Gandalf: Examining a leader

This week’s chapter is called “The Bridge of Khazad-Dum.”  The Fellowship, guided by Gandalf, has been travelling through the mines of Moria, trying to get to the other side.  The previous chapter ended with the Fellowship leaving the main hall and entering a chamber containing the tomb Balin (Gimli’s cousin and a companion of Bilbo on his earlier adventure).  This chapter opens with the Fellowship paying their respects.  When they are done, Boromir asks what their next move is.  Gandalf says:  “Back to the hall – but our visit has not been in vain.  I now know where we are [and how to get out of the mines].”

No sooner has Gandalf spoken than the Fellowship hears the sound of horns and drums.  Gandalf looks out the door and reports that there are a great many orcs coming down the hall, as well as a cave troll.  He suggests the Fellowship flees through the door on the other side of the room.  There are too many orcs for them to all take on.

Gandalf is the Fellowship’s guide, but in modern business terms we might call him the “problem solver.”  Difficult circumstances arise, and he provides the solution.  He doesn’t explain every detail;  It doesn’t matter how tall the cave troll is, what matters is: RUN!  Given a problem, he can solve it.  In this way, Gandalf is a tactician.

However, tactics is low-level thinking.  Tactics will get you from point A to point B, but what if you need to get to point H?  Point B may not be the best route, and in fact may be off the track entirely.  Point B solves the problem of Point A, but doesn't necessarily get you any closer to Point H.

Let’s return to our text.  Gandalf’s plan seems reasonable.  Orcs and trolls are charging towards the Fellowship.  They cannot defeat them, but maybe they can escape the pursuit.  But Aragorn raises an objection, “The passage on this side plunges straight down a stair: it plainly does not lead back toward the hall... It is no good flying blindly this way with the pursuit just behind.”

Retreat doesn’t help the Fellowship if it ends up lost deeper into the mines.  Gandalf is thinking only of the immediate crisis: Escape.  Aragorn, however, is thinking strategically.  If tactics is how you solve problems, strategy is what guides those choices.  What’s the long-term goal?  The Fellowship needs to get to Mordor, which means escaping the mines.  Gandalf has just said he knows where they are and how to get out, and yet in the panic of the moment he tells them to go down the door opposite the direction he originally designated.  While addressing an urgent situation, Gandalf loses sight of the important task.

It would be like a homeless shelter deciding it can only properly house 500 individuals, but then housing 800 because those at the door felt bad turning anyone away.  It’s understandable, noble, and (importantly) hard to criticize.  Who is going to say those 300 people need to stay outside?  But what if 500 was the limit for health and safety reasons?  Disease can now spread through the shelter like wildfire.  This is a time when the strategy (help as many people as possible) is undercut by poor tactical decisions (let an additional 300 people in, which overwhelms the system). 

I spent this past week at a Moishe House leadership retreat in Southern California.  It was remarkable.  The purpose was largely to understand and develop our own leadership, but we also had a lot of discussions that can be broken down into this kind of tactical and strategic thinking.  The long-term goal, the overarching purpose of Moishe House is to provide meaningful Jewish experiences for young adults around the world by supporting leaders in theirs 20s and 30s as they create vibrant home-based Jewish communities for themselves and their peers.  But how is this done?

Moishe House is made up of many community houses spread across the world.  Every house has the same goal, but each house serves a unique community.  Therefore, in order to achieve this goal, each House needs to use different tactics.  They need different events and different forms of outreach.  For example there are three houses in San Francisco.  One is very hippy and ‘granola.’  My first event we went on a hike and someone made homemade smoothies.  We did some meditation in the forest.  It was pretty much what you’d expect from even a passing understanding of SF culture.  It was why I had chosen that house over, say, the Russian house, also in SF, which caters to young Jews who speak Russian and want to enjoy Russian culture.  That’s not to say there’s no overlap, but clearly each House seeks to attract a different demographic.  As such, their events and outreach (tactics) will be different.  But the goal remains the same.

Moishe House knows there is no one type of event young Jews like.  They know handing events down to each house 'from on high' and telling them to run those events would be met with limited, if any success.  So instead they’ve adopted the strategy of letting each house run their own events based on what the community would like.  The goal is to give young Jews meaningful experiences and communities.  The strategy is letting the houses come up with their own events.  Whatever events they choose are the tactics.

What is Gandalf’s strategy?  We know his tactics, and we know his goal.  But what are his guiding principles?  Moishe House’s guiding principle is that the community houses will be better able to create relevant events than the head honchos at capital M capital H Moishe House.  What guides Gandalf?  Examining past actions in our text does not help much.  He tells Frodo to go to Rivendell (because, tactically, the Shire is not a safe place for the Ring) but once there all that happens is Elrond calls a council and forms the Fellowship.  Getting to Rivendell (or even Mordor!) is not strategy - that is a goal.  No soccer team’s strategy is “score points.”  That’s just the goal (GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLL).  The question at hand is how and why that way.  It is like the underpants gnomes of South Park.  Gandalf cannot explain phase 2.

Later in this very chapter, in fact, the short-sightedness of Gandalf is demonstrated yet again.  After fleeing down the stairs (the doorway to the hall collapses in the fight and so they have no choice), they come near the exit of the mines.  Gandalf peers out into a chasm and sees a great fire on the other side.  He says, “If we had come by the main road down from the upper halls, we should have been trapped here.”  As in: If we had followed my original plan, we would have been trapped.

It doesn’t matter that Gandalf’s new plan (retreating down the stairs) actually works.  This is not how a good leader operates.  Apparently, Gandalf has just been hoping this would all work out.  How would you feel if you learned your supervisor at work was operating like this?  It would be very disheartening.  Everyone is depending on Gandalf to guide them to Mordor, but it seems like his approach is “I’m surprised that worked, too!”  The text is not providing a good model of leadership.  This is not an approach that we should bring into our lives.

So what do we make of this?  What can we learn?  I think this is one of those times when the text teaches us through what is absent.  To find the lesson, we must find what is missing.

We’re not all leaders in the typical way.  We don’t necessarily have employees or followers.  But we all have a mission to accomplish.  We all want, as the underpants gnomes say, “profit.”  Whether that be money or friends or time or joy or success, we want something.  And hopefully we, like Gandalf, have the tools.  But I hope, ultimately, we can rise above Gandalf’s example and be intentional and thoughtful in our approach.  I hope, when we step back and examine our journey, we can see a purpose behind every tactical decision.  It is good to have a friend like Aragorn, able to challenge our actions when they seem at odds with the very goals we’re trying to accomplish.  It is better yet to have a voice like that in our head, checking us when our immediate tactics appear to undercut our long-term strategy.

Sam: Honoring our Commitments

Recently we've been drawing morals out of one or two sentences from the text.  In order to spice things up (for both your benefit and mine), we're going to look at things a little differently and take a closer look at the characters and certain crucial choices they make.  This week, we'll examine Sam.

This week's chapter is called "A Journey In The Dark."  Having been defeated by the mountain Caradrhas, the Fellowship now reconsiders it's options.  Boromir suggests they march south, following the path he took when he came to Rivendell.  Gandalf reminds him that Isengard is that way: "Things have changed since you came North, Boromir.  Did you not hear what I told you of Saruman?"  Going north to get around the mountain range is also dismissed - the journey would be too long.  They need to move with speed.  So, the company agrees to enter Moria, the mines underneath the Caradrhas.  They can cut through the Dwarven realm and re-emerge on the other side in a matter of days.

As they arrive at the Door into the mountain, Gandalf pulls Sam aside and tells him that Bill, their baggage pony, will not go with them into the mines.

'I am sorry, Sam,' said the wizard.  'But when the Door

opens I do not think you will be able to drag your Bill inside,

into the long dark of Moria.  You will

have to choose between Bill and your master.'

Sam protests, reminding Gandalf that they were just attacked by wolves and that leaving Bill on his own will get him killed, but Gandalf assures him Bill will get home in one piece.  He leans in to Bill and whispers some words to him.

Bill, seeming to understand well what was going on,

nuzzled up to him, putting his nose to Sam's ear. 

Sam burst into tears, and fumbled with the straps, unlading

all the pony's packs and throwing them on the ground.

Here is an interesting word - "unlading."  It  isn't supposed to be "unloading."  It isn't a typo.  To unladen is a nautical term which means "to unload a ship."  And while ships are inanimate objects, to those that ride them they take on a more personal note.  Just as those of us who drive develop a personal relationship with our car.  It is just a thing, but it is also much more than that.  There are feelings tied to it.  And how much more, for Sam, that Bill is alive, and not just a hunk of metal!

And so the Creative Wizard, in this one word, manages to capture so much of Sam's feelings.  He recognizes that Bill is not a person, but yet he has these feelings for him that are beyond what one would normally feel for a pack animal.  We can empathize.  There are times when we must say good bye to things we care about.

Gandalf opens the door and the Fellowship begins to enter.

But at that moment several things happened.  Frodo

felt something seize him by the ankle, and he fell with

a cry.  Bill the pony gave a wild neigh of fear,

and turned tail and dashed away along the lakeside into

the darkness.  Sam leaped after him, and then hearing Frodo's

cry he ran back again, weeping and cursing.

It is interesting to note the order of events.  Frodo falls first, and then Bill runs away.  But Sam first follows Bill, turning around only when he hears Frodo shouting.  From this we can say Sam was watching Bill.  As one might watch an old car be brought to the trash compactor, remembering all of the memories associated with it.  Sam is perhaps staring at Bill with the same grief and nostalgia and pain.  When Bill flees, it's like the trash compactor being turned on.  Sam suddenly regrets his decision, and "leaps" into action.  I imagine him thinking I'm coming, Bill!

Only Frodo's cry, after falling over, captures Sam's attention.  Consciously or not, Sam remembers that Bill is supposed to leave the Fellowship.  Frodo, meanwhile, should not be shouting for help.  If he is, something is wrong.  So Sam returns to Frodo ("weeping and cursing") and finds him being held down by a tentacle coming out of the water.  Sam attacks the tentacle, which lets go of Frodo, and pulls him into the open cave.  Other tentacles (which Sam refers to mistakenly as 'snakes' throughout the scene) come flying forward into the cave, and pull down the Door, causing a cave-in.  The Fellowship is inside, but they are also trapped.  Everyone takes a moment to recover from the attack.

Sam, clinging to Frodo's arm, collapsed on

a step in the black darkness.  'Poor old

Bill!' he said in a choking voice, 'Poor old Bill!

Wolves and snakes!  But the snakes were too much for him.

 I had to choose, Mr. Frodo.  I had to come with you.'

Bill's purpose in the Quest is over.  Frodo's is not.  While Bill accompanied the Fellowship, Sam's personal loyalty to both Frodo and Bill were complementary.  When Bill was sent away, they became contradictory.  Sam was pulled in two directions.  To the animal which he is master over, and to the master whom he serves.  It is interesting, when put that way, that Sam chooses to remain with the one whom he serves, rather than the one whom would serve him.

It is instructive now to note that Sam is a gardener.  Is a gardener master or servant of his garden?  On the one hand, a master - he gets to choose what is planted and where.  But on the other hand, once the garden is planted, he becomes it's servant.  A gardener becomes subject to the needs of the plants.  Until it is strong enough to survive on their own, if the garden is not tended to in a timely way, the garden will die.  And if your garden dies, are you still a gardener?  Were you ever?

"People tend to forget their duties but remember their rights."  Sam does not.  Sam had the right to follow Bill.  Elrond explicitly stated no one is bound to the Quest except Frodo.  Sam does not leave, but it is important to note that he is not staying for the sake of the Quest.  He is staying for Frodo.  Whether the danger is greater or lesser than it is now, he is motivated by devotion to his friend.

Sam's loyalty beckons us to look inward.  He consistently chooses humble service.  He fights tentacles through tears, and even when his loyalties are divided, he is driven in both directions with speed, rather than paralyzed by indecision.  Sam is resolute in his devotion, and we can imagine he would tear himself in two so he could be with both Bill and Frodo if he could.  But he can't.  So he had to choose.  He chose Frodo.  But even after he has made the choice, we can infer he is not wholly satisfied.  He still wishes he could have had both.  But he couldn't.  "I had to come with you."  He was duty-bound.

Gandalf had warned him - he would have to choose.  Sam delights in caring for Bill.  He is very fond of him.  But his duty ultimately leads him to Frodo.  The next time we are faced with a choice between duty and delight, when we cannot have both, we should remember Sam, and the difficult choice he had to make.  Even when our emotions run amok, and we are "weeping and cursing", we must make the dutiful choice.

Choosing the right companions

This chapter, literally, marks the beginning of the Fellowship of the Ring.  About halfway through the chapter the Fellowship is formed and begins its journey towards Mordor.  While many may presume the Fellowship pushes east immediately, the path of the Fellowship is a little less direct.  As this chapter's title states, initially, "The Ring Goes South."  And so, the journey begins!

However the last chapter ended only with Frodo taking up the burden as Ring-Bearer (and Sam, having sneaked into the Council of Elrond, pledging his allegiance).  At the start of the chapter, the Fellowship is yet unformed.  Elrond says of it, "Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil." He announces that Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli will go with Frodo.  Aragorn and Boromir announce their decision to go to Minas Tirith (Capital of Gondor, Boromir's home) and, since Minas Tirith is on the way to Mordor, they will accompany the Fellowship that far.  So the first seven are decided.  Elrond says, "There remain two more to be found.  These I will consider.  Of my household I may find some that it seems good to me to send."  At this Pippin speaks up, saying:

"But that will leave no place for us!  We don't want to be left behind.  We want to go with Frodo."

"That is because you do not understand and cannot imagine what lies ahead," said Elrond.

"Neither does Frodo," Said Gandalf, "I think, Elrond, in this matter

it would be well to trust rather to their friendship than to great wisdom."

The first and then final two companions who pledge their allegiance are Hobbits.  Moreover, they are his friends who would accompany him even on a journey not so dangerous (or moreso).  Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Boromir, and even Gandalf (who has known Frodo a long time) are accompanying him due to the importance of his Quest.  Sam and Merry and Pippin are going because they want to be with Frodo.  In fact, when Elrond initially balks at Gandalf's suggestion, Pippin says: "Master Elrond, you will have to lock me in a prison or send me home tied in a sack, for otherwise I shall follow the Company."  These are not the words of a fiery zealot, committed to the destruction of the Ring (few have more invested in destroying the Ring than Aragorn and Boromir, and they've already announced they don't plan to follow the Company all the way to Mordor).  These are the words of a friend.

We need friends like this.  We've already seen how, in the text, friendship trumps wisdom.  We need friends who are so unwilling to let us face disaster alone, they're willing to forsake the comforts of home to do so.  These, and not those who hold great wisdom, are the real heroes of the world.  Paramedics, firefighters, soldiers, police officers, everyone who must be somewhere for their job.  Everyone who must be, as the saying goes, "in the trenches."  While managers and researchers and theorists have an important part to play in the world, it is those on the ground whom we must give our highest respect.  They know the situation better than anyone.

But I'm not even talking about high-stakes situations.  When I was younger I worked in a candy store.  I was told that, every few hours, I needed to spend 10 minutes wiping the insides of the display glass where our fudge was kept.  Obviously, this is important to do.  But my supervisor would always just tell me to do it.  My co-workers understood my frustration.  Cleaning glass for 10 minutes (and cleaning the inside of display glass is physically a little awkward) feels like a lot.  But whenever I complained, my boss would get angry.  I wasn't saying it shouldn't be done - I think I was just frustrated at just how easily I was told to do it - as if the inconvenience was my own fault.

Being a teacher, I see something similar.  In Alaska my boss would always tell me various things to do.  They were good and important things to do.  But the ease with which they are able to be said is drastically simpler than the act of doing them.  It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "Easier said than done."

As a society, we have the same frustrations.  Education researchers/experts recommend that if teachers do X, Y and Z that our school system can be fixed.  As a teacher, I often feel like responding "Yes - but doing that is way harder than you're imagining."  I'm not saying "It's too hard, screw it."  But talking heads have a way of spouting solutions without taking into account the process of that solution.  For example, a common theme I hear is to "get parents on board."  Certainly that's important.  But you can't just....... do that.  It takes time and energy and a unique approach with each family.  Some families are too busy to even want to get on board.  Some are eager to get on board, and then also eager to take control of the whole ship.  Those "in the trenches" understand this.  Those who are not sometimes don't.  There's a disconnect between those speaking wisdom and those enacting the wisdom.

Which is why we, as a society, tend to despise (or love) talking heads.  Either: they say something simplistic and, Goddammit, the world doesn't work that way; or they say something simplistic and, Goddammit, why don't the fools doing the work just do it that way?  Peace talks are a good counter-example.  Removed from the fighting, it's easy to say "Just put down your weapons and quit it!"  But the war didn't start because one side was bored with peace.  They wanted something and the other side didn't want to give it up or they couldn't find a way to split it in a way that seemed fair.  They'd love to put down their weapons, once they get what they want.  But telling them to just "stop fighting" because fighting is bad misses the point of their war.  I imagine they might feel as I feel when I read an article on education policy:  "We'd love to, but it isn't that simple."

Those on high, while their wisdom may be good to know and have access to, are not ideal companions.  They see a bigger picture that minimizes us.  We're the tools they can use to accomplish their goal.  But we aren't tools, and we don't like to be treated that way.  When we're down in the trenches, we want someone who cares about us, and who sees our struggle, and who sees us trying our hardest and still falling short.  We don't want someone to say "Well, just try harder."  We want (we need) someone who will say:  "Yeah, this sucks.  This is awful and we're not getting the support we need.  I wish I could fix that.  But I can't.  At least know that you're not alone.  I'm here in this, too."

It is good for the Quest to have Aragorn and Boromir and Gandalf and Gimli and Legolas accompany Frodo.  It is good for Frodo to have Sam and Merry and Pippin with him.  Unlike the great warriors and heroes listed above, here Frodo will have companions who can understand his pain and wonder at the impossibility of the Quest.  Without their other companions, the Quest is doomed to fail (after all, Frodo does not know the way).  But they need more than wisdom and strength to complete their  journey.  They will need sympathy and compassion.

We all work jobs where there is someone above is.  They provide the wisdom.  They have a vision of how everything should work.  That is good - we need those visionaries.  We need those who see how everything fits together.  However, in seeing the big picture, they sometimes see us only as a tool.  A way to accomplish a job.  I know this from my own managing experience.  While I try to make personal connections with all my staff, there are times when something needs to be done and that's all that matters.  In at least that moment, that's all I can focus on: I have a problem, and they are the tools.

Nonetheless, when I get treated like a tool, I still don't like it.  But I see it more as a shortcoming of the supervisory structure than a failure of the individual.  There's little use being mad at them.  After all - I do the same thing!  But I'm still frustrated.  To deal with those feelings, then, I find those who work with me (rather than above me).  Those who see my day-to-day work and will understand my frustration at being asked to do yet another thing.

There are a myriad of reasons why friends are important.  One of them - in my mind, the most important - is emotional support.  They may not be able to fix the problem - they may not be able to do anything.  But they'll be able to listen and validate and assure you that, indeed, you aren't weak for feeling stressed out.  Hard jobs are not completed by those who are impervious to their difficulty.  Hard jobs are completed by those who have surrounded themselves with those who can provide support when needed.  Those on high may not be understanding - "You have a job to do!"  And they're right.  If Frodo fails the Quest, all hope is lost (Hopefully our job isn't quite so critical).  But, for all their wisdom and vision, they lack sympathy and compassion.  We must get those things elsewhere.

On three things the Fellowship stands:  Wisdom to guide the way, strength to overcome obstacles, and compassion to heal a tired heart: and the creation of friendships leads to them all.

Such as it is in the text - such as it is in life.

Journeying into the dark

Sometimes I wonder how long I will be doing this.  Will I write these posts for just one year?  Will I revisit these texts another year, as Jews do during their cyclical reading of the Torah, delving even deeper into the text?  Or will I find something else to write about, like The Hunger Games series, or Axe-cop, or will I choose 52 rap songs or famous speeches, and broaden my inquiry on what happens if you take a mundane text and study it as if it is holy.   I don't really know.  However, chapters like the one this week excite me a great deal.  I feel I could revisit this chapter ten times and not repeat myself.  There is a lot here.

The chapter is called "The Council of Elrond," and in it many of the unanswered questions that have developed up to this point are addressed: Gandalf not rendezvousing with the Hobbits as promised, the fate of Gollum, how it is Sauron discovered the Ring was in the Shire, as well as the point of view of all the races of the Free Peoples in Middle Earth on the issue.

The Elves want it destroyed, but recognize the only place the Ring can be destroyed is in Orodruin (Mount Doom), which is in Sauron's stronghold of Mordor.  It seems impossible to get there.  The Dwarves suggest hiding it, but the Council says such a thing will not defeat Sauron, who would tear Middle Earth apart searching for it.  Sauron, even without the Ring, is still very strong.   Boromir of Gondor, the realm closest to Mordor, and which does constant battle with the Sauron's troops, encourages the Council to allow him to take It back to Minas Tirith to use against the Enemy.  Though he is informed of the madness of his plan, he seems unconvinced.

No consensus can be reached.  The Ring cannot be hidden or used, and while the idea of taking the Ring into Mordor seems to be the only one left, that still seems hopeless, as Elrond says, "This quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong.".  A silence falls over the Council as they ponder what to do.  The Ring cannot remain in Rivendell, but if it is to be brought to Mordor, who will bring it?  How can the Council send someone on such a hopeless journey?

At last with an effort [Frodo] spoke, and

wondered to hear his own words...

'I will take the Ring,

though I do not know the way.'

What a profound moment of determination.  Frodo recognizes what must be done, and its importance.  The Ring must be destroyed.  And even though there is no hope of victory, it still must be done.  But before it is done, it must be started.

Are there times you have decided to do something even before you knew precisely how to do it?  I know I have.  There are times in our lives when we know something must be done, but are not sure the precise way to do it.  In that moment we are like lost hikers, who know they must get back to camp, but cannot say for sure which direction it is in.  They can sit and wait until inspiration hits them (or starvation takes them), or they can begin to wander in the hopes of finding something that will direct them.  Frodo, here, chooses to wander.  So should we.

This week the world endured the death of Nelson Mandela, a truly larger than life figure who brought the end of Apartheid in South Africa.  But his journey was not so simple.  I don't mean to imply he endured resistance, though he did.  Nelson Mandela (I will be using his whole name solely because it sounds so much more melodious than 'Mr. Mandela,' or simply even 'Mandela') saw the Apartheid of his country and decided it needed to end.  But how?

At first he adhered to non-violent protest (as Ghandi and Martin Luther King Jr had modeled in their own struggles), but later openly supported guerrilla groups that attacked the Apartheid government.  He strongly advocated that the Blacks of South Africa fight for their rights on their own (for it seemed silly to him that, in fighting for the right to be equals, they should require the help of others), but he eventually acquiesced to the wishes of the majority of Blacks that they accept the help of willing outside parties (which ranged from Whites who believed in the cause of equality to the Soviets who hoped for a workers' revolution).  Nelson Mandela traveled around Africa to garner support for the cause and yet also would rush back to his home mid-trip when needed.  After being released from prison he courted the US (remember: they had accepted Soviet help years before), and ran for political office (again: he was arrested for trying to sabotage the government which, whether the government deserved it or not, is precisely what they were doing)

Nelson Mandela had a goal.  He did not know how to accomplish it, but dammit he was going to try.  And he did.  And there were stumbles and failures and frustrations.  His plans were always changing.  While we can call him a dynamic leader able to react to a changing situation, I think it's more accurate to simply say:  He was going to achieve his goal no matter how.  By peace or by war, he was determined to end Apartheid, even if it killed him.

I don't point out the above to say Nelson Mandela was bumbling or inefficient.  I bring this up because at so many points Nelson Mandela could have given up.  Not because his enemies were too strong, but because the nature of his cause changed.  He was not committed to non-violent protest, nor to military action.  He just wanted Apartheid to end.  When he found that one strategy was not working as well as he desired, he found a new one.

For contrast, let's take Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr.  While they both began with the same goal (ending discrimination in America), they both became dedicated to their methods more than their goal.  Even to this day, they are seen as representing two opposite viewpoints.  Rather than being seen as two figures of the Civil Rights movement, they are portrayed as titans struggling for ideological dominance.  But, because Nelson Mandela moved back and forth from militancy to pacifism, he embodies all of Anti-Apartheid struggle.  Nelson Mandela represents both those willing to use violence and those who wish to avoid it, and he unites them both toward their goal.

Surely few of us can hope to have the impact of Nelson Mandela - There can only be so many larger-than-life figures in the world.  But his life is instructive in our understanding of this week's quote.  So much of modernity requires planning.  Interviewers will ask "Where do you see yourself in five years?".  GPS give step-by-step instructions (And if they can't, they give no information until they can "reroute" you).  The very idea of getting an educational degree at the age of 22 that will direct the rest of your life exudes this ideal to absurdity.  Our culture loves plans.

But plans are for the lucky.  Plans are for the informed.  Sometimes you don't have all the information.  Sometimes you're stuck in the proverbial wilderness without a hint of how to get to where you're going.  But wherever you are, you cannot stay there.  You must move.  But to where?

I had a supervisor years ago at Eisner who used to say to us counselors:  "We are all on the bus, but we're not sure where we're going.  But we're going somewhere great."  He meant it to mean that we have all the tools we could need - we had a vast variety of people and skills and passions.  The summer would take us on a journey - and it was impossible to know the details of that journey ahead of time.  But, that shouldn't worry us.  We were all here, and as long as we worked together, we would have a great summer.

Sitting and waiting for inspiration to hit lends despair.  The obstacles are still there, but now they seem even larger.  After running through potential solutions in our head, the obstacle seems stronger with every imperfect solution. After a while, we become obsessed on the obstacle ahead of us, and the apparent impossibility of overcoming it, rather than the mission we hope to achieve.  If we had stood up and wandered, we might have found another way around that wasn't clear before (and would never be clear from our earlier position).  At the least, if we wander, we keep moving and feel like we're doing something.  Hikers can starve whether they wait or wander.  But those that wait give all hope to some Providence to give them the solution.  Those that wander take matters into their own hand.  They keep the larger goal in mind, rather than become rooted in the battle against one obstacle.  There's a Jimmy Buffett quote that comes to my mind: "And the walls that won't come down we can decorate or climb or find some way to get around."  If in fact the obstacle can't be broken down, that's no reason to admit defeat.

It all comes down to this: We live in a world of imperfect information.  We can always know more.  We are always, to one degree or another, in the dark.  But if we let that darkness prevent us from taking any action, our lives will be frustrating and unfulfilled, and we will be disappointed in ourselves.  We will view ourselves as victims in an unhappy world rather than agents of change.  Rather, we should stand up and wander, even if we aren't quite sure to what purpose.  Maybe we will find new routes, or new allies, or maybe just walking away for a moment and returning will allow us to see our current situation in a new light.  As long as you keep your goal in mind,  as Nelson Mandela has shown us and Frodo will show us, success is possible.  You just have to stand up and try (and try and try and try again).


(Pretty much everything here about Nelson Mandela I learned from Wikipedia.  My sincere apologies if I reported something that is actually untrue.)

Freedom from the Past

Safe at last.

Frodo and company have passed into Rivendell, escaping the pursuing Black Riders.  Rivendell, popularly conceived of as a safe house, is much more correctly viewed as a fortress.  Through a blend of Elf magic and geography, Rivendell is easily defended from outside invaders.  It provides Frodo with an unprecedented level of safety since he set out.  Finally, he can rest his weary feet.

And yet, Frodo is not idle.  The title of this week's chapter is "Many Meetings," and indeed this chapter is full of them.  Frodo is reunited with Gandalf, and he meets Elrond and Arwen as well.  He takes a meal (A feast, really, thrown in honor of his recovery from the wound he took at Weathertop) next to Gloin, one of Bilbo's companions on his own journey, and they speak at length about their histories.  Later, Bilbo himself shows up and he and Frodo have a joyous reunion.

Bilbo tells him he knows of Frodo's journey, though he's not precisely sure what the big deal is: "Fancy that Ring of mine causing such a disturbance!".  Bilbo asks Frodo if he could see the ring again, and Frodo (reluctantly) obliges him.  When he sees it, Bilbo reaches for it and Frodo withdraws it and "He found he was no longer looking at Bilbo; a shadow seemed to have fallen between them, and through it he found himself eyeing a little wrinkled creatures... He felt a desire to strike him.  The music and singing round them seemed to falter and a silence fell."

Perhaps to our surprise (Given how immature Bilbo can be), it is Bilbo who breaks the shadow.  "Bilbo looked quickly at Frodo's face and passed his hand across his eyes.  'I understand now,' he said.  'Put it away!  I am sorry, sorry you have [inherited] this burden: sorry about everything."

The text continues, "Frodo hid the Ring away, and the shadow passed leaving hardly a shred of memory.  The light and music of Rivendell was about him again."

Frodo is in one of the safest places in Middle Earth, and he and his beloved uncle are reunited after years being apart, and yet a distance arises between them.  The Ring causes Frodo to see his beloved uncle as an ugly being whom he wants to harm.  The potential chance of losing the Ring causes Frodo to miss out on the wonders around him.

When is a time we have allowed a shadow to fall between us and those we love, such that we want to strike them?  Such that we begin to miss out on the beauty around us?

When Lindsey and I were breaking up, my desire to keep our relationship in tact caused me to see her as an enemy.  Of course, that's absurd.  If she doesn't want to be in a relationship and I do, then we're almost by default not in a relationship.  But my hurt caused me to see what she was doing as "against" me.  "She is behaving this way because she is mad at me."  In fact, she was breaking up with me because she wanted something I wasn't able to give her.  She needed something I couldn't provide.  It was unfair of me to ask her to stay with me.  Instead of seeing the possibility that, if we split up, we could both find the kind of fulfillment we wanted, I became focused on saving our relationship, not realizing that it was that very thing which was making us unhappy.

We both wanted to enjoy our life.  If our relationship isn't contributing to our happiness, why preserve it?  Well, for so long our relationship had made me happy.  Therefore, losing my relationship with her would mean losing my happiness.  Rationally, we can see there are many sources of happiness. However, my viewpoint was rooted such that keeping my relationship with her felt like the only way to be happy.

However, focusing on a single object (tangible or not) can give one tunnel vision, obscuring the big picture.  Frodo and Bilbo, however temporarily, both desire the Ring for themselves, forgetting that the ultimate goal is its destruction.  The Ring is a means to an end.  The burden of carrying it is peripheral to the Quest.  And yet, as long as it exists, this kind of internal conflict is possible.  The Ring must be destroyed not only to vanquish the Enemy, but also to alleviate tensions within.  Such with Lindsey, ending things would not only vanquish the relationship that was keeping us unhappy, but also open the possibility that the bitter feelings between us might melt away, too.

But our last conversations were so cruel and angry.  I was mad at her for deciding to break up with me, and I think she was resentful that I wasn't as accommodating as she wanted.  Our final conversation, truly, was me blocking her Facebook and phone number.  But that wasn't me destroying the Ring - that was me finding a safe haven.  I finally could move on with my life without her randomly texting me.  But my fury was still there.  When she came up in conversation, it still hurt.  Of course, time pressed on, and I moved on more and more.  Talking about it has become a non-issue.  But I've always wondered: what would happen if I saw her again?

I recently stumbled upon some pictures of Lindsey online.  We still have some mutual friends, and one of them posted some pictures of her.  After the initial shock of seeing her, I let it sink in.  She was with some friends and having fun.  My life has moved on - why not hers?  Would I feel so much better if I saw she was miserable?

Somehow, between then and now, my fury had disappeared.  In a decidedly undramatic way (because I can't pinpoint the day this happened), my anger had left me.  I had gone to Mount Doom, taken the Ring off my neck - the anger which had burdened me for so long - and thrown it into the fires.  And I could, again, see the music and the light of the world around me.  And while I'd been moving forward for quite a while, seeing those pictures made me feel like I had some kind of closure.  I had come (digitally) face to face with her, and was able to acknowledge her existence, privately wish her well, and move on to seek my own happiness.

Why are the Free Peoples working to destroy the Ring?  It is not just to defeat Sauron.  Rather, they hope to have a world without it.  There is more to existence than fighting Sauron. Once he is destroyed, Middle Earth can grow and evolve in ways that are impossible now.  To get to that point, the Ring must be destroyed.  In our lives we all have old burdens that must be cast off before we can build anew.  If we don't, we cannot grow.

We all know people who define themselves only by their past accomplishments (or miseries).  All their life revolves around moments that have already happened.  They do not build new memories.  Instead, they spend all their time glorifying (or hiding) their past.  One can only go so far in building a life like this.  Rather than expanding their life, they merely raise it up (or bury it).  Everything comes from one foundation.  Growth is severely limited.

(I do not, in this moment, mean to target victims of traumatic events.  In fact, part of PTSD is an inability to move forward because of the trauma of the past.  Certainly, situations like that are to be treated with extreme delicacy.  And yet, we must acknowledge the importance of helping one who suffers from PTSD because, until their condition is managed, they cannot effectively build new lives. The PTSD anchors them in the past.  Without belittling the difficulty of the task, we must help them haul their anchor up.)

In Rivendell, Frodo is safe at last.  But safety is not the ultimate goal.  The true goal is to destroy the threat.  Safety from a threat is good.  Freedom from it altogether is better.  Don't work to avoid shadows from falling between you and your friends, veiling the light and music of the world.  Find the sources of those shadows and conquer them. 

Become free at last.

Routine: Boring or stabilizing?

This week's chapter is called "Flight to the Ford."  Frodo has been stabbed by the Black Riders, and though he has survived, the wound seems to have more than physical effects.  The wound seems to heal, and still Frodo is very weak and must be borne on one of the company's ponies.  Strider, at some point, declares that there must be some curse or poison at work.  He says he cannot cure it, and that they must get to Rivendell.  The Ford to which the chapter title refers is the Ford of Bruinen, which marks the border of Rivendell.

As the company goes eastward, Frodo's health fluctuates, sometimes lucid, other times hoping for nightfall because the light of day is too much to bear.  During one of his upswings, Frodo hears Strider talk at length about Elves and Rivendell.  He speaks up:

'Have you often been to Rivendell?' said Frodo.

'I have,' said Strider.  I dwelt there once, and still I return when I may.

There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace.'

But it is not my fate to sit in peace.  What does this mean?  What does it mean to "sit in peace," anyway?

Building something gives one a great feeling.  Having nothing, and then having something.  Or having the parts, and then having the whole.  These are the things that drive us.  The goal to take the world and improve upon it.  To make where there was naught.

Alternatively, destruction can also give the same rush.  Vandalism and graffiti must give the culprit some level of satisfaction, or else they wouldn't do it.  That satisfaction doesn't excuse the crime, but nor does the fact it is a crime negate the positive feelings one felt when engaged in the activities.  But destruction can also be positive.  Destroying an unjust system, taking apart a machine to see how it works, or even just burning mementos of an old relationship.  The world has no need for such things - we're making room for something new.

Creating and destroying are seen as opposites, but they both allow for people to be an agent of change.  "The world will be different, for better or worse, because I was here."  I will have a lasting effect.  I will make a difference.

But you know what doesn't feel good?  Something that nobody likes?  Maintaining.  Maintaining something, without improving or harming it, is difficult.  It isn't difficult physically (because maintaining something is at least as difficult as improving it, and sometimes destroying something would take more work, too).  It is emotionally difficult.  There is no joy from seeing the same thing work over and over again.  Eventually, it becomes dull.  Not because of the actual thing, but just by virtue of it becoming a routine.

Relationships are the easiest example.  Whenever anyone wants to "spice up" or "breathe new life into" their relationship, that is a sign the relationship has become routine.  Not bad, but profoundly unsatisfying.  Why?  Let's say you were single, and you wanted someone to spend the night with.  You find that, but then that becomes routine.  You want something more - someone to go on dates with.  You find that, but then that becomes routine.  You want something more - someone to share a life with.  You find that, but then that becomes routine.  You want something more - to create a new life.  Etc etc.  At all points, having received what we wanted, we desired more.

Thus is "sitting in peace" revealed to us.  When one sits in peace, one enjoys what one has, but without affecting change upon it.  How can we enjoy something without needing to change it?

It is not Strider's fate to sit in peace, but nor is it any of ours.  Nor would we want to.  We read new books, go new places, eat new foods, take new jobs.  Culturally, new experiences are always a positive.  We understand there is more to the world than what we know.  What we know is food, but it can become wholly boring.  It is difficult to "sit in peace."

This is why, when 50 Shades of Grey came out, so many outside the kink community were drawn to the book.  It was exciting and new.  But to those within the kink community, it was a boring and tame version of what they do.  That's because, to them, what is shown in the book is routine.  But, to someone who's never experienced it before, it was tempting and thrilling.

I recently ran into a friend of mine from high school in the city.  She builds AI.  I remarked that sounded cool, and that I wished I did something like that.  Her boyfriend responded, "But you direct a whole after school program - I don't direct anything!"  To me, directing an after-school program has become part of my routine.  It isn't exciting.  Similarly, to her, building AI is just part of her job.  Routine.

It would be easy to draw from this chapter a that we should just appreciate what we have.  But I don't think that's useful to say.  After all, routine is boring.  Routine can make you see an old, good thing, but only notice how old it is.  The desire to break from routine can cause us to break the old, good thing, in return for a new and exciting thing.  But new and exciting doesn't always mean "good."  And once the good thing is broken, it is gone.  But simply being told to appreciate what we have suppresses the nature in us that wants to be an agent of change in the world.  We can't change our nature.

So how can we direct this emotional need to affect change, even when nothing needs changing?

I'm not sure.  I have an answer that sort of work for me, but I won't propose it will automatically work for you, because I'm not even sure it works for me.  Almost paradoxically, the way we affect change can, in fact, become routine.  We must always be on our guard that, when something becomes unsatisfying, we must take action to change it, lest our nature rise within us and cause us to do something regretful just to break the bonds of routine.

Here's my solution:  Set goals.  Set small goals.  Set goals that are beyond what you've achieved, but are almost definitely achievable.  Set goals you have not achieved because you have not tried - not because you have tried and failed.  And then do them.  The experience of trying something new might brighten your outlook on the world.  And, when you return, you might appreciate the routine and structure of your life that you had despised, focusing on how good it is, rather than how old it is.

But do not break your routine in a way that you wreck all the things about it.  For example, for the past few weeks I have been fighting a deep desire in me to buy a trailer and live as simply as I can.  Such a move on my part would have enormous consequences.  I don't want all of those.  But that need tells me I'm bored with living comfortably in a nice house.  Now, that's one hell of a First World Problem - but it is still a problem.  If I don't address it, I may not feel fulfilled as a person.  So what do I do?

Every the weekend I do my best to get out of the house and wander the city.  Yesterday I walked to the marina.  I ate food from places I'd never eaten before.  I bought a stranger a cup of coffee.  I had a Salvadorean dish called a Pupusa.  I happened to run into an old friend from high school.  And then, at the end of the day, I came back to my comfortable house, and was more thankful for it.

There is a large hill I can see from the corner of the street I live on.  Today, after I post this, I am going to go to find a way to the top.

We all feel bored with life sometimes.  It is not our fate to sit in peace.  We must seek the new and the exciting.  We all want adventure and joy.  But that doesn't mean we need to wreck our routine.  After all, let's not forget the rest of this week's quote:

"I dwelt there once, and still I return when I may.  There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace."

See your routine, rather than a jail that traps you, as a place that comforts you.  Go out of it, get out of your comfort zone, but don't destroy it as you leave.  You dwelt there once, and your heart is there.  Return to it as you are able.  Bring your new experiences into it.  But it is not your fate to sit in peace.  Peace is like salt, and must be seasoned among the excitement and danger and joy and sorrow of life to be appreciated.  Otherwise, peace will be like a mundane prison that grips you, rather than an embracing sanctuary that welcomes you.

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.)