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Sunday, April 27, 2014

War: The Real Villain?

Sauron.  He makes for an excellent villain.  He wants to destroy the whole world.  One can hardly get worse than that.  He wants to consume everything that is good.  It's pretty simple.

But Sauron, I think, is not truly the villain.  Sauron is not much of a character, really.  He's just..... evil.  And that's sort of all we know about him.  For such a well known story, Sauron is a very underdeveloped antagonist.  Darth Vader, Count Dracula, Harvey Dent, Cersei Lannister, and countless other villains are remembered because they have a depth of character, and sometimes we even sympathize with them.  They were more than just "evil."

All we really know about Sauron is that he loves power, and that this affects his whole worldview.  Sauron assumes if anyone finds the Ring that they'll come to his gates to confront him - not that they'd try to destroy it.  This is the only reason the Quest has a chance.

While what I just stated could, in fact, be considered the "depth of character" I just mentioned was lacking, I don't quite think it is.  Vader does not obey the emperor out of love and reverence - he does it out of fear.  Harvey Dent becomes evil because he sees all his best efforts thwarted and falls into despair.  Sauron is evil because..... Sauron is evil.  (The Silmarillion does actually go into some detail about this - but our text does not reference it at all, and therefore it's kind of irrelevant to most readers)

Sauron is only a destroyer.  He only wrecks things.  There's no complication about him and no caveat.  There's no wrong he's trying to avenge or spurned lover he's angry about.  Sauron just destroys.

If Sauron destroys, perhaps destruction, the idea, is the villain and not Sauron, the character.  It is referenced several times that Sauron rejoices when his enemies argue.  This is partially because it weakens their alliance, but it is also because they do his work for him.  He wants to destroy everything good.  Friendship is good.  Therefore, when friends argue, Sauron is happy.

How could the Creative Wizard (Tolkien) be satisfied with such a one-dimensional villain when so much else of Middle Earth is filled to the brim with detail?

Let's take a closer look at the Creative Wizard's life.  He fought in World War I, a war which tore Europe apart.  Not only did it politically and economically ruin the continent but it also did so demographically.  16 million people died, and 21 more million were wounded.  Slightly under half of those were civilians.  World War II, which Tolkien was a civilian during, had even more horrific numbers.  Over 60 million were killed - and over half of them were civilians (I'm not even sure if this graph includes victims of the Holocaust).  To say Europe was scarred by these wars is an understatement.

Tolkien represents those who are tired of war.  Tired of destruction.  He would hear "It is well that war is so terrible, or else we should grow too fond of it," and wonder what there is to be fond of.

Sauron, then, represents that destruction.  Sauron, more broadly, represents war.  And war destroys.  From what our Creative Wizard had seen, war is useless because, even if you win, much has been destroyed.  And who wants to be king of the ashes?

This week is another double portion.  "Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbits" & "Window on the West."  In these chapters, Frodo and Sam and Gollum continue their journey towards Gollum's "Other way" into Mordor.  However, they are discovered by a band of men. They turn out to be men of Gondor, and in fact their captain, Faramir, is Boromir's brother!

We begin to worry.  Will Faramir also seek to take the Ring?  Frodo takes care not to reveal his errand, or the Ring.  But we soon see that Faramir is a different kind of man then Boromir.  Boromir excelled in war and glory.  He tries to take the Ring precisely because he wants to be the savior of Minas Tirith.  Faramir, however, is far more grim.  He does not love war.  As he says, "War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory.  I love only that which they defend."

There is another great line, examining the cost of war, which in the books is a thought that passes through Sam's mind.  Sam has just witnessed his first battle between men.  He sees the body of a Southron (A race of men which have aligned themselves with Mordor)  "He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace."  In the films this line is given to Faramir, to great effect.

Faramir, understanding that war is a requirement, does not enjoy it.  As Frodo pleads with Faramir to let them return to his "errand," Sam interrupts them both and tells Faramir "Let's come to the point before all the Orcs of Mordor come down on us!... It's a pity that folk as talk about fighting the Enemy can't let others do their bit in their own way without interfering.  He'd be mighty pleased, if he could see you now.  Think he's got a new friend, he would."  (There it is again - Sauron rejoicing in discord)

Faramir responds,  "I spare a brief time, in order to judge justly in a hard matter.  Were I as hasty as you, I might have slain you long ago.  For I am commanded to slay all whom I find in this land without the leave of the Lord of Gondor.  But I do not slay man or beast needlessly, and not gladly even when it is needed."

Later, in Faramir's hideout, he is lamenting the fall of Gondor from what he calls a 'High People' to a 'Middle People.'  He says,  "We esteem a warrior above men of other crafts."  This strikes him as, if not dishonorable, then certainly less honorable than the alternative.  What is the alternative?  I'll turn to Mister Rogers for that one:  "It's very dramatic when two people come together to work something out. It's easy to take a gun and annihilate your opposition, but what is really exciting to me is to see people with differing views come together and finally respect each other."  While this isn't necessarily what Faramir means, one can see he would prefer cooperation and compromise over war.  He sees war as deriving its value from its goal.  In his world, there would be no knightly tournaments, where warriors during peacetime fight for sport. There should be no joy in fighting, nor watching people fight.  It is done only because "War must be."

And yet we, as readers, are guilty of 'esteeming a warrior above men of other crafts.'  Wormtoungue seems cowardly in his treachery, and we can imagine saying to Saruman, when he speaks to Gandalf from Orthanc, that he should "come down and fight."  We cheer at Helm's Deep and at the battles in Moria, and when the Ent's decide to march to war.  And we don't do it because we "love only that which they defend."  We cheer because battles are interesting and dramatic.  We have fallen into the same trap that Gondor has.  We love war, or at least admire those who do it.

There's a Cracked article that I think says it best:  "'I wish I were a battle-hardened soldier,' thinks the frustrated barista, as disgruntled customers whip room temperature coffee in his face -- not because he wants to shoot people, necessarily, but because soldiers hold the highest societal value to us."

The article goes on to say that one of our cultural stumbling blocks is that "Heroes hurt bad guys."  Van Helsing hurts Dracula, Batman hurts Harvey Dent,  Everyone in Game of Thrones hurts everyone else (and if they don't they are seen as fools).   The only villain I've listed whose counterpart transcends this pattern in Darth Vader, who is in fact saved by Luke Skywalker.  For the most part, our heroes are violent.  And since we are all the hero in our own story, we feel culturally entitled to be violent against "bad guys."  But what is a bad guy?  Well, if we are good, then anyone who opposes us must be bad.  "War must be," because look at how overwhelmed we are!

But if we don't take a step back and wonder what it is we're fighting for, we simply become a force of destruction.  Maybe we only destroy evil - but what happens when evil has been eliminated?  No force of destruction will be necessary then.  We must be able to provide something positive - not just destruction.

The Creative Wizard, as I mentioned, had seen two terrible wars.  For him it is war, itself, that was the enemy.  The more I think about it, the more I think Faramir represents the kind of soldier Tolkien hoped for in the future.  Strong and forceful, but cautious and hesitant.  Grim, not glorious.  "I do not slay man or beast needlessly, and not gladly even when it is needed."  This is very unlike Boromir, who represents a very different kind of soldier - the one that goes to war amid trumpets and thrown flowers, and who dreams either of a triumphant return or a glorious end.  That kind of soldier only leads to one thing:  More war.  How else can they show their valor?

The true enemy in Middle Earth (Or, perhaps more precisely, the true enemy that Tolkien saw) is war.  Destruction.  Desolation.  Death.  Frodo's Quest is not just to defeat Sauron.  If the Ring is destroyed, and Sauron the Devourer destroyed with it, Middle Earth can finally have peace.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Gollum: Inside the mind of a liar

In this week's chapter, called "The Black Gate Is Closed," we continue to follow Frodo and Sam and Gollum as they journey towards Mordor.  The hobbits have asked Gollum to lead them to the gates of Mordor, which he has done.  Having reached the gates, Gollum remarks:

Master said so.  Master says:  Bring us to the Gate.  So good
Smeagol does so.  Master said so, wise master."
"I did," said Frodo."  His face was grim and set, but resolute.  He was filthy, haggard,
and pinched with weariness, but he cowered no longer, and his eyes were clear.
"I said so, because I purpose to enter Mordor, and I know no
other way.  Therefore, I shall go this way.  I do not ask anyone to go with me."

Gollum immediately panics, and tells Frodo that there is, in fact, another way into Mordor.  Frodo asks why Gollum didn't bring this up before, and Gollum says that he didn't realize Frodo's intent was to enter Mordor.  Gollum explains his point of view,  "He [Frodo] says:  'Smeagol, take me to the Gate - and then good bye!  Smeagol can run away and be good.'  But now he says:  'I purpose to enter Mordor this way.'  So Smeagol is very afraid.  He does not want to lose nice master.  And he promised, master made him promise, to save the Precious."  Why else did he think they wanted to go to Mordor?  He seems to have thought they were going sightseeing!

Gollum claims he is afraid.  But afraid of what?  He has not been ordered to enter Mordor - Frodo specifically says no one else needs to follow him.  And while Gollum may in fact care about Frodo, pity might be a better word; If Frodo dies in Mordor, it would be sad for Gollum to lose a "nice master", it doesn't actually affect him much.

Ah, except that Frodo is the master of the Precious, and Gollum has sworn an oath to serve the master.  And if Frodo dies, and Sauron regains the Ring, it is to Sauron's will that Gollum shall be subjected.  Gollum knows Sauron's terror.  While Frodo can be harsh to Gollum, his cruelty is no match for Sauron.  Observe...

During Gollum's initial panic when Frodo says he will go to Mordor, he says this:   "Give it back to little Smeagol.  Yes, yes, master:  Give it back, eh?"  Once Gollum convinces Frodo and Sam to hear his "other way," Frodo says:

You revealed yourself to me just now, foolishly.  Give it back to Smeagol,
you said.  Do not say that again!... In the last need, Smeagol, I should put on the Precious;
and the Precious mastered you long ago.  If I, wearing it,
were to command you, you would obey, even if it were to leap
from a precipice or to cast yourself into the fire. 
And such would be my command.  So have a care, Smeagol.

Such a command would be very cruel - but it would be quick.  One can only die once, as horrible as that death would be.  Sauron's torment would not be so easy, and eventually death would be seen as a reward, not a punishment.  Gollum has been in Mordor, and has been tortured by Sauron.  He knows what he can do.

So, while not altruistically, Gollum is interested in keeping Frodo alive.  He has already tried to take the Ring for himself, but found he could not defeat both Hobbits on his own.  In the previous chapter, Sam overheard one of the arguments between Smeagol/Gollum: Gollum goading Smeagol to attack, and Smeagol resisting - partially out of a new-found fondness of Frodo, and partially because, as he insists, "But there's two of them!"  Gollum suggests "She might help.  She might, yes."

Who "she" is, we do not know.  However, if you knowingly lead someone into a trap, are you not part of that trap?  Gollum has sworn to protect the master of the Precious, which at the moment is Frodo.  He seems convinced that leading the hobbits into danger does not break this oath (Or unconcerned that it does).  But what of the Precious?  Does the Precious agree?  Or will it find him in contempt of his oath.

Frodo says, when he rebukes Gollum for daring to ask Frodo to give him the Ring, "It will hold you to [your promise]; but it will seek a way to twist your own undoing."  Gollum may have had the Ring, he may call himself the master, but until it is destroyed, the Ring will have far more mastery over him than he has over it.  Gollum's lies are beginning to pile up, and he himself is falling victim to them.  They are fooling no one but himself.

And yet, when Gollum says there is another way, Frodo and Sam initially refuse to believe him.  Gollum becomes offended.  The text says:  "He had all the injured air of a liar suspected when for once he has told the truth."

Again, we see the consequences of constant lying.  Not only do you begin to believe your own lies, but those around you will begin to doubt even the truths you say.  The lesson here is obvious:  Don't lie.

I recently heard, and I wish I remembered from where, that "Every other wrongdoing can be forgiven but lying."  Why is this?  Well, if you are being forgiven, presumably you are remorseful and sorry about your actions.  But if you were lying, then your remorse and sorrow might, too, be a lie.  Lying undercuts the mechanism by which forgiveness is given.  While certainly many acts are worse than lying, there are few that are as infectious.  A lie impacts how every word you speak is interpreted.  Is it true?  If what you're saying benefits you in any fashion, many will suspect you of making it up.  It is difficult to recover from such a loss of faith.

2 weeks ago I ended my post this way, "As we rejoin Frodo and Sam on their fraught journey, paranoia and mistrust grows with every turn of the page." The first half of The Two Towers is about fighting monsters from without - keeping the company safe from outside harm. This second half is about how to battle the monsters that are within. Motivated first by pity, Frodo and Sam have now come to rely on Gollum's guidance in order to get them into Mordor. They need him, but they know they cannot trust him. Their danger deepens.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

On Fighting Monsters

This week's chapter is called "The Passage of the Marshes."  Frodo and Sam, led by Smeagol, are shown through a mysterious and dangerous marsh.  "More difficult, not so quick; but better, if we don't want Him to see.  Follow Smeagol!"

In December we learned how Sam was a dutiful friend and companion to Frodo.  As the two trudge on towards Mordor, now with Smeagol as their guide, Sam's duty towards Frodo becomes more complicated.  Sam does not trust Smeagol, knowing some (and guessing the rest) of his treacherous past.  Frodo, meanwhile, has more sympathy towards him.

In the previous chapter, we have a flashback.  Gollum had been watching them from a cliff but fell.  Sam tackled Gollum, but Gollum outmaneuvered him and bit his shoulder. Frodo drew Sting and threatened Gollum, which stopped the fight.  Gollum begs for mercy while Sam insists, if they leave Gollum alive, he'll try to kill them later.

[Frodo] paused for a while in thought.  Gollum lay still, but
stopped whimpering. Sam stood glowering over him.
It seemed to Frodo then that he heard, quite plainly but far off, voices out of the past:
"What a pity Bilbo did not stab the vile creature when he had a chance!"
"Pity?  It was Pity that stayed his hand.  Pity and Mercy:  not to strike without need."
"I do not feel any pity for Gollum.  He deserves death."
"Deserves death!  I daresay he does.  Many that live deserve death.  And some die
that deserve life.  Can you give that to them?  Then be not too eager to deal out
death in the name of justice, fearing for your own safety.  Even the wise cannot ses all ends."
"Very well," he answered aloud, lowering his sword.  "But still I am afraid.
And yet, as you see, I will not touch the creature.  For now that I see him, I do pity him."
Sam stared at his master, who seemed to be speaking to someone who was not there.

Frodo is recalling a conversation he had with Gandalf back in the Shire.  He did not believe Gandalf then, that Gollum would inspire so much pity that it might stay his hand as it did Bilbo's, but evidently he undertstands now.   Perhaps his adventure has taught him to be less hasty in his choices.  How often have we sworn things would be different "If we were in charge," only to get in charge, and realize the naivety and arrogance of our former self?

Sam, however is still suspicious.  He is mistrusts Smeagol's kindness.  The kinder Smeagol is, the faker it appears.  And when Smeagol ever does slip back into his old ways, Sam will insist he hasn't changed at all, and that he's been pretending this whole time, and only now he's shown his true colors.  But Sam's suspicions are even deeper than that.  He doesn't just judge Smeagol's actions harshly; His suspicions begin to affect his own actions.

In this chapter, the three have found a place to rest.  Frodo and Gollum fall asleep.  Sam, however, watches Gollum.  He is not watching the surrounding area for incoming threats - he is focused solely on Gollum.  He refuses to fall asleep, worried Gollum will kill him when he does - that he is only pretending to be asleep, waiting for a chance to strike.  So suspicious is he that he goes to Gollum and begins speaking directly into his ear.  Gollum does not sit.  The text tells us: "Sam scratched his head.  'Must really be asleep,' he muttered, 'And if I was like Gollum , he wouldn't wake up never again.'  He restrained the thoughts of his sword and the rope that sprang to his mind."

When I read that, I was immediately reminded of this quote from Nietzche, "Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you."  Here is Sam, who up to this point has been very dedicated to all of his companions, considering murdering one in his sleep.  Of course, Smeagol is also a prisoner, but cold murder is still extreme for a gardener who, at the start of the story, was afraid of Gandalf's wrath.  What pushed him to this point?

There are many times we have to stand up to "monsters."  Perhaps your boss always gives you the least desirable shifts.  Maybe trolls ruin your online gaming experiences.  Maybe your partner is cruel to you.  Maybe bureaucratic red tape is getting in the way of your pursuit of justice.  Maybe someone always takes your lunch out of the office fridge.  Maybe society is pressuring you to follow a lifestyle that makes you unhappy.  There are lots of variations.  And while some of those I've listed are objectively more terrible than others, there's no need to belittle a person's struggle.  We all face "monsters."

When we do, before we confront them, I think it is important to take a step back.  Before fighting the monster, we must know who is fighting the monster.  It is us, of course - but what does that mean?  What sort of tactics will we use, and are there any that are off limits?  Are we going to be brutal and ruthless like a Game of Thrones character, or are we going to be like Ghandi and Martin Luther King, strongly limiting our own options in the name of righteousness.  Neither is better or worse - but we benefit greatly from clarifying to ourselves who we are in this battle.  I say "in this battle" because the tactics we choose can change from one fight to another.  If someone cuts me in line at the bank, I am going to react in a much more restrained manner than if someone grabs my wallet and runs.  Different monsters require different solutions.

But know who you are, and what your limits are.  Your enemy will fight with their own limits, or perhaps none at all.  They may act in ways that will seem unfair to you.  They may win by these unfair means.  But watch your reaction to this.  Do their unfair actions give you justification to act unfairly?  Does "But s/he started it!" wipe away your earlier plan to use certain tactics and respect certain limits?  What happens if you abandon your predetermined tactics and limits?  Is it possible that, even though you won the battle, you have lost a part of yourself?

Of course, I see things like this all the time with my students.  One of them is mean, and the other reacts meanly, but then is surprised when they both get in trouble.  "But s/he started it!"  One phrase I find very helpful is this:  "You were right - they should not have acted like that.  I'm sorry they did.  You were right to feel angry.  But the way you acted made you wrong, too."  You were right to be upset by what they did - but how you handled it was wrong.  It separates their indignation (which is usually legitimate) from their reaction (which often isn't).  It says "I am not faulting you for feeling upset - I am faulting you for what you did with that feeling."  Very much in line with  Mister Rogers' famous question, "What do you do with the mad that you feel?" Feeling mad and hurt is OK - but what do you do with it?

What do you do when you're not winning, or when the monster fights unfairly.  Do you lose with the integrity of the promise you made to yourself intact?  Or do you break it.  And what is the cost of that choice?

Ultimately, Sam does not act viciously.  He does not become the monster he is trying to defeat, though he considers it.  Well, on second thought, he does not.  The text says: "He restrained the thoughts of his sword and the rope that sprang to his mind."  It is almost as if these are not his own thoughts, at least not consciously.  So what is it?  If they "sprang to his mind," where did they spring from?  What, as we asked before, pushes him to this point.

It is an emotional reaction.  The ideas come from a place of emotion.  We all have those kinds of thoughts - those motivated out of fear and pain and frustration .  We all have those emotional reactions.  But we need to try to be like Sam, who has the thought, has the means (his sword and rope), and has the opportunity (Smeagol is sleeping), but still restrains himself.  It is not because he trusts Smeagol any more than he had.  It is because he wanted to be better than him.  What good is defeating a monster if, in the process, you become one?

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Judging the Process

“It’s my doom, I think, to go to that Shadow yonder, so a way will be found.  But will good or evil show it to me?”
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This week our text steers us back in time.  Rather than continue the narrative of Gandalf and company, we are suddenly following Sam & Frodo, whom we last saw at the end of Fellowship of the Ring.  The text informs us “It was the third evening since they had fled from the Company.”
Last week we discussed how Hobbits are swept up by the plot, rather than drivers of it.  This chapter, called “The Taming of Smeagol” further reinforces that point.  Frodo and Sam are lost in Emyn Muil, and though they slowly make their way towards Mordor, it is clearly their environment dictates their progress far more than their own efforts.
They can see Mordor occasionally, as the terrain rises and falls beneath them.  Sam despairs they will never reach their destination.  Frodo responds as above: “It’s my doom, I think, to go to that Shadow yonder, so a way will be found.  But will good or evil show it to me?”  (Quick note:  In our text, “doom” is a synonym for fate.)
It is his doom to go there.  He will get there.  He must get there.  It is almost beyond his control.  It is going to happen.  But how?  He ponders if it will be good or evil.
This seems to me to be the worst kind of fatalism.  "It will happen - I don't know how but it's going to happen." Can't we aim higher than that?  Or do the ends justify the means?
That is, of course, a pretty basic question.  The quintessential example is:  Would you kill an newborn baby if it ensured world peace.  Forget the mechanics of why this would work, let's pretend that that is the price.  Would you do it?
The answer splits people, of course.  But usually those who say yes need to justify their position, while those who say no don't need to justify.  "I wouldn't kill a newborn.". It doesn't seem like much to justify.  It's almost self-evident.  You shouldn't kill babies.
But that wasn't really the question.  Would you kill a newborn to ensure world peace?  If you don't kill the newborn, world peace is further delayed.

Let's say someone's answer is "No".  OK - then what responsibility does that person have to the suffering and deaths that happen because of their decision.  Choosing to kill the newborn makes the responsibility very clear.  Take an action, and you're responsible for the consequences.  But what if you abstain from an action?  Are you still responsible for the consequences?  Or are you able say "*I* am not engaging in war - therefore I am not responsible," even though you had a clear chance to stop it?
I'm unsure.  Do the ends ever justify the means?  What's the line?  I used to believe that, no, the ends did not justify the means.  My response to that question would be:  The means and the ends must justify themselves.  But justify them to whom?  And why?  Do we really want to know how a sausage is made if that sausage is delicious?
I've heard some say that the means justify the ends.  As long as your methods are good and righteous, your ends will be justified.  That sounds better, but what if your ends are worthless?  You try so hard not to hurt anyone that you accomplish nothing.  Participation trophies are a good example.  The idea is not bad, but it might be useless.  In that case, you've just wasted time.  You've acted rightly but with no useful result.  We don't remember great individuals because they were kind but did nothing, we remember them because they were successful in their field.  Success is the key.  The ends are, if nothing else, more important than the means.
I have a rule for myself when my students are doing project work - don't judge the process.  If students are talking or otherwise seeming distracted, remind them their work must get done, but don't judge the process until there is a result (or none where there should be one).  Some people work well in a quiet corner.  Some work better while talking to their friends.  Neither is better.
If I notice, say, by the end of class very little is done, then I can comment, but even then, I'm not really commenting on the process.  I only need to say, "You did not get much done - tomorrow you'll have to focus on getting up to speed." And then the next day, during class, remind the student that their process from yesterday did not work and they should try a new method.  (Ideally the students will know what I mean when I say it - in reality I'll need to spell things out more simply and guide the students with a firmer hand than I'd prefer).
Frodo will get to Mordor.  Will good or evil show him the way?  Does it make a difference?  If the Ring survives, all the Free Peoples are enslaved or destroyed.  As long as the evil that aids Frodo does not do that, the cost will be less than not getting to Mordor at all.  We should not judge the process.
But we will - we'll have to.  We're going to be following Frodo on his journey for the next 9 chapters.  We'll see what guides him, and we will judge the process.  But, I think we will be challenged in what is good and what is evil.  That binary division may not work as well as we may like.
At the end of the chapter, Gollum - who had been tracking the Fellowship from as far back as Moria - is captured by Frodo and Sam.  He promises to help them, swearing an oath with the Ring as a witness.  Frodo has found his guide.  But is he good or evil?  The text purposely clouds the issue.  It closes the chapter with these lines:
"From that moment [Gollum swore the oath] a change, which lasted for some time, came over him." Will this change last the length of our story?  If not, when does he revert to his old self?  As we rejoin Frodo and Sam on their fraught journey, paranoia and mistrust grows with every turn of the page.