IS SAVING THE WORLD THE ONLY STORYLINE? Part 2

Hello all! In my last post, I got distracted by odd-ball Japanese-isms while talking about how your usual ‘save-the-world’ plot ends. I mentioned, too, that I think these plots are rooted in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, and even further back in the story of Christ. But, what is saving the world?

I call myself a cosmologist. No, I don’t deal with makeup. I think cosmetics look good on other people, but not me. ;) As a cosmologist, I start from the top and work downwards. Cosmos, like many fancy words, is Greek, and as a verb means ‘to order or prepare’. It can mean ordering or preparing anything, like preparing troops for battle, or getting your morning makeup ready*.

*Get to painting galaxies on your faces, ladies.

Gradually, cosmos came to mean ‘the ordered universe’. How is reality, the universe, creation, everything-that-exists—what’s it like? What are its rules? What are the arrangements? How do things work? What actions can be done with all these rules? This all has the finest implications, for Cosmos implies reality exists and it is knowable. Without this idea, science is not possible, and philosophy turns into a p*ssing contest between egomaniacs who talk too much; theology cannot be communicated within the community, and theological battles that can be settled with discussion instead can only be translated into armies trying to make a point.

So, that’s why I’m a cosmologist. I always start with ‘how is the world made’ and work from there. Effectively, this is inseparable from mythology. Two things, or three, need to be understood about mythology. They are not just stories of ‘how we came to be’ but also ‘this is how all things are related.’ More importantly, myths are not about morals; rather myths are more concerned about actions and consequences. It’s why there are so many hideous punishments in any collection of myths—the punishment is the (mostly) appropriate consequence of a bad action. You can even say that myths are built on ‘make bad choices, get bad rewards.’

Even in saying this, myths do not deny the existence of a moral order. I dare to say that it is the moral order that says ‘this is the way things ought to be.’

Where the hell was I…right! Tolkien! …Except let’s go further back to Tolkien. But not too far back. Hrrmmm!!! You see, making a mythology, or a cosmology, isn’t’ just from Tolkien. And I don’t mean making a cosmos for the ancient humans, who are our ancestors. Cosmology may very well be the purview of artists in general. In the English-speaking world, we have John Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667), which has a reimagining of the Christian cosmos; the same with William Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790), which is a very drastic reimagining of the Christian cosmos! [CS Lewis wrote a good-natured parody called The Great Divorce in response to Blake, in 1945.]

Continuing through the English line, I am not aware of any significant myth-makers in the 1800s, who wrote fictional fantasy worlds for fun, except for Scotsman George MacDonald (Phantastes, 1858, and ‘The Golden Key’ 1867), and Lewis Carroll (the Wonderland guy, 1865), though they are not so much broad cosmologies as the two men try and recreate fairytale worlds. Next comes Edward Plunkett, the Lord Dunsany, who in 1905 wrote The Gods of Pegana, where he made up a new pantheon of gods for fun, and in 1924, he wrote The King of Elfland’s Daughter. He also wrote one of my favorite stories, “Chu-Bu and Sheemish”, who are two small gods that have to share the same holy temple. They really don’t like each other.

(This is not to say England wrote nothing in the 1800s, it was that most of the writing of the time was occupied by the early sci-fi greats or historical fiction.)

Across the pond, in the States, we had poor, nerdy, H.P. Lovecraft, famous for all his squid monsters, starting with The Call of Cthulu (1926) and its astute observations on the madness of artists. Lovecraft even made a family tree for his monsters in 1933, the Family Tree of Azathoth. Lovecraft died of cancer in 1937. Lovecraft wrote his own, very hostile, anti-human, anti-science cosmology that has influence today.

And after all these men? JRR Tolkien, who was familiar or well-read of all the above-mentioned Englishmen (not with Lovecraft, as far as I know), and Tolkien wrote The Hobbit in 1937 and The Lord of the Rings was published across 1954-1955. C.S. Lewis jumped in with The Chronicles of Narnia (from 1950-1956), but before that, he wrote Christian sci-fi with his Space Trilogy (1938, ’43, ’45). But, after these two, we get to some very peculiar changes in modern fantasy, which will be detailed later in another post.

What the hell is my point? That cosmology-making has a long and distinguished history in English-speaking literature, and it is not stopping anytime soon! But also, though I did not signify it, cosmology has always had a spiritual and material dimension to it. Tolkien exemplified it best for our modern understanding—that saving the world has material and spiritual dimensions. Unfortunately, you don’t get it that well from the Peter Jackson movies. That’s a limitation of the medium. In the books? Every physical battle was a spiritual battle.

For example, ask ‘What would happen if Sauron got the ring?’ The material disaster would be that his army of orcs and monsters would stomp out all resistance on the continent of Middle-Earth; the cities of men torn down, the Shire burnt down; those who could not flee across the sea would be killed or enslaved. As much as people like comparing Sauron and orcs to the National Socialists, it would be worse than mere conquest of territory. Sauron, with the Ring, would remake himself as like a god to the remaining people of Middle-Earth. He would re-write morality, demand worship, change history. He would snuff out all hope, by changing the people of Middle-Earth to where they were incapable of feeling hope, and even become incapable of understanding ‘What is hope?’ Sauron would make Middle-Earth worship him, not out of love, but out of fear—and to Tolkien, that would be the most hateful thing of all.

For Tolkien, the spiritual battle had to be won first, before the physical battle could even begin. It’s why cheap tricks like ‘Why didn’t the giant eagles fly the Fellowship over the volcano?’ or ‘Why didn’t Elrond just push Isildur into the volcano?’—because the spiritual battle had to be won first! I’ve had the displeasure of reading arguments that Boromir is ‘the most human character’ and is somehow the most noble member of the Fellowship, because of his failings. By that logic, Smeagol-Gollum, the Ring-addict, is the true hero of the story because he was the biggest screw-up of the lot, and that he succeeded by his utter failings. Nope, not at all Samwise, the most selfless member of the Fellowship, who chooses everything except himself as being more important, more worthy of life itself. Yes, put the knife’s-edge balance in the hands of those who are unequipped keep the balance, and ennoble those who fail the battle by their bad choices.

Ahem! Make bad choices, get bad rewards.

More to follow, in part 3!