Tolkien on Violence

“This, then, is my counsel. We have not the Ring. In wisdom or great folly it has been sent away to be destroyed, lest it destroy us. Without it we cannot by force defeat his force…We cannot achieve victory by arms…”[1]

Tolkien lived through one of the most violent eras there ever was. Two World Wars passed in his time, one of which he was personally a part of. He came to realize, rather than was born into, a world where wars that spanned the globe, chemical warfare, the hateful march of the Nazis, the devastation of the atomic bomb, the extreme mechanization of violence. And this full-scale scope of violence, and the terror that it must invoke, is portrayed vividly in his writing, namely the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which while we know is not allegorical, is most certainly applicable, to the World Wars which Tolkien’s generation saw.

The above quotation is the word of Gandalf in the chapter entitled “The Last Debate.” Sauron’s forces, attacking Minas Tirith, have been defeated on the Pelennor Fields, and now the leaders of the “good guys” are debating what to do next. Now, I have purposely left out certain statements not because I want to twist Tolkien’s words, but rather to highlight a concept which I think is strong but subtle in his writing. Statements such as in the last sentence, where Gandalf adds that “but by arms we can give the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it may be.” Obviously Gandalf is making the point that there is no force of arms strong enough to defeat Sauron. Tolkien is not making a statement against violence; he simply stating that their violence is not strong enough to overpower Sauron’s violence.

Or is he?

Auden rightly uses this passage in his excellent study to show that the tact of Good in Tolkien’s war is – and indeed, must – be different from the tact of the Enemy.[2] And the Ring, as a symbol, is central to this. Gandalf does make the point in said passage that “Without [the Ring] we cannot by force defeat his force,” but he says immediately proceeding, “In wisdom or great folly it has been sent away to be destroyed lest it destroys us” (emp. mine). To go beyond Auden, who is examining Tolkien’s expression of the conflict of Good and Evil, I would like to speculate on Tolkien’s view of violence, and make two points: that Frodo’s deed is an act of anti-violence (not exactly non-violence), which is the true hope of the entire story (which Gandalf himself points out in said passage), and that Tolkien sees the use of violence (I think symbolized by the Ring, which is a device used to control and dominate “wills others than one’s own,” which is perhaps always what violence is used for) as evil, if albeit a necessary one.

We must have as our center Frodo, the little “hero,” quite unlike the mythic archetypal Hero, of a small folk, a little timid (though certainly not weak, as he is sometimes portrayed) and certainly daunted by this terrible task which he has chosen (or has been laid upon him – choice, chance, and fate being another interesting study of paradox within the Tolkienian canon). If we follow Frodo’s journey through the entire story, we find an interesting progression. At the beginning, when Frodo first hears that the secret of the Ring has been compromised to the Enemy by the admission of Gollum, he bemoans the fact that Bilbo did not kill Gollum to begin with.

“What a pity Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance!”
“Pity? It was pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without needed.”

Gandalf then explains that because Bilbo began his journey with the Ring with such an act of Pity, or Mercy, he was able to resist the great power of the Ring for a long time, resilient beyond any creature Gandalf knows of.[3] This is not the full extent of Frodo’s violent capabilities (which are by no means even average, being the even-tempered Hobbit that he is): in the Barrow Downs he makes to wound a Wight and does the same to a Nazgul later at Amon Sul, and in Moria stabs a Troll. However, at some point Frodo begins to make a turn. He won’t kill Gollum, citing the same pity which stayed Bilbo, and continues to show mercy to Gollum throughout the story. But perhaps more amazing, as they trek through Mordor, Frodo suddenly throws down his sword, an Orc blade he has taken up, declaring, “There, I’ll be an orc no more…and I’ll bear no weapon, fair or foul. Let them take me if they will!”[4] By the time Frodo gets back to the Shire, his abhorrence of violence is nearly complete. He will not take part in the fighting, even though Merry and Pippin are as gung-ho as one could want, and actually resists their inclinations several times, to the disdain of Merry (who has been quite influenced by his Rohirrim friends). While the others fight, he takes care of the wounded and tries to keep Hobbits from unnecessarily killing prisoners and other Hobbits, and later will not allow Saruman to be killed (perhaps in part taking this que from Gandalf, who shows mercy to Saruman twice, although Frodo only sees the second encounter). In the end, the violence which Frodo “agrees” to is almost a sigh of defeat: “All the same…I wish for no killing, not even of the ruffians, unless it must be done, to prevent them hurting hobbits.”[5]

What has happened to this hobbit? If there is anyone who has seen the “need” of violence used as a means to an end, it is Frodo, yet he hardly has the stomach for it. And this cannot be attributed to a lack of courage. Frodo, it has already been soundly proved, is no coward. Yet he won’t fight. Now we cannot imagine that Tolkien is just going with the artistic flow here. Tolkien was a craftsman of words, and was more capable perhaps than anyone else in the world at his time of being able to use the English language to say exactly what he wanted to say. And again, it must be pointed out that he was a WWI veteran, had witnessed the death of several of his closest friends, and had seen real violence up close in a way most of us cannot imagine. Whatever Tolkien said about violence through Frodo is indeed, I would contend, well-planned and significant. But before we draw any conclusions, we must look at two more points: Frodo as a symbol of Peace and the Ring as a symbol (at least in part) of violence and domination.

For this first point, as I have yet no proper training in Norse mythology, I must rely heavily on Tom Shippey’s splendid analysis in J. R. R. Tolkien: Author of the Century, who examines Frodo as an arcane mythic symbol (the arcane being significant).[6] “The question is, what sort of name is Frodo – the one name out of all the prominent hobbit characters in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings which Tolkien does not mention or discuss?”[7] Frodo, beyond being most likely derived from frothi, the Old Norse word for “wise” or “the wise one”, in Shippey’s estimation comes from a Nordic myth about the father of the Norse hero Ingeld. Ingeld, a true Hero archetype shinning with Mythic power, is committed to vengeance and violence. Frothi, his father, on the other hand, was before his downfall a harbinger of peace. “The peace of Frothi” refers to a golden age, supposedly concurrent with the time of Christ, where the king Frothi maintained absolute peace in his realm, and as far as I can glean, without violence (sort of; the peace was “ground out” from a magic mill by a giantess who eventually revolts because Frothi will not allow her rest). But the point is that the myth of Frothi, not well-remembered compared to the heroic advent of his son Ingeld, is one which echoes of peace. This mimesis seems apparent. Frodo, indeed, seems to be a “peacemaker,” and does so with an act of anti-violence, which will now be discussed.

The Ring certainly represents in some respect violence and willful domination, which is in my estimation, the ultimate manifestation of violence. Sauron created it as an agent which would allow him to control the minds, designs, and wills of all those who also wore the magic rings and so gain domination of Middle-earth. Everywhere the Ring goes, violence follows, a manifestation of its evil. Isildur is betrayed to his death. Sméagol murders Déagol to obtain it (which, remembering that Sméagol is a kind of hobbit, is very significant). Boromir tries to take it by force. Those who wish to use it for “good” wish to use it for violence – to overthrow Sauron. Saruman, who wants to obtain it, wishes to do so in order to replace the Dark Lord with his own overlordship. The Dark Lord himself wishes to regain it so that his power (which he gave to make it) will be complete and he can rule Middle-earth without challenge, making use of violence and slavery and torture in his dark rule, as he learned from his master. I could go on, but this is a blog, and I really am (believe it or not) shooting for brevity.

And so, to resist the Enemy, one cannot use the Ring against him. It is evil, it creates violence. Fire cannot be used to fight fire. Rather, the Ring, and so the Evil bound about it and contained within it, must be “unmade,” destroyed. And how will it be done? Will an army force their way into the Black Lands and cast it into the fire? No. It will be brought by Frodo (with the magnificent support of dear Sam Gamgee), a small hobbit who makes peace not by the sword but by an act of sacrifice given willingly for all those in grave danger of the violence which the Enemy threatens. This quest, an anti-quest really, not meant to find something but to be rid of something, is to destroy a symbol of evil and violence. And it is done not by violence (which would be trying to fight fire with fire, force by force – useless, I think, in Tolkien’s estimation) but by anti-violence. The real heroes are those who sacrifice themselves outside of the war, doing away with the ultimate instrument of war. Again, I could go on.

I could be and maybe am reading far too much into it (a valid, if not easy, critique). As a pacifist, I do not pretend not to have my biases. However, I think it is plausible that Tolkien was nearly there as well, but could not be. I think Frodo was very much an expression of some side of himself: one that abhorred violence and yet could not help but see the necessity of it (perhaps because he had never been shown any alternative?), and yet considered even this concession a defeat. Tolkien was, after all, a Christian, and one of Christianity’s most distinguishing points is that the “Great War” is won by an act of anti-violence, of non-violence, through the sacrificial death of Jesus of Nazareth. And Tolkien had seen the terrible things of war and violence firsthand. I am reminded of Bonhoeffer, a contemporary, who struggled with the same question, so applicable in that time (and ours as well, but perhaps less pressing): what are we to do with violence in the face of Evil when we have a gospel that calls us to make Peace? Tolkien’s best answer, I think, was Frodo and his anti-quest. And I believe that is a powerful distinction from others of his era (indeed, for all the admiration I have for Lewis, I still find his essay “Why I Am Not a Pacifist” rather distasteful and incredulous in argumentation). By no means am I suggesting that Tolkien went all the way to pacifism – I don’t think he could have. But I am suggesting that Tolkien did not, perhaps, view violence as the end or even a proper means, but an evil one that sometimes was necessary. And even this, I think, he viewed as a defeat.

This is a rather incomplete post/study. There is much to be asked, much to be examined, much to be said, and I am as of yet no literary or Tolkien scholar. I do not pretend to say anything definitive. And maybe Tolkien did not have so precisely a thought out view as I’m suggesting. But then again, Tolkien is of the most precise and exacting writers I know of. And I think the question of violence in Frodo and The Lord of the Rings is a valid one, and one that should be addressed. I believe that Tolkien had something to say on the subject, and it is something we might consider in the future.

It is has long been one of my favorite lines from all of Tolkien when Frodo says to Sam, who laments that Frodo is to leave the Grey Havens never to return: “I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.”[8] This is, I think, the center of Frodo’s quest. Sacrifice for others. Frodo is the great tragic hero, who would hardly be remembered, and yet it was his great quest, his great sacrifice, not as memorable in the common consciousness as the great deeds of Merry and Pippen in the Shire[9] or Aragorn or Gandalf or all other Heroes, that would save the Shire and the day. Frodo is a Hero of a different kind.

[1] LotR 862. All quotations and page numbers from The Lord of the Rings are from the Houghton Mifflin One Volume Edition.
[2] W. H. Auden, “The Quest Hero,” Understanding the Lord of the Rings (eds. Isaacs, Neil D. and Rose A. Zimbardo, New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2004), 31-51. It is also significant that, while Auden does not deal with this (the material was not yet available), the war against Morgoth in the First Age was not won by the violence of the Elves and Men either. Rather, it was an act of intercession by Eärendil, the great Mariner.
[3] LotR, 54; Gandalf remarks that Bilbo is the only person he knows of ever to have given up the Ring of his own accord.
[4] LotR, 916.
[5] LotR, 986-987.
[6] Tom Shippey, J. R. R. Tolkien: Author of the Century (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2000), 182-187.
[7] Shippey, 183.
[8] LotR, 1006.
[9] LotR, 992-993.

Die-hard Creationism...

Check out this link here for a story about an argument which occured in Scotland over Creationism versus Evolutionism. Apparently three people were arguing the issue, getting progressively drunker as they did so, and it culminated in the creationist stabbing the evolutionist. The story doesn't give too many details, but gosh! Three cheers for violent, brash, destructive fundamentalism.

Beowulf and the Introspective Conscience of the West

On the recent film adaptation Beowulf, I must first say that I found the movie to be quite entertaining. It certainly was art; the landscape shots and imagery were quite impressive. And the voice-acting done by the cast (especially that of Anthony Hopkins) was very good. Obviously, however, there are some major changes to the poem that ought be addressed, and I wish to do so briefly. There are spoilers forthcoming, so if you have not yet seen the movie and intend to, be ye warned!

First of all, the main story of Beowulf, which most of us pretended to read in high school, is as follows: A terrible monster called Grendel is terrorizing the mead hall of king Hrothgar. He seeks for aid, and comes to him the hero Beowulf. Beowulf slays Grendel with his bare hands, then kills Grendel’s mother, the river-hag. We then flash forward to Beowulf in his old age, having returned to his own lands, who then kills a dragon and dies of his wounds.

The major changes to the main storyline in the film are immediately evident even to me, who has not picked up a copy of Beowulf and read it all the way through for a few years. Instead of slaying Grendel’s mother (the apparently seductive and tail-wagging Angelina Jolie), Beowulf makes a pact with her to give her a son. She, in return will give him a great kingdom and wealth. Beowulf returns and spins a (false) story of how he killed the “hag,” and it is written down in the lays to be told year after year. An interesting twist is that he has repeated the mistake of Hrothgar, who was actually Grendel’s father, who bore the similar burden of conscience, and ends up killing himself after Beowulf repeats his mistake. Beowulf then grows dark and despairing in conscience over his evil deed. He finally redeems himself when he dies slaying a dragon, who incidentally is his son from the hag, and is put out to sea, as is their custom. The last scene is of his right-hand man, Wiglaf, who watching the burning ferry of Beowulf’s body, sees the hag “kiss Beowulf goodbye, and then beckons for Wiglaf to come meet her in the sea. Will history repeat itself yet again? The screen fades to black, and one is left to wonder.

I knew the writers would change the story. I can remember before going to see the movie remarking to one of my friends, “They’re going to give Beowulf an introspective conscience, I know they will.” And they did. And I don’t know if that even upsets me. They did it to Aragorn. I got over that one. I guess we can’t have our heroes living blissfully with their actions anymore; I doubt we believe that our heroes have actions that they could live with. And I don’t know that the writers meant any disrespect to the poem. I’m fairly certain they went through great pains to show their familiarity with the poem, especially in the first half. And they cleverly hid their changes in the fact that the lay in the movie does indeed record the killing of Grendel’s mother. So the movie works under the premise that this is the real story behind the Hero poem.

I don’t know if Tolkien would have liked the changes, but I doubt it. However, I don’t want to comment on that. I am no Beowulf scholar, not even close. I would rather like to comment on the nature of the changes, which are so very foreign to the original poem. The fact that our heroes all have introspective consciences, often driven by some past, tragic mistake towards some redeeming action, is pretty telling of our current mindset concerning ourselves and our own nature. As we have moved out of the times where simply living was enough to keep one preoccupied and actions were the defining points of a man and into an age where we are constantly inventing ways to keep ourselves busy, the inner workings of our minds and hearts and the impetus behind our actions have become increasingly important to us. And I don’t know that we like what we find, oftentimes.

This is not to say that people of the ancient world did not look inside themselves. As a student of ancient literature, I could not hold this as so. However, they did not do ever as much, and I don’t think they did it for the same reasons. Moreover, when they did to it, I don’t think they did it even the same way as we do. The ancient world held a greater respect (due or undue) for the presence of the “otherworldly” and the divine in normal life so that they did not consider their actions to be solely of their own accord. I am, of course, speaking in generalities here, but oftentimes a theme of some ancient tale is that fate (or the gods, or whoever) was guiding the actions of these characters. This is not to say they were without choice or unaccountable (although some might seek to say that); only that they were not the only force working towards a certain end. This is not usually the case for us. And looking inside, when we cannot look to a guide (or Guide) of our actions, we have to figure out why we did…whatever we do.

And so the redeeming act becomes important. Hrothgar failed to do his, but Beowulf does not. And so our hero, although he is everything we didn’t want him to become, everything we don’t want to become (unfaithful; compromising), is able to make up for this in one great act of self-sacrificial piety. And we breathe easier.

However, the movie does not end with this hope (or despair). Rather, it ends with the great tenor of our age (and one that the world from which this story springs would have been less acquainted with): Uncertainty. The “Lady or the Tiger” ending makes no claims on the nature of Men. Will Wiglaf repeat the mistakes of men? We don’t know.

Is this to be a scenario where “it is left up to the reader to decide?” I don’t think so. Rather, I think that this is the answer from today’s most prevalent philosophy here in the Western world. Is Man good or evil? Is he destined to repeat his mistakes, or will he break the cycle? Answer: we don’t know. The verdict is not in, or worse, the verdict is unknowable. This is the age where our heroes are just as guilty as we are, just as weak as we are, and hope remains uncertain.

What I find most interesting about this is that twice in the film, Hero Philosophy (which I hope I have made clear that film lacks, strange as it may be for a Beowulf adaptation) and Christianity are matched, and Christianity always seems to be on bottom. Hrothgar, when it is suggested he pray to the “new Roman god,” Christ Jesus, he says that we do not need a god but a Hero. Again, later in the film, Beowulf remarks that there are no heroes left in the world, only weeping martyrs: “the Christ-god killed them.” What are we to make of this? A film which fails to capture the spirit of the Hero, instead portraying heroes as weak and despairing, also laments the “weakness” of Christianity, which is portrayed as “killing” the spirit of the age of heroes.

This muddledness is, perhaps, to be expected. In our hearts, we can’t believe the “weakness” of Christianity the answer (which is precisely why it should be considered), and yet, we can’t buy into the undaunted, untainted, immodest spirit of the violent hero – that age certainly failed, not just with Christianity but also with the Enlightenment and historic events like WWII. The film itself tried to capture that spirit (with “dialogue” such as Ray Winstone screaming “I am ripper, tearer, slasher, gouger…I AM BEOWULF!”), but in the end could not bring itself to embrace it: Beowulf is all but a failure who perhaps “redeems” himself in one final, desperate act. So what’s the answer? The film can’t even give that; it simply fades to black.

“She’s not my curse…not anymore,” Hrothgar says (in the brilliant voice of Anthony Hopkins) right before throwing himself from the ledge and proving himself mistaken. She is ours as well. Can we resist? Can we redeem ourselves?

The Fantasy of Pirates

Well, I finally got to see the last Pirates of the Caribbean film, and honestly, I did not have high hopes. Nearly everybody I talked to was disappointed with the movie, and I heard some valid critiques. However, after seeing the movie for myself, I was actually pretty impressed. It was much better, in my opinion, than I had heard from people. In fact, I thought more than either of the other two, it was the most epic in its mythic dimension, and offered the most fully-textured story.

Now, I think I understand why several didn’t like it. It was long. It was confusing (I couldn’t figure what sides there even were at times, much less who was on which one). It was perhaps too much story to pack into the last installment (but that’s usually the case – writers are not always good at quick, simple wrap-ups). It was certainly very strange at certain points. The ending is hardly happy. And perhaps most importantly, it was the last in a trilogy that began with “The Curse of the Black Pearl,” which was so incredibly good, I can’t believe the filmmakers had the audacity to try to follow it up.

However, I would like to offer a brief, humble defense of the movie, because I think the makers were reaching for something quite lofty, and in some ways I believe they succeeded, and that it made for a fantastic (keyword) story of mythic proportions. That is, I think that “At World’s End” is pure fantasy, and that when looked through this lens, yields some good thematic qualities that should at least earn the movie a bit more respect.

First off, and most simply, it has common elements of fantasy, most of which have carried over from the first two. We have monsters, abominable and terrible creatures, and mythic “beasties.” There is magic, and although its rules are not necessarily defined, it is certainly there. There is Calypso, who is certainly able to perform magic. We have a broken but certainly magical compass. And we have curses, rituals, and other supernatural, efficacious rites.

Secondly, like any good fantasy, it attains (though a bit late) a mythology. We have a “goddess,” who was bound in human form by a special council in some near-distant past. We have the singing of a most sacred song/lyric which awakens and draws this council (a lyric with the telling last line, “Ne’er shall we die…”). The council members themselves are bound by sacred oath and this oath is signified by relics of a sort (although it was a cute twist when it became “whatever happens to be in our pockets”). But moreover, we have speculation about the question of death, a mythology which gives a tentative, nebulous answer (but an answer, nonetheless), and it appears in the form of a “soul ferry.” The characters even travel into the realm of the dead.

Thirdly, there comes to us a bit of philosophy and even (a weak) moral vision (again, a bit late). Barbossa remarks to Sparrow that the world has gotten smaller. Sparrow responds, “The world has gotten smaller; there’s just less in it.” Now we have not time nor inclination to examine this as a philosophical statement here, but it at least is an attempt at one. And (following in the vain of the former statement) our link to the modern world, Lord Beckett, who surely embodies in some way the ever-progressing, always-shrinking, increasingly-faithless (I’m using the term faith rather generically here) world we are and are becoming, dies in the face of the powers of the mythic world (from the ancient past) with only the telling statement “It’s not personal, it’s just good business” on his lips. And at the climax of the story, we have a speech about choosing the hard way. Not running, but giving fight, taken a stand against evil, not going quietly into the night. “Dying is the only day worth living for,” one of our heroes quips, and fantasy is one of the great realms where we are truly inclined to believe this could be true.

We have a Happy Ending, one of Tolkien’s four requirements (see “On Fairy Stories”), but it is bittersweet, no doubt. And this, I would add, is another key element of fantasy. The Happy Ending is always bittersweet, because while all has been set to rights, it always comes at a great cost, and sorrow thus remains. As brave Will Turner – who throughout the three installments remains our moral compass, always doing what is good, brave, and right (or at least, trying to) – leaves Elizabeth to take his 10 year tour, I could not help but feel the same gnawing, aching sorrow akin to that which I felt when Frodo sails to Aman, leaving Sam behind, or when Amberle fulfills her destiny, leaving a broken Will Ohmsford behind.

And we have a “wardrobe” (something I intend to postulate in later posts), a link into the stories that we can identify with and thus experience the story through them. Tolkien had his Hobbits (19th century, Victorian Englishmen), Lewis his magical wardrobe, transporting children from our world to Narnia, or even the simply farmboy not having yet experienced the wide world, such as Jordan (among others) uses. Will and Elizabeth are our links, our heroes who face the wide world as wide-eyed as us, and yet triumph. It is through them that we live the story; they are our link into the wide world, the world that we can only dream of. Normal people, like us, able to brave the world unknown, giving us hope that we could (and might) too.

I can’t and won’t say that Pirates III is great fantasy, nor that its message is always worthy (one of the last lines is the atrocious pirate axiom “Take what you can, give nothing back”). However, I do think that it attempts something epic, something mythic, and largely succeeds, and therefore can and should bear the mantle of Fantasy. And when judged within that realm (and not simply the realm of action-adventure comedy with a twist), it does yield some perhaps wonderful qualities.

Oh yes, I almost forgot. Perhaps most telling of all that Pirates is Fantasy is the most important aspect of the whole story. They travel to World’s End, and somehow leave the realm of the living. They find a path to the worlds beyond our own. In short, they find one of the Lost Straight Roads. And is that not the quest of Fantasy? Is that not all of our quests?

Breaking the Cycle

Violence begets violence.

We have heard of the tragedy that just came to pass at New Life Church in Colorado Springs, CO. I, as a member of the Body of Christ, grieve with my brothers and sisters in their tragedy, although I cannot begin to comprehend their sorrow. However, the truth should be spoken.

My dear brother Thom Stark has posted a letter which he wrote to New Life Church (I guess senior) pastor Brady Boyd, expressing his grief over the violence which has been committed. It is a sad letter indeed, because the violence perpetrated was not the murderer’s alone. The link below is his blog, on which he has posted the letter. I invite you to read it, and to see the power of the Church within it. We are not “proud” of how this church (and thus, our Church) has responded; I pray this “pride” will be repented of (I am referring to Boyd’s comments in the videos posted on http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/12/10/colorado.shootings/index.html#cnnSTCVideo).

http://thomerica.com/reformanda/2007/12/death-at-new-life.html

Violence begets violence. It is not a means to peace. But Jesus of Nazareth invites us to a life that breaks the cycle.

Preliminaries: Rationale, Ground Rules, and Impetus

The funny thing about doing anything – that is, anything in an attempt to add…something to the world – is that it is often difficult, requires a fair amount of daring (at least, for some people), and once they’re done, you usually find that you’re not sure what you were thinking in the first place. Sadly, this no exception. But such is the nature of conversation and imagination. Such is the nature of being human. It is a quest, a journey. The path is always changing, and so are those who tread it along the way.

One is inclined to ask (and I have): Do we really need another blog? I suspect the question does not occur to everyone; indeed, I fear it is not asked at all. We live in strange times. The dawn of the internet is surely one of the strangest historical phenomena to happen. We are suddenly so capable in so many areas, not leastways communication. And perhaps the most interesting thing of all when considering the internet phenomenon, and the entire phenomenon is surely something worth considering, is accessibility. For the first time in history (I am speaking of the last quarter century, of course), one is able to access an incredible amount of information worldwide, with very little inconvenience (although, most of us remember dial-up…and shudder), speak with friends across continents within mere seconds delay, play chess with a person with someone they have never before seen halfway around the globe, and of course, most pertinent to our current discussion, share their opinion on an incalculable variety of subjects.

It must be appropriate to wonder about this. It was not that long ago that one had to at least be minimally qualified to be considered at all when sharing their opinion publicly. Now, everyone is a critic – and a “published” one at that. We are able critique films and books, expound upon philosophy, wax eloquent on Wikipedia anonymously and cite not a source, and we need not one bit of qualification. The only rules are those of personal aptitude: how available the internet is to them. The Conversation has become all-encompassing in a way previously inconceivable, and the cynic, the traditionalist (I will purposely leave that term unqualified), the despairing is left to wonder: Where now the parchment and the writer? Where is the poet who was weeping?

I am, of course, overstating myself. I do that often. It is still something to be bonafide published, to have degrees, to give lectures, and the like. These things are probably no more drowned out or overshadowed by popular opinion than they ever have been. However, that is not the only concern. We are not simply to be worried about the weeping poet who has so much to say amidst the constant cry of voices innumerable (and whoever really was worried about them, anyway?). We must worry about the current state of things when accessibility has led the “common man” to believe that he has a right to speak publicly, and that all or even most of what he has to say is worthwhile for the global community (I use that term a bit liberally). I have not done much posting, but I have done much reading of blogs, and have encountered many things noble and wonderful. However, I have also encountered useless ranting on issues the author is not qualified (to say the least) to speak on. I have read wandering musings. Editing has become something archaic; revision passé, not even considered; punctuation pointless; reflection upon one’s contribution not even worth the gentle suggestions of the “spellchecker.” Language has been stretched to its limits. The blog is to some an online diary, a place to ramble, a place to confide. Since when did this become something worthy of “publication,” worthy of sharing with the world? It gives one cause to ponder.

But I digress. Accessibility is what it is, and I do not wish to speak against those who get enjoyment from both the writing and reading of these “publications.” I am a stickler, I admit. I have no wish to be pegged as some kind of “blog Nazi.” There is something wonderful about the fact that we can share so much with each other, that we can make friends without the hindrance of miles in between, that we can all take part freely in the Conversation on a level so great it gives one pause.

So this is not necessarily a critique of the current state of internet liberty. It is more a question to my own self: Should I contribute? Do I have anything to contribute? I do not want to succumb to the impression that simply because I have breath, because I have lived a few years, because I own a computer, have an internet connection, and am barely able to wield the powerful force of language, that I have a right to write, to “publish,” for all to read. Obviously, I have come to my answer. I will write; I will “publish.” But let the reader understand, I do not do so lightly. Great consternation has gone into this, and I have not always been satisfied with my “qualifications.” However, here are a few:

I will write because I am a writer. There is a great part of me that cringes at the thought of using something so very public as another arena to hone my skills. However, a writer is obliged to write, should he want to do anything more that muse, anything more than dream, and it is the hope that this instrument will help me to practice. It will also provide an avenue for critique and improvement.

I will write because it is not simply to wax eloquent. I will participate. Many of my friends blog, and this provides a medium for our own contact to continue, especially as life happens and we go our separate ways. And they do have wonderful things to say. Better than I; better than I.

I will write because I do wish to contribute to the Conversation, however weak my contribution may be. Ultimately, the dialogue is key, the growing which comes from it vital. I wish to shape and be shaped, to share and receive, to break and to grow.

So I have decided to write. But what shall I write about? What matters most to me. What is in my heart. I am a lover of Philosophy, of Theology, of Literature, of Art, and, thus, of Life. I believe there to be something spiritual in the midst of these things. I am a Christian, and belong to the community hidden in Christ. Our aim is not simply to “get saved,” but to become human beings in a world where that is increasingly difficult to do. To live Life as the created, creatures accomplishing their purpose in the great Imagination of the Creator, bound by his Love. Thusly, it is through this lens which I will write, and it is about these things which I will write. I do not pretend that there is any such thing as “objectivity,” that one can be “unbiased.” That is a myth (to use the bastardized sense of the term), a fallacy, a vision of the Enlightment now lying dead and dying. There is no contribution apart from the contributor, just as there is no philosophy apart from the philosopher and no history apart from the historian. Truth does not come from nowhere, and neither do viewpoints.

That being the case, I have a particularly robust epistemology, and this comes from my belief in Story. This, I imagine, will be of the most prevalent and potent themes that will be discussed here. I believe Story, or narrative, to be the center of how we – as human beings – think. It is how we make sense of reality. It is the foundation upon which we build our presuppositions, our beliefs, our propositions, our worldviews. Story is the lifeblood. And Story is capable of informing us about reality.

Thus, I believe that what we find ourselves in the midst of is really a conflict of stories. We live in an age that abhors intolerance, that detests the perceived arrogance of one group claiming they know the “Way.” But let’s not be foolish. To believe is to make claim on reality, a reality that is very public, and to speak is to exert such a claim. Of course, there are different ways to do this – ranging from gentle and respectful to obnoxious, malicious, and bigoted – but the claim exists in all of us nonetheless. We will never get anywhere until we accept this reality.

I believe in Story, and I have found that the best way I can communicate Story is within the vast and wonderful realm of Fantasy. Fantasy is a medium unlike many others, where one can most interestingly clothe one’s claims, and yet, paradoxically, can thus so clearly and poignantly speak on one’s conception of reality. It is a story which tells the Story which the author is persuaded by. I have only to pick up any book within the Fantasy section of any local bookstore to prove my point. Something about the realm – not least the creation and conception of other peoples and cultures within the Imagination of the author – lends itself to this kind of fortuitous dialogue.

And Fantasy is near to my heart. To me, Fantasy is the sailor’s call of the Sea, the adventurer’s cry of distant lands. It stirs me and speaks to me in a way I should not presume to articulate here. It invites me to share in its secrets, its mysteries. And this being the case, Fantasy will be most often the mode in which I speak. I will explore this realm most often because I believe that through it I will be exploring those things which set out to examine in the first place: Philosophy, Theology, Literature, Story, Life. I believe to explore the hidden forests and majestic lands of Fantasy is invariably to explore the things of Life as well. This abstract shall serve as my thesis, as it is certainly useless to try to sum all that up in one sentence.

Now we should have some ground rules which shall govern our field and pattern of discussion:

1. This is a nice blog. Do not share comments if you are unable to be respectful to people. None of us are experts on all things, least of all Life. Remember the Conversation, and do your part to help it proceed well.

2. I invite healthy dialogue. The previous rule was not an abolition of disagreement, passion, or even frustration. Rather, it is acting improperly in response to those things, and more.

3. It is not always necessary to have thought through your thoughts (and mine) before adding them. This is for thinking through issues, not necessarily for solving or concluding them. If you have already done that, then stop wasting your time here and go write a book or something.

4. I will not always respond in a timely manner (this rule, as others, presupposes that anyone will care to dialogue on this amatuer attempt at…whatever I’m attempting). I have others things I do, namely school, ministry, creativity, and interacting with people. So if I don’t respond, it does not mean that you have stumped me, offended me, or anything else. It does not mean that I don’t like you. It only means that I don’t have time for you.

5. I reserve the right to modify, add, or subtract any rules at my preference. The breaking of rules will result in a fate worse than death.

One last thing should be said: the Title. For some, the title will immediately reveal my key allegiances. Tolkien is my hero, among others, and I will not be abashed. He it was that in his great mythos came up with the metaphor of the “Lost Straight Road.” There was a time that the world was flat, but then Sauron the deceiver made use of the folly and pride of the Numenoreans and incited them to rebel against the Valar, taking “what is theirs” (that is, eternal life). This was in direct defiance of the “Ban” which had been set upon them from the time of Elros the first: that they could not have a share in the Undying Lands. But they sought to take it by force. And having mounted a great armada, they sailed into the West unto the shores of Valinor, but the moment they stepped foot upon the land, the Valar laid down their power and petitioned Iluvatar, the Father of all, and he removed Valinor from the land, and “changed the fashion of the world.” At this time, “all roads were bent.” That is, the world was made round, and no longer was it possible to sail West to the Undying Lands. Now, sailing West would invariably lead one back to the East. Because of this, immortality was lost. All roads were bent. So began the quest for the “Lost Straight Road,” the one road that led to the Undying Lands, to eternal life. And so it is with all mankind.

I do not think that it is simply a quest for immortality, although I think this is much of it. I think it a quest for Truth, for Comfort, for Understanding, for Life. It is a search for the Answer to the Problem, even if we aren’t quite sure what the problem even is. All roads are bent now, and we all feel it. But somewhere is the Lost Straight Road; somewhere lies Peace. It is this search which will often, if not always, underlie our discussion. This is the impetus of this forum. It is the impetus of my life. I invite you to share in this with me, O Reader. I invite you to share in my quest.

Therefore, sit with me a spell, and we will share tales. They will take us far and beyond. And somehow, sometime, we may yet see it. The Lost Straight Road, and upon its path, glimpse the wonderful golden-silver light of the Undying Lands.