The only thing I know that J.R.R. Tolkien and Salvador Dalí had in common—or rather, I suppose I should say, the only significant or unexpected thing, since they obviously had all sorts of other things in common: they were male, bipedal, human, rough contemporaries, celebrities, and so on—was that each man on at least one occasion said he was drawn simultaneously towards anarchism and monarchism.
In the case of Dalí it was probably a meaningless remark, since almost everything he ever said was; whenever he got past the point of “Please pass the butter” or “That will cost you a great deal of money,” he generally gave up any pretense of trying to communicate with other people.
But Tolkien was, in his choleric way, giving voice to his deepest convictions regarding the ideal form of human society—albeit fleeting voice. The text of his sole anarcho-monarchist manifesto, such as it is, comes from a letter he wrote to his son Christopher in 1943 (forgive me for quoting at such length):
My political opinions lean more and more to Anarchy (philosophically understood, meaning the abolition of control not whiskered men with bombs)—or to ‘unconstitutional’ Monarchy. I would arrest anybody who uses the word State (in any sense other than the inanimate real of England and its inhabitants, a thing that has neither power, rights nor mind); and after a chance of recantation, execute them if they remained obstinate! If we could go back to personal names, it would do a lot of good. Government is an abstract noun meaning the art and process of governing and it should be an offence to write it with a capital G or so to refer to people. . . .
And anyway, he continues, “the proper study of Man is anything but Man; and the most improper job of any man, even saints (who at any rate were at least unwilling to take it on), is bossing other men”:
Not one in a million is fit for it, and least of all those who seek the opportunity. At least it is done only to a small group of men who know who their master is. The mediaevals were only too right in taking nolo episcopari as the best reason a man could give to others for making him a bishop. Grant me a king whose chief interest in life is stamps, railways, or race-horses; and who has the power to sack his Vizier (or whatever you dare call him) if he does not like the cut of his trousers. And so on down the line. But, of course, the fatal weakness of all that—after all only the fatal weakness of all good natural things in a bad corrupt unnatural world—is that it works and has only worked when all the world is messing along in the same good old inefficient human way. . . . There is only one bright spot and that is the growing habit of disgruntled men of dynamiting factories and power-stations; I hope that, encouraged now as ‘patriotism’, may remain a habit! But it won’t do any good, if it is not universal.
Last week, as I watched the waves of the Republican electoral counterinsurgency washing across the heartland, and falling back only at the high littoral shelves of the Pacific coast and the Northeast, I found myself reflecting on what a devil’s bargain electoral democracy is. These occasional bloodless bloodbaths are deeply satisfying at some emotional level, whatever one’s party affiliations, because they remind us of what a rare luxury it is to have the right and the power periodically to evict politicians from office.
But, as is always the case here below in the regio dissimilitudinis, the pleasure is accompanied by an inevitable quantum of pain. The sweetest wine quaffed from the cup of bliss comes mingled with a bitter draft of sorrow (alas, alack). Tragically—tragically—we can remove one politician only by replacing him or her with another. And then, of course, our choices are excruciatingly circumscribed, since the whole process is dominated by two large and self-interested political conglomerates that are far better at gaining power than at exercising it wisely.
And yet we must choose, one way or the other. Even the merry recreant who casts no vote at all, or flings a vote away onto the midden of some third party as a protest, is still making a choice with consequences, however small. And none of the other political systems on offer in the modern world are alternatives that any sane person would desire; so we cannot just eradicate our political class altogether and hope for the best (anyway, who would clean up afterward?).
Yes, I know: there are good and sincere souls who run for office, and some occasionally get in, and a few of those are then able to accomplish something with the position they assume, and some of those even remain faithful to the convictions that got them there. But, lest we forget, those are also the politicians who often create the greatest mischief. Sincerity, after all, is not the same as wisdom.
A cynical poltroon of infinitely pliable principles is in many cases less a threat to liberty, justice, or peace than someone whose mind has been corrupted with “high” ideals or (worse yet) high ideas. As for all the others, the great majority of politicians—well, bear with me here for a moment.
If one were to devise a political system from scratch, knowing something of history and a great deal about human nature, the sort of person that one would chiefly want, if possible, to exclude from power would be the sort of person who most desires it, and who is most willing to make a great effort to acquire it. By all means, drag a reluctant Cincinnatus from his fields when the Volscians are at the gates, but then permit him to retreat again to his arable exile when the crisis has passed; for God’s sake, though, never surrender the fasces to anyone who eagerly reaches out his hand to take them.
Yet our system obliges us to elevate to office precisely those persons who have the ego-besotted effrontery to ask us to do so; it is rather like being compelled to cede the steering wheel to the drunkard in the back seat loudly proclaiming that he knows how to get us there in half the time. More to the point, since our perpetual electoral cycle is now largely a matter of product recognition, advertising, and marketing strategies, we must be content often to vote for persons willing to lie to us with some regularity or, if not that, at least to speak to us evasively and insincerely. In a better, purer world—the world that cannot be—ambition would be an absolute disqualification for political authority.
One can at least sympathize, then, with Tolkien’s view of monarchy. There is, after all, something degrading about deferring to a politician, or going through the silly charade of pretending that “public service” is a particularly honorable occupation, or being forced to choose which band of brigands, mediocrities, wealthy lawyers, and (God spare us) idealists will control our destinies for the next few years.
But a king—a king without any real power, that is—is such an ennoblingly arbitrary, such a tender and organically human institution. It is easy to give our loyalty to someone whose only claim on it is an accident of heredity, because then it is a free gesture of spontaneous affection that requires no element of self-deception, and that does not involve the humiliation of having to ask to be ruled.
The ideal king would be rather like the king in chess: the most useless piece on the board, which occupies its square simply to prevent any other piece from doing so, but which is somehow still the whole game. There is something positively sacramental about its strategic impotence. And there is something blessedly gallant about giving one’s wholehearted allegiance to some poor inbred ditherer whose chief passions are Dresden china and the history of fly-fishing, but who nonetheless, quite ex opere operato, is also the bearer of the dignity of the nation, the anointed embodiment of the genius gentis—a kind of totem or, better, mascot.
As for Tolkien’s anarchism, I think it obvious he meant it in the classical sense: not the total absence of law and governance, but the absence of a political archetes—that is, of the leadership principle as such. In Tolkien’s case, it might be better to speak of a “radical subsidiarism,” in which authority and responsibility for the public weal are so devolved to the local and communal that every significant public decision becomes a matter of common interest and common consent. Of course, such a social vision could be dismissed as mere agrarian and village primitivism; but that would not have bothered Tolkien, what with his proto-ecologist view of modernity.
Now, obviously, none of this anarcho-monarchism is an actual program for political action or reform. But that is not the point. We all have to make our way as best we can across the burning desert floor of history, and those who do so with the aid of “political philosophies” come in two varieties.
There are those whose political visions hover tantalizingly near on the horizon, like inviting mirages, and who are as likely as not to get the whole caravan killed by trying to lead it off to one or another of those nonexistent oases. And then there are those whose political dreams are only cooling clouds, easing the journey with the meager shade of a gently ironic critique, but always hanging high up in the air, forever out of reach.
I like to think my own political philosophy—derived entirely from my exactingly close readings of The Compleat Angler and The Wind in the Willows—is of the latter kind. Certainly Tolkien’s was. Whatever the case, the only purpose of such a philosophy is to avert disappointment and prevent idolatry. Democracy is not an intrinsic good, after all; if it were, democratic institutions could not have produced the Nazis. Rather, a functioning democracy comes only as the late issue of a decently morally competent and stable culture.
In such a culture, one can be grateful of the liberties one enjoys, and use one’s franchise to advance the work of trustworthier politicians (and perhaps there are more of those than I have granted to this point), and pursue the discrete moral causes in which one believes. But it is good also to imagine other, better, quite impossible worlds, so that one will be less inclined to mistake the process for the proper end of political life, or to become frantically consumed by what should be only a small part of life, or to fail to see the limits and defects of our systems of government. After all, one of the most crucial freedoms, upon which all other freedoms ultimately depend, is freedom from illusion.
David B. Hart is a contributing writer of First Things. His most recent book is Atheist Delusions: The Christian Revolution and Its Fashionable Enemies (Yale University Press). His previous “On the Square” articles can be found here. The quote from The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien appears on pages 63 to 64 of the Houghton Mifflin edition, published in 1981.
Comments:
I didn't realize Tolkien was a bit of an anarchist, though. New surprises every day.
Hobbit government is the farthest thing from anarchy. Hobbits follow The Rules, minimal though these might be. They are largely common sense, hallowed by custom, and enforced by social suasion. There is a local military commander, the Thain (obviously from the Anglo-Saxon thegn, a minor noble who commanded the fyrd in a particular place), and a titular functionary (the Mayor), and a small police force, the Sheriffs (again, the old Anglo-Saxon shire-reeves), who, by Tolkien's admission, spend most of their time rounding up errant cattle and turning back scruffy-looking interlopers from the outside.
If anything, the Shire is something of a libertarian paradise, where people follow the Golden Rules of "mind your own business" and "keep your hands to yourself", though, of course, there is a social class hierarchy in which certain families have hereditary status ("respectability") equivalent to that of the country gentry in late 19th century England. All this is taken for granted, because everybody accepts and follows The Rules.
Anarchy, of course, is an obliteration of The Rules, and the civility of the Shire would collapse instantly if anyone were seriously to question their validity. Once the consensus of The Rules collapses, order can only be restored through force--external, tyrannical force, such as that imposed by Lotho Sackville-Baggins and Sharkey (Saruman), or the internal, regenerative force of the Hobbits themselves, once the Shire is raised by Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin. Like Cincinnatus, they take up arms only to defend the status quo ante (demonstrating in the process that the ancient institutions of the Thain and the fyrd do work), then put them down and return to their plows (both real and metaphorical).
It's interesting to note, though, that to some extent the Hobbits of the Shire are free riders. Their rustic, libertarian paradise exists only because it is guarded by the Rangers of the North, who are, of course, the Dunedain of Arnor, whose Chieftain is also the Heir of Elendil, the rightful King of Arnor to whom the Hobbits have, all these centuries, been giving their nominal allegience. Not knowing this, however, the Hobbits fear, distrust and disdain the Rangers, who are not at all "respectable".
Nonetheless, Aragorn, when restored to the throne as King Elessar, makes no attempt to altar the governance of the Shire, but rather legitimizes them by making the Shire self-governing and prohibiting Big People from entering its borders without prior leave. Even he does not violate his own law, but stops at the gate on the Great Road whenever he visits with the Mayor (Sam), the Thain (Pippin) and the Master of Buckland (Merry). It's an interesting example of Tolkien's realism and ambivalence about the ideal society he created that he recognizes it cannot stand against the "real" world without the protection of forces that are its antithesis to a large extent.
"Anarchy, of course, is an obliteration of The Rules"
Sorry, but that's a vulgar misconception. Many of the classical schools of anarchist thought believe in the rules and in law; they reject the notion of a single archon or prince as the source of those rules. Hart makes it clear that this is what anarchy means in this context.
To speak of Tolkien as "libertarian" is simply a category error. A particularly American sort of error, if I may say so. He would most definitely not have believed in "do what you want just so long as you don't impinge on others." He had a quite powerful sense of the common responsibility of every person for another in a living community, and the need of the individual to give way to the good of the community. And, given his very real hatred of industry, enterprise, and corporate capitalism, and his believe in the moral demand of ecology, his ideal political order would be the libertarian's worst nightmare.
Anyway, this piece doesn't talk about a complete theory--it is just a reflection on what JRRT wrote in that particular letter. As it says, the anarchist-monarchist idea is not a program. Realism relegates it to the status of a mythical critique.
In America its called 'Leftist Conservative' or 'Crunchy Conservative', ably represented by the Front Porchers over at http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/
And lets not forget the Catholic Distrubutist League - http://distributistreview.com/mag/
I truly believe this is THE way forward in politics - Localist economy, small government, power to communities, small business, ....
Still, my sympathies for both Augustine and Aquinas and my suspicions about the meaning of Romans 13 and the relevant corresponding passage of Peter's make me wonder if some qualification is not in order--that man is certainly more than political by nature but also political by nature; that it matters that Paul employs political imagery in describing the Lordship of Jesus of Nazareth and in describing the body of Christ (in one passage he describes the church by employing the metaphor Aristotle uses to describe the polity; that the limited good of politics is nevertheless a real good. There are ancient and modern ways of making politics and the state totalizing and, consequently, dehumanizing. But there's an old maxim that I think bears on the matter--the abuse of a thing is not an argument against rightful use.
As for the practicality of a system (or non-system) such as the Shire, Tolkien himself dismisses it by the admission that (a) what exists is an organic continuation of the society that existed at the time of Arvedui the Last King; and (b) that the system could not survive without being protected from external enemies by the largely covert hand of the Rangers (hence my statement that the Hobbits--like modern Europeans--are free riders on a security system provided by badly understood and resented outsiders). Absent the Rangers, the Hobbits would have been forced to organize their society in a more structured manner, with stronger permanent institutions, including an executive, a security apparatus, a revenue-raising mechanism and a legislature--in other words, all the manifestations of a real state.
Except that Tolkien DID accept that definition of anarchism. It is right there in the letter, old fellow. First parenthesis. Anyway, this piece doesn't really seem to be about what Tolkien's political philosophy was, so much as what he was saying in that letter. Certainly 'Libertarianism' is the wrong word altogether, though.
@ Paul
Everyone misreads that passage from Romans. The sword reference there is principally about 'policing' functions. Its not an executioner's sword or an emperor's sword, as people assume. It means, temple guards and garrisoned peace-keepers etc. get to carry a sword (today we might say, police get to carry guns) because they are charged with controlling crime and guarding the peace. Well, believe it or not, classical anarchism does not exclude police functions or things of that sort. It excludes a despotes, or tyrannys, or princeps, but not a 'syndicalist' or 'communitarian' appointment of peace officers.
Um, didn't the piece above explicitly say that this is not a practical or possible political situation, and that the point of discussing it has nothing to do with practical political reforms? Did you notice that nice metaphor about crossing the desert? So what's your point?
As for whether Tolkien would accept the definition of anarchism Dr Hart provides, your argument appears to be with Tolkien himself, since the passage quoted from his letter pretty clearly states that he understands the word "philosophically understood, meaning the abolition of control not whiskered men with bombs". So, basically, you're wrong.
I think more relevant is the usage, in the New Testament and in the Roman world, of the word "authorities," which Paul claims belong to God. Government more broadly certainly falls under that denomination. At any rate, your interpretation of that passage seems exceptionally idiosyncratic. It's certainly not the interpretation of the passage or of government and authority that one finds in the fathers. I try simply to interpret it the same way I interpret I Peter 2:17. "Honor the king/emperor" doesn't reduce merely to policing functions. Finally, I think almost any philosophical anarchist I've ever read would disagree about policing functions. For anarchists value autonomy above all; and, above all, they denounce coercion. And communal policing isn't policing in any meaningful sense of the word unless it employs coercion, thereby restricting autonomy. Stephen Nathanson has shown how anarchism is incoherent in Should We Consent to be Governed. I commend the work to you.
Many republics have failed--mostly ancient and Renaissance era republics. But our constitutional republic in the United States has been remarkably stable--especially when compared to other modern regimes, constitutional or otherwise. There's a good case that no modern constitutional regime has been more stable. I think one has to ignore a good deal of history (including our own) to arrive at the conclusion that the American experiment has failed. Even the much decried two party system has been conducive to American stability over time. But many of our own citizens seem hardly aware of this. It is one thing to say that our regime is less than perfect. But it is many reaches too far to say that the American constitutional experience is an unmitigated failure or even simply a failure all things considered. Indeed, by many measures of regime success and failure, it's rather a success. Meanwhile, it's worth noting that proportionately, monarchies, aristocracies, and mixed regimes are about as unstable as republics. The evidence simply doesn't support the notion that monarchies do better than republics in terms of being less oppressive or being more stable or making the conditions of ordinary life better. It's worth reading the ancients on this.
You were surprised that Tolkien thought himself an anarchist? Take a look at the hobbits in Lord of the Rings. They don't have much in the way of government. They pay honour to a king who hasn't existed in centuries. They have a few public officials who don't do very much, and I don't hear a whole lot about taxes, endless forms to be filled out, etc... There are a few laws and customs that the hobbits assume that others will obey - and if they don't someone might get worked up - but for the most part, folk are left to themselves.
In Canada, we're halfway there - we have a monarch who lives across the ocean, and exercises no real political power. We have no Canadian head of state. Although the Prime Minister has an incredible amount of power within Canada, he can never claim the crown - he can never claim to be the sovereign. That title belongs to someone who is largely absent, and was chosen by accident of birth. I think that this reality allows the Monarch to indeed serve as a sort of sacrament of our freedom. (In fact, the Christian East traditionally considered a coronation to be a sacrament, and in England, for all its Reformation era protest about there being only two sacraments, the Book of Common Prayer service for the anointing of a monarch sure makes it look like the Church of England considered the coronation to be a sacrament.)
So we're halfway there. Now we just need the anarchy part...
In short, the Wizarding World is essentially a pure bureaucracy, can be considered a sly parody and critique of the European Union, with its faceless and unaccountable Commission, its largely meaningless European Parliament, and its ineffectual European Court of Justice. Without so much saying so, Rowling has written a cautionary tale of allowing the European experiment to continue to its logical conclusion. Consider her both a Euroskeptic and an advocate of traditional British forms of governance.
On the downside, that freedom is continually impinged by an expansive nanny state riddled with political correctness that increasingly does nothing other than mind people's personal business and regulate their opinions (e.g., recent decisions by a variety of "human rights councils" that see their mission as muzzling those who disagree with the prevailing state orthodoxy regarding such issues as the dangers posed by Islam, the sinfulness of homosexual behavior and other Christian beliefs). When the head of one of these commissions can utter statements like "Freedom of speech is an American concept. In Canada we see things differently.", then it is pretty clear that Sharkey is loose in the Shire, which at some point definitely will need to rise up.
So, here it is , on this 13th , for any one else who are in similar straits ..
It is about a heartwarming incident , read in a publication ( Shalom ) , in the native language ..in the words of a religious sister on her train journey to Bombay where she was being sent for postgrad studies ..along with 3 nonCatholic girls .
At her request , they had agreed to spend the time in prayer - esp. the rosary and thus she had taught them the prayers ...2 male students were to join them later in the train compartment , from another state along the way .
On the way , in the early hours of dusk, few young men , in possibly the militant hindu attire got into their compartment and started talking in a threatening manner ..getting them more and more frightened ..and they contd in their rosary recitations ..
Pretty soon , there was this strong queenly woman who walked in , 'pushed off the one who was sitting next to the sister ' sat there and started talking to them ...comforting them ..and after a while , telling the rowdy bunch to leave , which they did ..she mentions how as soon as she walked in , they seemd to have become less threatening ..
In a station on the way , the others who were to join them did ...and the mysterious stranger left , telling them she was going to rejoin her family
( husband and son ) in another compartment ...since they were now safe .
Once the train got into its last stop in Mumbai , the group tried to locate the woman and her family, to thank them ... even checked the passenger list , to realise that there was no one of such name on the list !
And they recognised the incredulousness of any woman leaving her boggy at that hour of night , to come to their help would have been remote or even impossible , unless it was The Woman ..
Queenship , in the midst of what could be destructive anarchy !
"Rather, a functioning democracy comes only as the late issue of a decently morally competent and stable culture."
Who could disagree with this, since it's so self evident? Yet, if the leaven of our culture is our Christian faith, when we judge our culture, are we then judging the state of our faith, and the form of its expression? If we do accept that politics is a derivative of our culture, which itself is a derivative of our faith, then perhaps the question may be how is our faith applied?
For example, how difficult would it be to find good and sincere Christians who view organized religion with deep suspicion, and associate it almost exclusively with corruption, unholy liasons with the state, love of power, wars, clerical privilege, oppressive dogma, dead ritual, superstition, idol worship, anti-intellectualism, prejudice toward women, and other such things from the catalogue of abominations? If you do believe that organized religion is guilty of all of this, then how would you try to express your beliefs and avoid these evils?
Unfortunately, the aggregate applied result here seems to be that the expression of our otherwise honest faith becomes confused - how difficult would it be to find sincere clergy persons quite willing to publicly disagree on, say, the sacrament of marriage, or holy orders, or when life begins, or even the natures of Christ? I would argue that such a cocaphony of authoritative voices is a destabilizing factor in our culture.
My question is - should some of us re-examine the assumption that organized religion (which is disciplined religion) necessarily leads to social or moral pathologies? Or can we find recent examples where organized religion was of spiritual benefit to a society suffering under evil?
Please don't compare the writings of a man who spent his entire life completely devoted to intellectual pursuits and a woman who got bored on the train and decided to write something that would make herself feel good..and happened to make other similar (mostly women) feel good.
One is full of nearly incomprehensible philosophical and theological treasures and the other is the worst example of soulless pop culture.
That's like me using Hamlet's banal disconnect with the world for the purpose of comparison with Cher's always bouncy personality in the movie 'Clueless'..as if this would lead to some kind of meaningful insight into the complexities of dealing with the difficulties of life. (But they're both fictional characters right!!?)
If I tried to do something silly like this I would expose myself as an unserious intellectual who had spent too much time around academic institutions that seem to function on the governing principle that if you get government money then you are by default an institution of respectable scholarship.
(By accident I've stumbled onto a fine example of the subtle evil of our current system of bureaucratic tyranny.)
Yet it is pretty clear that the Shire has "rulers" in the form of high status individuals whose status derives mainly from their ancestry--the "respectable" families, filling in the niches of landed gentry and minor nobility (e.g., the Master of Buckland and the Thain, both of which are hereditary within the Brandybuck and Took clams respectively), to whom lesser hobbits (e.g., the Gamgees) automatically defer. It is an "aristocracy" in the classic sense of rule by hereditary families considered by lineage to be "the best people". The Hobbits' obsession with genealogy derives from the necessity of understanding lineage as a means of determining "respectability", hence status.
Sam Gamgee is unique in being what the Romans would call a "homo (hobbitus?) novus", who attains high status despite humble origins--though even then, part of his status derives from being friend and companion of high-ranking hobbits like Merry and Pippin (and, to a lesser extent and Sam's chagrin, Frodo), as well as his marriage into the more respectable Cotton family. Undoubtedly, the favor bestowed upon him by King Elessar on his first visit to the Shire put Sam's status beyond all reproach.
Many tribal societies--including the North American Indians--lacked formal institutional leadership or governing institutions beyond the ad hoc tribal council. But that does not mean they lacked leaders in the form of charismatic chieftains, whose authority is largely moral and whose power derives from their ability to get other warriors to go along with them. Success (in hunting, warfare or whatever) enhances status, thus increases the authority and power of the charismatic leader. On the other hand, defeat or failure can result in catastrophic loss of status, and with it authority and power (and, in extreme cases, life itself).
I don't think, therefore, that one can point to any society that would be a true "anarchy" even in the abstract "philosophical" sense used in Tolkien's letter. That Tolkien was incapable of depicting such a society even in his unique and idealized subcreation, the Shire, indicates that the abstraction is incapable of incarnation, whether real or imaginary.
Well, it's important to keep that graft and corruption close to home. Congratulations to Prince George's County for making the newest addition to Maryland state and county officials either convicted or under indictment.
Jacob,
Spare me your snobbery. When The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings were first published, they were either dismissed as children's stories or derided as adolescent ramblings of a slightly dotty Oxford Don (see, e.g., Edmund Wilson's scathing essay, "Oh, Those Awful Orcs"). The stature of Tolkien's work has only emerged gradually, helped in a large measure through its adoption by the counter-culture in the 1960s, whose exegesis quite literally appalled Tolkien (it did, however, give us the Harvard Lampoon's immortal "Bored of the Rings").
So be not dismissive of Jo Rowling's "potboilers", which, if you ask me, are a lot better plotted and significantly more sophisticated than, say, C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia (which, by the way, Tolkien loathed). The verdict of history doesn't rest on your shoulders. Get back to me in fifty years, and we'll talk--though, to quote Chou En Lai (when asked what he thought of the French Revolution, responded), "It is too early to tell".
How do FT readers fancy JRRT as proto-neo-Con? As I recall from Return Of The King, Aragorn leads a pre-emptive war to destroy Sauron’s WMD program, refuses diplomatic engagement with the Mouth of Sauron, effects regime change in Mordor, and institutes land reform for the various now liberated peoples of Mordor.
Thank you Stuart Koehl for your fascinating comments.
Personally, I don't care much about Tolkien's fiction one way or the other. He was a wretched writer who had a strange and attractive imagination; but The Lord of the Rings is hardly a great masterpiece, either of art or of deep thought, and it will forever be a classic of middle-brow fiction for older children. I agree that the Harry Potter books have a better 'big plot' than the Narnia books, but Rowling unfortunately can't write worth a tinker's damn. Her ponderous lifeless prose and her mechanical plotting (not to mention everyone yelling IN UPPER CASE LETTERS!) are so annoying that one wishes her books could be rewritten by someone with literary talent and a very large red pencil. Lewis *could* write, so a few of the Narnia books--The Silver Chair and The Horse and His Boy especially--are wonderfully rendered children's tales.
Once again, though--and then I'll give up--the column above makes it clear that the idea of this sort of anarchism or (felicitous phrase this:) 'radical subsidiarism' is not a vision of a practicable politics. It is a picture of a world that cannot be, but the thought of which helps free us from deluding ourselves that our imperfect system is an end in itself. That's the point of the article. That's what it's about. In that sense, Tolkien was exactly what he said he was: a man with a leaning towards anarchy and unconstitutional monarchy.
Actually, I'm a fan of "The Paul Street Boys" by Ferenc Molnar.
I wonder sometimes if Tolkien didn't subconsciously model the character of Frodo after that of Nemecsek. The parallels are striking - youth, purity of heart, sacrifice.
How's that for esoteric? Think some brave soul could squeeze a Phd thesis out of that?
The Monarch of Commas has withdrawn your charter. End stops only one year!
Good news, though: the Grand Commissar of Anarchy has mentioned you in dispatches for Special Excellence in Muddled Metaphors.
Lewis, Rowling, Tolkein--they had a point, at least.
ice9
Personally, I find Tolkien's treatment of Lewis with respect to the Narnia Chronicles a bit smug--especially in light of the popular reception of those books. I love Tolkien's work--I used to read the Lord of the Rings trilogy annually (I also read Till We Have Faces annually--for me the most interesting and perhaps important piece of fiction of the 20th century, but also simply my favorite novel). I've read the Simarillion more times than most Tolkinisti. And I've enjoyed Christopher Tolkien's publications of passages his father wrote but left out or hadn't yet decided to include in the latter work. For all that, I think Tolkien would have been at a loss to explain the popular reception of the Chronicles, especially in the United States. Some of the very things for which he expressed somewhat condescending disdain strike me as making the Chronicles more accessible.
I say this not as one who worships the god Relevance or Accessibility but one who struggles to make his own material not only to layman but to professionals in my field. I have a penchant for saying it precisely--at the expense of many being able to lay hold of what I'm saying. One colleague tells me that even when speaking to academic audiences, I need to pitch at lower level. So I understand what Lewis was up to. His work mimicked more the dreams and imagination of children and even adults, while pressing our imaginations forward. Tolkien certainly stretches our imagination. But does so at the expense of accessibility. To be sure, his work was popularly received. But note how often it has been misinterpreted and even embraced by skeptics (or the counter-culture movement of the early 70's) who thought he was saying much the same thing as they wanted to say.
I say all this with great fondness for Tolkien and his project. To be sure, he's no Dostoevsky . . . Okay, so maybe I through that in there just for fun (given the back and forth over Rowling, Tolkien, and Lewis . . . ).
Mr. Lyttle's relegation of LOTR to the status of middle-brow children's literature contradicts the opinion of a great number of intelligent well-read scholars and literary folks. Of course he's entitled to his opinion, but he's decidedly in the minority.
One might point out that the Chronicles are intended as children stories that adults might enjoy while Tolkien started writing for adults rather than children about 50 pages into Lord of the Rings (as one worthy literary critic puts it). I suppose, then, the locus of comparison should be with works by Lewis such as Till We Have Faces or his Ransom Trilogy. In such fictitious works for adults, Lewis easily gives Tolkien a run for his money. In fact, looking at the works of adult fiction by the two, I think Till We Have Faces and Perelandra probably deserve the top two spots.
The point was better put by a sadly long-forgotten, but actually very good Televison Drama from the mid ninteen sixties, Slattery's People. Slattery, played extremely well by Richard Crenna, was an idealistic "new frontier liberal" who served as the minority leader of a state Legislature. Every episode began with Slattery saying, in an oddly sardonic tone of voice" Democracy is a very bad form of Government, but I ask you never to forget, all of the others are so much worse."
Of course, as David Hart would point out, Anarcho- monarchism is not so much a from of government as a "government to and all governments". Though asa Political science teacher and a product of James Madison College, Michigan State University, I really ought to prefer democracy, I have to say that a calm, considered examination of the paltriness, triviality and banality of too much of what passes for " democratuic politcs" in America leads me, however reluctantly, to sympathize with my old friend's point of view.
It seems to me that the next step for a democratic republic would be sortitional selection of qualified citizens for legislative (not executive or judicial) positions. Going the Athenians one better.
Long range outcome would be 'organic order'; i.e. anarchy.
And full realization of Felix Frankfurter's dictum: "In a democracy, the highest office is that of citizen."
Please confer my website. Quixotic though it may be, I am looking for assistance in realizing a government by -- as well as of and arguably for -- the people.
Frederick the Great of Prussia had a saying which illustrates this viewpoint very well, both in theory and practice: "My subjects and I have an agreement: they SAY what they wish, and I DO as I wish."
If one needs to be a "reactionary" to recognize the wisdom in this arrangement, then call me a proud reactionary. Tolkien was a reactionary, too. So was Shakespeare.
But reactionaries are very different things from libertarians or liberals, or even anarchists.
In the meantime, it's good to read something by a genuine American conservative, instead of a religious fanatic, populist demagogue or libertarian lauder of 'Heroic Destruction'.
One might say the best systems for establishing and preserving a well-tuned gradation of Degree are Absolute Monarchy on (resting on a pyramid of recognized Aristocracy), and the Anarchism, peaceable and cooperative but naturally self-tuning, advocated by Peter Kropotkin.
The Cole Porter advice is from "Brush Up Your Shakespeare" in "Kiss Me, Kate": "With the wife of the British Ambassada' / Take a crack outta 'Troilus and Cressida'; / If she says she won't buy it or tyke it / Make her tyke it — what's more, As You Like It!"
Dr Hart told me once that he doesn't regard himself as a conservative, or have any interest in the categories of right and left. But I know what you mean.
@ PL
Um, I assume you don't think your views accord with Dr Hart's. If you do, you should learn the difference between absolute monarchy and the sort of subsidiarist rumination going on here. Dr Hart has, after all, frequently cursed the idea of absolute monarchy (a purely modern notion) as the first version of modernity's cult of the state and absolute sovereignty. He also has pretty fierce contempt for the idea of preserving 'degree', since he adheres to a Christian morality that regards such language as irredeemably evil. Some of my favorite passages in his writings have to do with Christ as the true image of God in a slave, standing before Pilate, who represents 'degree'.
And, by the way, that speech in Troilus and Cressida hardly represents Shakespeare's view of how things should be. Ulysses is presented throughout as an unprincipled and deceitful brute, and nothing he says should be taken without a healthy dose of irony.
Each state would select its most noble 16-year old. All 50 youngsters would then be assembled at Mount Katahdin, Maine, the northern-most terminal of the Appalachian Trail at the end of September, in full explosion of autumn foliage. Equipped with the same gear and possibilities of acquiring shelter and provisions along the Trail, the youth would head south. The wild bloom of spring would see the anointed one arrive first at Springer Mountain in Georgia.
Clearly, the ordeal of a north-south thru-hike on the Appalachian Trail in winter would meet both the practical and symbolic requirements of suffering needed to earn legitimacy for our sovereign. Physical strength would hardly suffice as psychological wisdom and tenacity would also prove equally useful in separating the remarkable from the merely strong. Importantly, such a spectacle, playing to our strengths as a nation of great production values, would dwarf both the Super Bowl and Survivor in its cultural impact, providing a social glue the country hasn't seen since there were only three television networks. Although there are dangers to the youngsters, they fall short of reckless and if an aspirant were to meet an untimely end, surely our history has taught us how to pay homage to fallen youth. Besides, it is no secret that spilled blood sanctifies those activities enjoying social approval.
Yet the sacrifices would not end with a short season of roughing it. The training program for the chosen one must be designed to demand excellence. A rigorous academic preparation with the stars of academia should suffice. To broaden preparation, summers spent farming, volunteering with the homeless and working in an investment bank would both widen and deepen public support for the person and the institution. A second two-year cycle of preparation might consist of a year at one of the military academies with the summer spent on active duty, and another year in service at a sensitive diplomatic post.
Once crowned, an American monarch would distinguish him or herself from the aristocratic indolence of the European monarch by getting down to work. Borrowing liberally from George F. Kennan who once proposed the establishment of a “Council of State”, a prestigious institution of the nation’s brightest which could rise above short-term parochial interests and offer solutions to the nation’s most intractable problems, I propose to have our monarch propose, organize and manage public service projects with set budgets and measurable objectives for success. Imagine the serious ritual of a new project of national importance undertaken, introduced with an address by the monarch, the conclusions presented in another ceremonious speech. From that point, public officials could do as they please with the information, the only power the monarch possessing being the respect his or her work might command.
This is not to suggest that the monarch would be freed from the dreary work of congratulating sports champions and sparing the life of a Thanksgiving turkey. No such luck. However, that a person of excellence might wield these powers wisely, producing projects whose results could sway public thought is a real possibility. Properly executed by such a person and taking full advantage of the institution’s prestige, an American monarchy could be the sharp knife of excellence needed to cut through the mediocrity that has infested our political and cultural lives. This in turn might finally debunk the notion, so loudly proclaimed, if not believed in our cynically democratic era: that being an attractive and well-intentioned Mr/s. Smith is all that is needed to succeed in Washington.
Andrew Lyttle: You're absolutely right about "absolute" monarchy. I was speaking carelessly and meant only to distinguish the kind of monarch who has a power of command from the modern European kind who is merely a living symbol (not that that's a bad thing). What I should have said was, a monarch governing under laws according with a written or unwritten constitution.
It's always dangerous to presume to know what Shakespeare thought. He was a dramatist and a notably un-didactic one with extraordinary powers of empathy with his characters. Still, that he thought well of legitimate monarchy and not much of anarchy is a pretty safe surmise. Shakespeare's Ulysses is indeed a slimy character — like everyone else in the play — but that doesn't mean he can't on occasion have been the mouthpiece for wisdom, especially conventional wisdom, which is what I take the remarks on "degree" to have been. I doubt if any in Shakespeare's audience favored the opposite principle, that of the Levellers — any more than they would have taken exception to Iago's commonplace about the relative opprobriousness of stealing a man's purse and stealing his good name. "Degree" needn't mean immutable degree, and I don't see any implication that it does in Ulysses' speech. To say there should be hierarchy in social life is not to say there should be no social mobility. The two are perfectly compatible and in just and liberal societies have generally existed side by side without friction. The point is that where there is no degree, where everyone thinks he's as good as everyone else and owes deference to no one, every social relationship tend to become one of competition where "each thing meets in mere oppugnancy". We can see examples of this wherever the levelling spirit gets the bit between its teeth.
http://www.remnantnewspaper.com/Archives/2010-0915-medaille-monarchy.htm
http://www.remnantnewspaper.com/Archives/2010-0930-medaille-real-catholic-monarchy.htm
http://www.remnantnewspaper.com/Archives/2010-1015-medaille-monarchy.htm
Well now you've gone and intrigued me...I just ordered Til We Have Faces. I'm a fan of Lewis, but ashamedly had never even heard of this work...thanks for the tip.
The opinion that Tolkein expresses in his letter(s) is not an uncommon one in the late nineteenth/early 20th Century. I think we are discovering the wisdom of an earlier age to be based on something more than mere sentimentality and wishful thinking as many moderns in that time frame assumed.
Or assuming, perhaps that sentimentality and wishful thinking are without underlying wisdom. Particularly in a time of acute dislocation from tradition and morals.
When one looks at history, and sees that the gestalt of later times does not reflect what should have happened, it can be tempting to feel that wisdom didn't exist at all, or that it wasn't adequately expressed. Certainly not true. Hence, a bit of continuity from Shakespeare. It was popular wisdom reaching back quite a ways.
It simply was not the view that won out in the minds of the masses...at least for now.
The frightening thing is that most people ( a little later on) seemed to think Mussolini was the font of future wisdom. Re-watching rhetoric of a VERY successful US political campaign in 2008 gives me.... familiar chills. Though those quoting his very verbiage might disagree.
Wouldn't it be shocking for those radicals of the 1960's that their grandparents thought that their hero, Tolkein, was a reactionary dupe?
George Washington did say that Democracy cannot exist without religious morality to sustain and safeguard it. For without an agreed upon standard, the center cannot hold.
Frankly, this is true for any form of government, but one where you have many participants it's even MORE important. After all, it would be nice to occasionally get what one thinks one pays for... and have the wisdom to know the difference.
When discussing the political winds and trends of the West, one cannot help to delve into "low-brow" entertainment. Most of what we call literature once fell into that category. Why literature holds greater esteem than " common trash" is that it holds the test of time and has self-evident quality. We are talking about grand trends and actions carried on by the masses. Even the most well bred historian of the future will be forced to contend with the societal impact of the likes of Lady Gaga and Paris Hilton. To push history beyond lists of dates, wars, elections, coups and discoveries one must get one's hands dirty with anthropology.
Even English with all it's shades of meaning is annoyingly imprecise for these sorts of discussions. There are different anarchies, different libertarianisms, (distinguished by some as "'Large L' and "Small l" respectively, a code which only a few seem familiar... so is it useless distinction?) and of course, different monarchies. At least the monarchies can be distinguished from one another with qualifiers and everyone agrees that they fit.
Try to qualify libertarianisms or anarchies without care and you may have a fist fight on your hands. Though one of the most frustrating thing about this discussion is that the main players... (all quite intelligent and have good points,) keep talking past each other and (occasionally) insulting one another because the terms have not been set.
Upon perusal of Romans 13... I don't think Paul the Apostle intended for men to accept all tyranny without complaint. Christians are not obligated to bow down to any well-armed thug because God made him so.
Were such the prevailing tradition of the Church.... I shudder to think the result. So many declared saints and Doctors of the Church would be heretics of the worst order.
The Body of Christ being a willing partner in government the world over would be condoned,
for God willed it so. So many excesses and horror could be justified (and have been) using that set of ideas that it must be brought into context with what Our Lord Himself said.
The thing to remember about Paul's letters is that while he was undoubtedly Inspired, spoke many good general things to live by, he also was speaking to a specific people at a specific time. In most cases (in America at least), following the rule of law, paying your taxes and in general being a good citizen is a goodly Christian way to live.
But cowtowing to thugs who starve their enemies and kill for political convenience because "God willed it so" is a travesty. Read (Cardinal) Bellarmine. He singlehandedly (Locke came later) knocked down the Divine Right of Kings, a large chunk of which was derived from Romans 13.
see http://catholiceducation.org/articles/politics/pg0003.html
and http://catholicism.org/de-laicis.html
I think Tolkien's views and the literary Shire are only applicable to the English situation. The hobbits did have the hedge (English channel?), built to keep out the wolves (Germans?). And don't the books contain some reference to a shire magistracy? Don't remember... Anyhow, I think the point about the Rangers is not that they were hidden but that they operated far away, not as an aspect of local governance.


