some experience that unconsciously guides us.  We all, though it be different shapes and sizes and sources, have a Gollum in our life.  It is the human condition.  We use the past to predict the future.  But reconciliation requires one to let go of the past and have faith in the future.  It's difficult to do.  One of the first steps is to notice it and its effects, as Sam and Aragorn and Haldir did, no matter how much it tries to hide.

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Is Power Inherently Bad?

I have written before that war is the real villain of our text.  Not Sauron, Saruman, Gollum, nor any of the others.  Those characters are only evil because they engage in, or fervently wish for, war and conflict.  But I'd like to widen that scope this week.  I think our text has more to say.  War is an evil, yes, but war is the result of something else.  War is the result of contested power.  If only one person had all the power there'd be no war.  But can we say we've conquered evil while also enduring a tyrant, even a benevolent one?

If war is not the real villain, what is?  The underlying conflicts?  Those are many and varied.  It would be unhelpful to highlight just one, and it would also be unhelpful to focus on them all.  Let's dig deeper, what causes those conflicts?

In order for a conflict to be real, it must be about competing power.  An adult cannot have a real conflict with a 5-month-old.  There can be tension and unhappiness, but the 5-month-old has no power of their own.  A CEO and a low-level employee can cause disruption to the work place, but the two of them can't have a real conflict - the power imbalance is too great.  So the issue seems to be power imbalance.

But power is inherently unevenly distributed, and its distribution is volatile.  Further, people like power.  People want to use the power they get.  People do not want to lose the power they have.  An easy way to ensure you do not lose power is to acquire more.  Fences around fences.  But this feeds the unequal distribution of power, which leads to conflict and war.  The only way to end conflict, then, is to end power.  So it looks like power is the real villain.  Let's turn now to our text and see what it says...

This week's chapter is called "The Mirror of Galadriel."  The Fellowship enjoy a respite from their Quest for some time (weeks, probably, though time in Lothlorien is weird).  The narrative focuses on a specific event: Galadriel takes Frodo and Sam to a special grove in Lothlorien and fills a basin with water.  She then tells them that if they look into the water they will see "things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be."  First Sam looks and he sees the Shire being industrialized, the hobbits being put to work and his own father evicted.  Then Frodo looks in and sees the history and the future of the War of the Ring, and the Eye of Sauron.   Suddenly the Ring on his neck grows heavy and actual steam rises from the vision in the water.

Frodo despairs at what he has seen and offers the Ring to Galadriel.  She is wise and a leader among the elves.  Frodo is just a hobbit accompanied by his gardener.  Surely Galadriel is more capable of standing up to Sauron?

Galadriel, dramatically, refuses.  Sam speaks up and says:

'I wish you'd take his Ring.  You'd put things to rights...
You'd make some folk pay for their dirty work.'

'I would,' [Galadriel] said. 'That is how it would begin.
But it would not stop with that, alas!'

An analogy: When given a toy weapon, a child will want to use it.  They attack a cooperative adult who falls over and plays dead.  "Whoa!" The child thinks, "Cool!"  The child play-attacks different people.  They do not usually have the power to make adults fall over.  They want to see how long this power lasts and explore what they can do with it.

But inevitably someone won't play along.  This is the limit of their power.  And what happens?  The child gets cranky.  They have lost their power, an inherently disappointing experience.  We like power, we like to use power, we do not like to lose power.

Even Galadriel is not immune to this temptation of power.  This is what she means when speaking to Sam.  First, she'd find the villains and "make them pay."  Then maybe she'd find those who supported the villains and make them pay.  But would that be enough?  What about those who could have opposed the villains, but done nothing?  Surely they deserve punishment for sitting on the sidelines.  And what of those who opposed the villains but could have done more?  She can give them their own Schindler's List moment.  And on it goes.

Eventually it would be Galadriel who would need to be stopped.  Her crusade of retribution would have gotten out of control.  And retribution isn't a foundation for peace.  At the war's end many villains and their supporters will have to be forgiven.  The alternatives are to exile them (and then vigilantly enforce it forever) or to kill them all (an action difficult to morally justify).  Galadriel sees this and realizes the strength needed to forgive and forget is not in her.  As we saw last week, the Elves are concerned with purity.  To forgive one must forgo the virtue of purity.  The power of the Ring would lead her to do harm, even if she sought to do good.

The only solution, then, is to destroy the Ring.  It's power is too great.  It cannot be harnessed.  It cannot be turned to good.  And so it is with power, in general.  Power must be denied and destroyed.  But this guide is supposed to be practical.  We have no One Ring to destroy - we cannot eliminate power.  The best we can do is create a balance of it - a way to ensure ambition is kept in check.  But, as we've said, power is inherently unevenly distributed and that distribution is volatile.  So how can that be both the problem and the solution?  Hmmmm.

It's 4:30 on Saturday.  I'm already far beyond my self-set deadline.  Maybe some weeks we're left with questions instead of answer.  I'm OK with that.  Power will come up again in our text, I am sure.  But it is worth noting that, though our text features elvish bows and dwarven axes and cavalry and armies and battering rams actually, all of the morally best characters refuse the Ring, that which would give them ultimate power.  The goal is not that the good guys overpower the bad guys, but that the very thing they are fighting over is destroyed.

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The Folly of the Elves

This week's chapter is called "Lothlorien."  It is the name of an elven realm.  In fact, we are told it is "The heart of Elvendom on Earth", though it has faded somewhat as the Elves have begun leaving Middle Earth.  But Legolas speaks longingly of it, saying he has heard many tales of its beauty.  And indeed it is a beautiful place, though that beauty is complicated by, ummm, well, you'll see.

The chapter begins with the Fellowship escaping Moria sans Gandalf.  Though they are devastated by the loss, they must press on.  Orcs are pursuing them.  Aragorn leads them away from the mountains, towards Lothlorien, which he knows is nearby.  Though they arrive in one piece, they are not really welcomed in.

They are tracked by elves who, when reveal themselves, mockingly tell the Fellowship "You breathe so loud that [we] could shoot you in the dark."  Legolas lobbies on their behalf, however, and they are let up into the trees - which is where the Elves live.  They are greeted by an elf named Haldir.

Haldir expresses reservations about welcoming so many non-elves into the realm.  He is particularly wary about allowing a Dwarf in.  He tells Legolas they have "not have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the dark days."  It's unclear what he's referring to, but we understand what he means: There is bad blood between them.

Haldir tries to strike a compromise: Gimli can come through Lothlorien, but he must be blindfolded - he cannot be permitted to see it.  Gimli refuses, saying "I will go forward free or I will go back and seek my own land, where I am known to be true of word, though I perish alone in the wilderness."

They argue for a time, and finally Legolas loses his patience and says, "A plague on Dwarves and their the stiff necks!"  Aragorn steps in and suggests everyone go blindfolded so Gimli doesn't feel singled out.  Gimli says he'd be satisfied if only Legolas joined him.  Legolas objects, to which Aragorn says 'Now let us cry: "A plague on the stiff necks of the Elves!"'  Legolas relents, and they all enter blindfolded.  Once they all consent, but before they are blindfolded, Haldir says, "Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him.  Yet so little faith and trust do we find now in the world beyond Lothlorien, unless maybe in Rivendell, that we dare not by our own trust endanger our land.  We live now upon an island amid many perils..."  He speaks of dark days  in the past, but clearly dark days persist in the present.

Elves are usually viewed as benevolent and wondrous creatures.  Many cultures believe in elves .  We know the Creative Wizard drew upon real mythology when creating Middle Earth.  Surely his elves should also be seen as benevolent and wondrous.  Look!  Here's someone analyzing how the elves in Middle Earth represent the passing of a great age, in a way similar to how America used to look upon the Founding Fathers.

I believe that is an erroneous analysis.  It begins by assuming it's probably true and doesn't examine the text very closely, just the themes and summaries of stories.  I contend that, when the text is closely analyzed, it becomes clear that the elves are arrogance, incarnate, and while their passing may bring some sorrow their leaving Middle Earth is crucial to the future of that land.

Let's examine the evidence.

First, we know from past weeks that the only reason Sauron makes The One Ring as powerful as his is because of the Elves.  They sought control but he proved too powerful and cunning for them.

Moving closer to the present, Haldir and Legolas provides more good evidence of the arrogance of the elves:

• Greeting anyone by telling them "You breathe so loudly we could..." is obviously a power play and not a useful or friendly communication.
• Haldir refuses to let Gimli through without being blindfolded, as if his seeing Lothlorien might diminish its wonder.
• Legolas calls Gimli stubborn when Gimli refuses, but when Legolas might be blindfolded, he resists it.
• After all this, Haldir laments how far trust has fallen between the enemies of Sauron, who should be allies.  He takes no responsibility for his part in this lack of trust (That he does not trust dwarves and that he has done nothing to gain their trust).  He then goes on to say the elves of Lothlorien are so put-upon that they only "maybe" trust Rivendell - which of course is another elven realm.  That's not just arrogance - that's racial arrogance.

The chapter goes on, though.  Eventually the elves receive word from the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien - the Fellowship can all walk with eyes unbound.  "[Haldir] removed the bandage first from Gimli's eyes.  'Your pardon!' he said, bowing low.  'Look on us now with friendly eyes!'"  Aside from removing the blindfold from Gimli first this response is far from the apology one might expect in such a situation.  It is clear Haldir doesn't think he did anything wrong.

So the elves: are wary of non-elves; both enforce rules on others while also and expecting leniency for themselves; overestimated their own power; and are leaving Middle Earth while also complaining that Middle Earth itself is falling from its height of glory.

A final piece of evidence from this chapter - the one which initially caught my eye.  The pursuing orcs do eventually reach Lothlorien.  On the border of Lothlorien is a river called Nimrodel.  When Haldir hears orcs entered Lothlorien (though they were swiftly destroyed) he says "[The orcs] crossed the Nimrodel - curse their foul feet in its clean water!"

What an absurd thing to say.  The Nimrodel is a river of running water.  The dirty water is taken downstream, eventually out into the Great Sea.  The Nimrodel remains clean.  Further, the Nimrodel is known to have healing properties.  That suggests it regularly is used to remove impurities from living beings.  What makes the orcs so terrible that their feet merely touching the water defiles it, rather than heals them?  This is not how water works.  It is clear that Haldir is more interested in the purity of the river than its uses.  And as we know, persons and groups who have obsessions with purity rarely end up on the right side of history, no matter their intentions.

Whether on purpose or not, I believe the elves of our text are arrogant racists.  They are too dedicated to their traditions and too interested in purity for the coming age of Middle Earth.  Dwarves and hobbits and wizards and humans are able to cooperate just fine.  It is only the elves who express reservations.  They do not trust the others to be able to succeed.  Because Isildur, Aragorn's ancestor, failed, they believe Aragorn, and by extension all humans, will fail, too.  They do not believe in redemption.  Things had once been perfect but have been decaying ever since.  "All downhill from here."  The only option is to leave for a place that is still pure.

I am interesting to read the rest of the series with this view in mind.  The leaders of the elves seem to have recognized the error of their ways and are acting in defiance of these traditions.  Recall that Elrond assembled the racially diverse Fellowship and the "Lord and Lady" of Lothlorien ordered the Fellowship go unblindfolded.  However the rest of the elves hold to their old ideas.  I wonder how Legolas will end up - will he understand the need for broader cooperation, or will he think the Fellowship is the exception to a generally good idea - separation of the races.

A final thought.  Repeat readers like us know that Aragorn marries Arwen, an elven lady (Elrond's daughter).  By taking Aragorn as her husband Arwen surrenders her immortality.  Elrond is a great lord of elves and to lose (for, to him, it is very much a loss) his daughter in this way is significant.  We can also view this as an atonement sacrifice.  Arwen is given a choice and chooses the impurity of a mortal life.  While we have already seen that the elven leaders understand the dangers of demanding purity, now Elrond must sacrifice something personal.  Elrond's otherwise immortal family is broken, a permanent reminder to him of the folly of the elves of Middle-Earth.

The Lord of the Rings: An Ethical Guide is a Patreon-supported project.  Thank you to all those who have contributed.

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What the Fall of Gandalf Means

This is it!  If you know any scene from Lord of the Rings, it is likely the climactic scene from this chapter, "The Bridge of Khazad-Dum".  Gandalf's face-off with the Balrog is one of the best known and oft quoted scenes from the whole series.  Heck, if I was teaching a class on Lord of the Rings I would tell my students.  "If you do not study, YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

But I digress.

While reflecting on the implications of Balin's death, the Fellowship is ambushed.  They manage to escape and find the Bridge of Khazad-dum (Khazad-dum being the dwarven name for Moria).  On the other side lies their escape from the Moria.  But they are attacked by an ancient evil - an evil unconcerned even with Sauron and his Ring - a Balrog.  It is described thus, "What it was could not be seen: it was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and a power and terror seemed to be in it and to go before it."  Black upon black.  In a world defined by light and dark, the Balrog is clearly an evil entity.  However dark their journey into Moria had been, the Balrog is that darkness made manifest.

You know the rest.  Gandalf faces the Balrog.  He defeats him.  But, tragedy!  The Balrog, on his way down, takes Gandalf with him.  "Fly, you fools."  And he's gone - tumbling down the chasm after the Balrog.

The Fellowship is stunned.  Though far from out of danger, they remain rooted where they stand, shocked.  It is Aragorn and Boromir who rouse them to take them up and out of Moria.  As the text says, "They stumbled wildly up the great stairs beyond the door, Aragorn leading, Boromir at the rear."

I want to examine this quote from two different angles, if you'll indulge me.  The first is within the context of Middle Earth itself.

This episode is a microcosm of the fate of Middle Earth.  Gandalf, like all wizards, is a Maia, a divine being of Middle Earth.  Wizards are sent to Middle Earth with a Purpose.  Once their Purpose is complete, they leave.  The elves, immortal but not divine, are leaving Middle Earth.  So it is humans, what our text refers to as "men", that must take up the mantle of leadership.  Yes, hobbits and dwarves also remain, but neither of them are interested in nor capable of ruling.

Let's review again what happens in this chapter.  A wizard has fallen.  Was his purpose to give his life for the Fellowship?  Certainly we, repeat readers, know that Gandalf will Return - but as far as the Fellowship knows, Gandalf is gone forever.  On a cosmic scale, Men will have to take the lead in protecting Middle Earth from evil.  On a personal scale, Aragorn and Boromir must now lead the Fellowship.  It is worth noting that the text doesn't even raise the possibility that Legolas might take the helm.

Boromir is the son of the Steward of Gondor, and Aragorn is a descendant of the line of kings of Gondor.  Both are of noble blood.  Middle Earth is clearly set in the time frame of late medieval/early industrialization (the renaissance doesn't occur, so the two time periods are adjacent).  Thus, their nobility allows us to take Boromir and Aragorn's actions in this crisis as a model of how men respond to the passing of the torch.  Certainly this is the Creative Wizard's point of view (It is inherent in the text that the good characters support the monarchy of Gondor and all of its inevitable trappings).  That is to say, this moment should be viewed as a microcosm for the rest of Middle Earth.  The old powers are fading, either because their time has come (like the elves) or because they have fulfilled their purpose (like Gandalf).  Humans should fill the vacuum left behind.

Let us also examine how they take over, and what it can say about our world.  "They stumbled wildly up the great stairs beyond the door, Aragorn leading, Boromir at the rear."  Aragorn is in front and Boromir is in back.  What can we learn from this?

Aragorn is in front - he is leading.  A leader needs vision, drive, clarity, relevant knowledge and skills, etc.  Aragorn has these things.  He is well-traveled and he understands the need for the Ring's destruction (something about which Boromir has already expressed doubt).  He is the right person to take charge (By my evaluation, he possesses all 16/16 of these "essential leadership skills").  The Fellowship may still fail, but it will not be for lack of a capable leader.

Now let's take a look at Boromor.  Boromir is in the rear.  Is this because he is unable to lead?  I say no.

It's true that Boromir is a poor choice to lead, especially when someone like Aragorn is available.  (By my evaluation, Boromir possesses only 6/16 of those "essential leadership skills")  But Boromir is more than a suboptimal leader.  He is an excellent follower.  Yes, Boromir has his own ideas and is willing to argue for them, but he also demonstrates a willingness to accept when the opinion of the rest of the Fellowship is against him.  He wants the Ring to come to Gondor and be used against Sauron (though I suppose there is an argument to be made this is the Ring causing him to propose such a reckless plan).  He wants to take a different path to cross the Misty Mountains (by neither going over nor under them).  But in each case he is outvoted and he takes this in stride.

When they get stuck in the blizzard on Caradhras, rather than boast his route may have proved better, Boromir takes on the arduous task of clearing out the snow in their path.  When the Fellowship is beset by orcs at Balin's tomb, he draws his sword to their defense without a word of complaint.  Boromir can be counted on to do what is needed.  The whole reason Boromir, not his brother Faramir, is with the Fellowship is exactly because of his willingness to take on risk.  In an earlier chapter Boromir recounts that his father had intended to send Faramir to Rivendell, but Boromir insisted he be sent instead since the journey was potentially dangerous.

Boromir is shown to be loyal and brave and submissive.  His position in the rear is important.  If the orcs and goblins give chase he will be the most vulnerable.  Aragorn may be able to lead the company - but Boromir can be counted upon to protect them.  A group full of leaders may come up with ground breaking ideas but, without workers who have the skills and the grit and the demeanor to follow directions, none of those ideas will become reality.  Successful groups - from Fortune 500 companies to small town garage bands - must have both Aragorns and Boromirs to achieve their goals.

The Lord of the Rings: An Ethical Guide is a Patreon-supported project.  Thank you to all those who have contributed.

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Friends: Providing Light in the Darkness

This week's chapter is called "A Journey Into the Dark," which is a fitting title.  All of the action happens in the dark, either because it is night or because they are travelling underground.  But beyond that, the Fellowship is metaphorically in the dark during this chapter because they are often not sure of their next step.

Though they have been defeated by the blizzard on top, the Fellowship must still get to the other side of the Misty Mountains.  After some debate they ultimately decide to travel under the mountains, through the Mines of Moria.  But getting in isn't so simple: the door to the mines has been long shut, and dwarf doors are invisible when closed.  And even after they find it, opening the door proves to be a challenge.  And even then they do not know the right route through the mines.  They stop at every split in the cavern, and even Gandalf admits he is making only his best educated guess each time they choose which path to take.

Things are made more difficult because, although Moria had once been a thriving dwarf stronghold, it is now deserted.  The 'dark' deepens.  The chapter ends when they find a hint to the answer: The tomb of Balin, the Dwarf who led a mission to reestablish Moria's former glory.  He has evidently failed - but to what, they do not yet know.

Before they enter the mines, while they are looking for the way in, Gandalf and Gimli scour the rock wall for the door.  Gandalf doubts their chances but Gimli remains optimistic.  Gandalf tells him, "You encourage me.  We will seek the hidden doors together."

We like to think we know the world around us, but frankly we are surrounded by mystery.  Lettuce can suddenly be found to be very dangerous.  Data can be lost forever.  An Amazon package we were looking forward to can arrive incomplete (as happened to me recently).  An alarm clock can fail to go off.  And that isn't even touching real catastrophes like illness and surprise car repairs (Most Americans cannot cover such a sudden cost).  The routine of our life is very fragile.  It can be disrupted in countless ways, and then we are suddenly in the dark, searching for a way out.  And in the dark, all doors are hidden.

What a pleasant reflection Gandalf is giving us about companionship!  The benefit of companions is not that they prevent troubling times but that they provide support during them.  Friendships are built on shared experiences.  This is why so many friendships begin at school and at work.  You enjoy (or endure) certain moments together and these moments draw you closer.  That closeness then prepares you for difficult times.  Recently I was stuck on the highway with my girlfriend because she got a flat tire.  We were waiting for over an hour on a very cold night.  While this wasn't our preferred reason to spend time together, it was more enjoyable than we expected, and certainly better than enduring it alone.  Further, it is a new shared experience which brings us even closer.  Thus, surviving hard times is both a testament to and a strengthening of companionship.

Friends also bring with them their own experiences.  Recall how Gandalf says "you encourage me."  Gimli is a dwarf looking for a dwarf door.  Gimli is in his element.  While to Gandalf and the rest of the Fellowship going underground is not an appealing idea, Gimli has a very different attitude, which brings comfort and encouragement to the rest.  Who hasn't breathed a sigh of relief when, after sharing a difficult situation you are facing, a friend responds by saying "I also had a problem like that."  Their solution may not apply completely to yours, but at least you are reminded others have faced your predicament and come out the other side.

So the next time you are struggling with something, reach out to one of your friends.  You are not alone.  Fight the voice in your head that says no one cares or that asking for help is just bothering other people.  Your friends care, and they'll talk it out with you.  And though the burden remains on you to solve the problem, their insight may throw some light on it, perhaps revealing a previously hidden door.

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Defeat

"Caradhras had defeated them."  This is how this week's chapter, "The Ring Goes South," ends.

Lord of the Rings is a story.  As such, we expect certain patterns.  One major pattern of storytelling is overcoming obstacles.  If a protagonist is facing a difficult situation, they will overcome it.  This is how stories progress.  If the protagonist cannot overcome it, the story necessarily suffers.  Why have a problem that is not, eventually, defeated?

So it is a bold decision of the Creative Wizard to have the Fellowship of the Ring be defeated by the first obstacle they encounter.  Caradhras is a mountain, and as they try to climb it they get assaulted by snow.  It's unclear whether this is bad luck, Sauron or Saruman, or the mountain itself, but the snow threatens to bury every last one of them.  There is no pushing onward.  They must turn back.

What can we learn from this?

There are lots of quotes about failure.  But they all try to be optimistic.  They want to put a positive spin on it.  This reflects the larger cultural norm.  We rarely talk about our failures.  We sometimes talk about our struggles or our shortcomings or our imperfections or what we hope to change but that dodges the conversation on failure.  Failure is rough and harsh and it sucks.  It is easy to see why we avoid it.

But failure is real, and we can't always spin it toward a happy ending.  I wrote a whole graduate paper attempting to theologically justify the Holocaust.  But no matter the answer we land on, the holocaust must be deemed a failure of humanity.  There is nothing to be learned that should not have been already known or could not have been learned otherwise.  And while "never again" is a good slogan, "never" surely would have been better.

The AIDS crisis is another good example of harsh failure.  It killed hundreds of thousands of people.  Here's a good visual of how it impacted the LGBT community.  The failure was partly because of the strength of the disease and partly due to politicians refusing to take it seriously.  But a failure it was, and many paid the ultimate price because we did not defeat it.

It may sound like I am admonishing - that humans failed by allowing and perpetuating the holocaust and that Americans failed by not responding to the aids crisis sufficiently.  And in these examples indeed I am.  But failure is not always worthy of punishment.  Every failure is not a moral defeat.  Similarly, not every defeat teaches a lesson.

The Creative Wizard, by opening the second volume with a dramatic and complete defeat, seeks to remind us of the odds the Fellowship faces.  They are only nine, trekking through dangerous terrain towards more dangerous terrain.  There may be some personal growth, but ultimately this will be a march of attrition.  Indeed, unless my memory fails me, every enemy encounter they have for the rest of this book will result in the loss of a companion (Gandalf falls to the Balrog and Boromor is slain by Uruk-Hai).  This is not a heroic quest to retrieve a boon, but to destroy a burden.  Failure means total annihilation.  The journey is not to improve the world but to prevent it's destruction.

In his notes Tolkien blamed the current situation of Middle Earth on the Elves.  The article is a long one - here is the relevant piece:

In several places, Tolkien openly stated his authorial judgment that the
elves who made the Three Rings were ultimately to blame, having set the stage for
tragedy in Middle Earth. They made their own rings (preceding Sauron's One Ring)
in order to control the world, stopping time and preventing change,
forbidding anything to die and decay and thus blocking the potential for
new growth. In an oft-quoted letter, Tolkien wrote:
"They wanted to have their cake and eat it: to live in the mortal historical
Middle Earth because they had become fond of it ... and so tried
to stop its change and history, stop its growth, keep it as a pleasaunce."

But now they hide their three Rings, because they know they are not to be used, but they cannot destroy them.  They are bound to their mistakes.  They failed and all of Middle-Earth must reckon with it.

Defeat is often considered a cause for inspiration.  "Like the phoenix rising from its ashes," and all that.  I get it, and as a teacher I agree the optimist spin is useful.  But I think it is also instructive to consider the uselessness of defeat.  The waste.  The void.  The energy and time you cannot get back.  The resources spent.  The friends you might lose.

The Creative Wizard gives us a chapter that begins with hope and ends in utter defeat.  The Fellowship must turn back, having lost time, energy, supplies, as well as secrecy.  Birds have been seen flying in unusual patterns near them and they deduce they are spies sent to seek out their location.  "That cannot be helped now," says Gandalf, since there is nowhere to hide but in the snow.  All the optimism, what little they had, is lost.  They must proceed ever under the shadow of this initial failure.

On further reflection, there is one concrete benefit to failure - it helps one develop empathy.  If you never fail, but others do, you may consider their defeats to be personal.  They were defeated, but you've never been.  And given the importance of community to healthy living, being able to bond over failure and understand failure in others is a critical skill.  I think our society romanticizes failure a little bit, but certainly demonizing it is a bad solution.  It's probably worse.  It's probably better to live in a world that is too optimistic than is too pessimistic.  But that's a discussion for another time...

The Lord of the Rings: An Ethical Guide is a Patreon-supported project.  Thank you to all those who have contributed.

Like this project?  Want to learn more?  Want exclusive access to behind-the-scenes content?  Go to my Patreon site and see how you can become a part of the action!