Idiosophy

A physicist loose among the liberal arts

Category: fantasy Page 1 of 9

The Post-War Economy of Mordor

Have you ever wondered what became of the lands of Mordor in the Fourth Age? I certainly have. I got a valuable clue today.

The climate of Ithilien is like Italy’s, so the other side of the Mountains Until Recently of Shadow would be like the Adriatic coast. The soil would have been covered with volcanic ash. After a few years of rainfall, it would be fertile again, and it would be packed with the minerals plants love. We know that volcanic soils in Italy grow excellent wine grapes. Maybe the inhabitants of the Black Land could take up viniculture?

Well, after a trip to the wine store, I can report that’s exactly what they did.

Label of a wine bottle: "La Reine des Bois" Domaine de la Mordorée Chateuneuf du Pape

click to embiggen

I don’t know what exactly this “Pape” refers to. It’s not in any of my elvish glossaries, and Sindarin doesn’t have many “p” words anyway. Must be something invented later. Anyway, it’s perfect for toasting Bilbo’s birthday.

Oh, all right

The word “mordoré” means a golden-bronze color with metallic highlights. Just the thing for autumn. The wine is dry and light, which is what I want from a Rhône.

The company is all women, and organic.

Un Changeable

Tom Hillman is taking on another of the big questions. This time it’s Fate, and how Turin relates to it.1 He calls out the line from “Beowulf”: “Fate often keeps an unfey man safe when his courage avails.”

I’ve taken a couple of courses from Tom Shippey in which he brought up that line. Usually with a comment like, “That’s not much of a fate, if you can avoid it with a bit of courage.”  When he’s being more formal2, he says

… people are not under the domination of wyrd, which is why “fate” is not a good translation of it. People can “change their luck”, and can in a way say “No” to divine Providence, though of course if they do they have to stand by the consequences of their decision.

The Road to Middle-Earth, Chapter 5

I suspect that wyrd isn’t the only word here whose meaning has slipped over the last thousand years. The word unfaege, produced from the word for “fey”, also has the prefix “un-“. When I first learned Old English, it jumped out at me that “un-” isn’t quite what it used to be. In most words, it means what modern speakers expect, but there are plenty of words where it doesn’t. Unweder, “un-weather”,is a storm. Unweod, “un-grass”, is a weed, as is unwyrt. Uncræft, “un-craft”, is an evil art. Unbletsung, “un-blessing” is not the absence of a blessing, but a curse.

The “un-” prefix seems also to have meant “wrong” or “the opposite of what you wanted”. Is it possible that unfaege, “un-fey”, might have meant something like “doomed to something else”?  Then the Beowulf poet would have meant, “If wyrd has something else in mind for a man, he’ll come through this one safely as long as he keeps his courage.” With the implication that a coward can screw up even the fate of the world, so don’t be one.


 

Separating us from all the good things

Tom Hillman ponders the relationship between humans and Faërie over on his blog. I think he’s right that Tolkien thinks it’s our fëa that doesn’t belong in Faërie. But there’s another conclusion we can draw from the literature that says something Tolkien would have liked a lot less.  It’s not The Fall, or positivism, or statistical analysis, or the industrial revolution that separated us from the Fair Folk.

I’ve mentioned before that, according to Rudyard Kipling, the Protestant Reformation chased the fairies out of England:

This Reformatories tarrified the Pharisees same as the reaper goin’ round a last stand o’ wheat tarrifies rabbits. They packed into the Marsh from all parts, and they says, “Fair or foul, we must flit out o’ this, for Merry England’s done with, an’ we’re reckoned among the Images.” (p.242)

Of course, the Faërie creatures of the Continent had been chased out much earlier. The faun in Poul Anderson’s The Broken Sword1, whom Skafloc meets in his elf foster-father’s lands, says:

The new god whose name I cannot speak was come to Hellas. There was no more place for the old gods and the old beings who haunted the land. (p.21)

The faun is fleeing West, like Tolkien’s elves. But it doesn’t stop in England. I heard a familiar echo when I was reading the introduction to Alan Lomax’s collection of American folk s0ngs.2

With most of the Southern Negro ministers and teachers urging their followers to abandon the old songs, a flood of jazz and of tawdry gospel hymns comes in. A black giant in the Nashville penitentiary resolutely refused to sing an entirely innocuous levee camp work song since he was a Hardshell Baptist and his church regarded such melodies as “Devil’s songs” or “sinful songs.” (p. xxxi)

They never stop! Fortunately, the world is round, so the Fair Folk, and now the Singing Folk, can’t be cornered. They can always keep going west. I recommend Japan, where the anime industry would welcome them.


 

What kind of tree is Treebeard?

J.R.R. Tolkien spends so much time talking about trees, telling us details of their species and their growth, that it’s curious there’s one omission. What kind of tree is Treebeard?

A few seemed more or less related to Treebeard, and reminded them of beech-trees or oaks. But there were other kinds. Some recalled the chestnut: brown-skinned Ents with large splayfingered hands, and short thick legs. Some recalled the ash: tall straight grey Ents with many-fingered hands and long legs; some the fir (the tallest Ents), and others the birch, the rowan, and the linden. [LR 3.04.142]

We get a hint here that Treebeard sort-of looks like an oak (400 species) or a beech (13 species), but it’s never explicitly stated and that doesn’t narrow it down much. Can we use external information to figure out what Tolkien might have been thinking? Of course we can!

Since Treebeard can get most of the Ents of Fangorn to a moot with one morning’s work, he must be a central figure in the Ent community. If we had a graph of relationships between trees, then we could look for centrally-positioned tree species. Treebeard is probably one of those.

The European Commission has funded research into forest types and the species that make them up, all available on line.1 With a lot of transcription2 and a little bit of matrix algebra, we can turn their tree species matrix into a species adjacency matrix, and thence into a graph.3 All matrix algebra and graph metrics were computed with the R statistical software, version 4.2.2.

I have omitted the species that only live by themselves, most conspicuously the junipers. (See the Canary Island pine, all off by its lonesome? Some species are even more isolated than that.) The introduced species are also removed,4 because Treebeard is nothing if not native to his forest. There are 112 species in the graph, after we remove the singletons. There are 92 types/subtypes of forest.

The graph is a dense cluster in the middle, with a halo of sub-graphs for Turkey, Portugal, Scandinavia, and the Canaries.

The European Forest Matrix converted to a graph. Hardwoods are in orange and softwoods in blue. Click to embiggen.

Even blown up to full size, that graph is too tightly connected to analyze with just eyeballs, so we need mathematical measures of centrality. I used four:

  • Degree just counts how many species can live next to the tree of interest, because they exist in the same kinds of forest. The Ent with the most friends has the highest degree.
  • Page Rank is how the Google search engine works. If your species is around other species that are themselves around lots of species, your centrality is higher. If organizing an Entmoot involves recruiting highly-connected Ents to help you out, the tree with the highest page rank would be a good one to do it.
  • Closeness is a measure of how many steps through the graph (friend-of-a-friend) a species needs to get to every other species. This would be useful for organizing an Entmoot by yourself.
  • Betweenness (that’s really the word) looks at the shortest paths through the graph connecting each pair of species. The species that’s on the most of those paths is the most between — this is the tree that would know all the news in the forest.

We don’t know how Treebeard did it; it might have been any of them, so I looked at these measures to find species that are near the top on all of them. Here are the candidates.

Ash: The European ash tree has the highest degree centrality. 65 other species connected to it. That’s because the range map on Wikipedia says it grows basically anywhere with water. Definite possibility! Except the text says that other Ents look like ashes, and they’re not Treebeard. Also, Gandalf’s staff was made of ash, so I doubt an ash-ent would think he’s such a good friend. So the ash is out.

Black elder: Besides elderberries being tasty, the Black elder has the highest page rank. Unfortunately, it looks more like a bush than a tree. I’m sad that this one didn’t work out because Celeborn addressing an elder as “Eldest” would have been a great joke.

Field maple: This tree isn’t number one on any metric, but it’s #3 or #4 on all of them so it’s a contender. It loses out because it doesn’t have any textual support. It doesn’t look anything like an oak or a beech. (No beech ranks above #8 on any metric.)

Pedunculate oak: This is the good old English oak. It’s a very long-lived tree, and very tall. The Wikipedia article says there are more ancient oaks in England than any other country in Europe. It also cites old myths saying oaks were the “thunderstorm trees”, with which Saruman might agree.  Merry said “The Forest had felt as tense as if a thunderstorm was brewing inside it”. [LR 3.09.059] Though it’s not higher than #3 on any metric, this is almost certainly the species Tolkien was thinking of.  But… the graph suggests a dark-horse candidate.

These trees have branches that look like arms. They're totally Ents.

Turkey oaks in New York’s Central Park

Turkey oak: It’s got a funny name (OK, maybe not as funny as “pedunculate”), but it’s #1 on the betweenness metric. Turkey oaks have an interesting history. Wikipedia says, “The species’ range extended to northern Europe and the British Isles before the previous ice age, about 120,000 years ago.” I can’t help remembering Elrond saying the Old Forest once stretched all the way from the Shire to Dunland, but had shrunk since.  Almost like Treebeard could have walked among Turkey oaks from Wellinghall to England, but now there’s just empty lands between them.

So I liked Turkey oaks, but on top of that, searching for Turkey oaks on line took me to the website for Central Park. They have Turkey oaks there, and look at them! The one on the left is absolutely an Ent, caught in mid-pandiculation.

Credit where credit is due

About a quarter of the way through this exercise, I realized I was tracing the steps of Kieran Healy of Duke University, whose essay on how British intelligence might have caught Paul Revere if only they’d known some math is one of the funniest things ever written about graph analysis.  Note for his most-obscure joke: “eigenvector centrality” is the same as what I called “page rank” here.


Swallow the bones and choke

File Under: The things you find out while wasting time on a Sunday morning.

Eleanor Parker’s excellent newsletter this morning is about Old English people gearing up for Lent by eating everything they can. 1 She points us to Kate Thomas’s “For the Wynn” essay on cheese. That essay is wonderful for many reasons, but one that jumped out at me was the part about the use of cheese in jurisprudence:

Some early medieval liturgical books contain an ordeal using barley bread and cheese – a way of ascertaining a person’s guilt or innocence via the eating of small pieces of food. It operates upon the same rationale as ducking witches – nature rejects someone who has done wrong, so a guilty person will choke on the bread or cheese.

Of course, my mind went immediately to the pool beneath Henneth Annun, where Frodo compels Smeagol with force majeure: “I shall take Precious, and I shall say: make him swallow the bones and choke. Never taste fish again.” [LR 4.06.047] 2

This is the second time we’ve seen little asides in LotR that come straight from Anglo-Saxon law. I don’t imagine it’s the last.

 


Notes

The First Temptation of Sam

Icon of the RingWhen Sam took the Ring and entered Mordor, we get the famous passage that lots of people take for Sam’s test versus the Ring:

Already the Ring tempted him, gnawing at his will and reason. Wild fantasies arose in his mind; and he saw Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age, striding with a flaming sword across the darkened land, and armies flocking to his call as he marched to the overthrow of Barad-dur. [LR 6.01.018]

I don’t agree that this is the test. This attempt to suborn the faithful Samwise is risible. If that’s the best the Ring can do, it wouldn’t have been a problem for anybody, let alone Boromir, Gandalf, or Galadriel. Tolkien gives us a hint that this idea isn’t quite right, though. The previous sentence takes us into Sam’s thoughts: “He felt that he had from now on only two choices: to forbear the Ring, though it would torment him; or to claim it, and challenge the Power that sat in its dark hold beyond the valley of shadows.” Sam is thinking, which is not his strong point. We shouldn’t expect him to comprehend such an important and subtle matter on the first try.

Tom Hillman points out that the Ring is exploiting the way Sam loves old fairy-stories.1 Sam is a romantic. In that passage, the Ring is using Sam’s romanticism against him. That’s what the Ring does, as we know. It attacks your virtues. It uses your strengths against you. But a fondness for old stories and songs is more of an endearing trait than a great virtue.2 It’s not where the Ring would try Sam, when we know that he has a great virtue to work with. That’s where we should expect the Ring to attack first.

Sam’s great virtue is his loyalty to Frodo. That’s where the Ring ought to start to work on him, and sure enough, it did. Back in “The Choices of Master Samwise” we saw the real attack.

He flung the Quest and all his decisions away, and fear and doubt with them. He knew now where his place was and had been: at his master’s side, though what he could do there was not clear. [LR 4.10.057]

Right there, Sam lost the contest of wills with Sauron’s Ring. Fortunately, being Sam, he botches the attempt to rescue Frodo, loses the orcs in the tunnel, and concusses himself on the door. The Ring fails to get back to Sauron, and Middle-earth survives for another day.

People who like to find the hand of the Valar in any lucky break will be disappointed, but Sam’s failure to make a heroic stand over Frodo’s body isn’t a eucatastrophe. It was predictable. Indeed, it was predicted back at the beginning of the story! I knew not that Pippin, of all people, was a hobbit foresighted, but he’s the one who said, “Sam is an excellent fellow, and would jump down a dragon’s throat to save you, if he did not trip over his own feet,” and he was almost exactly right. [LR 1.05.060]

It’s only fair. If Sauron can turn people’s strengths into vulnerabilities, some Vala or other ought to be able to turn klutziness into a world-saving virtue. There may be hope for me yet.

In Sauron’s Defense

I was just listening to Chris Pipkin’s podcast from last summer, in which he talked about Owen Barfield’s theory of Poetic Diction with Prof. Verlyn Flieger.

Barfield’s idea, as I’ve talked about before, is that in the early days of language, many concepts (as we conceive them) were combined in a single word. We don’t have direct access to the earliest days, but we can see some of it in ancient Greece. For example, Hestia the goddess and “hestia” (εστία) the hearth weren’t two different things; they were a single thought. Since then, as we have needed to speak more specifically and more abstractly, we’ve fractured those ur-concepts into lots of precise words. That’s a positive development: we can make things and do things and think things the ancients could never conceive of. But we’ve lost something along the way.

splinters flying out from the center of an explosionProf. Flieger tells us in Splintered Light was that Tolkien took this idea and ran with it. All of Arda is just such a splintering of the thought of Eru. The Ainur split into Valar and Maiar. The Elves split into Calaquendi and Moriquendi, and then into a dozen subdivisions. Humans likewise. Even hobbits split into Stoors and Harfoots and Fallohides.

Barfield’s book is called Poetic Diction because, as he sees it, gluing all those shattered pieces back together is the poet’s job. Sometimes the assembly is a reconstruction of the ancient thought. Other times it’s something new. This happens with characters in Tolkien all the time: pivotal characters are frequently of mixed ancestry, putting the variously split pieces back together again. Elrond is the extreme case in the First Age. His grandson Eldarion is the culmination in the Fourth.

So. Do we know anyone else who’s dedicated himself to putting the splinters of reality back together, better than before? Why yes, we do! Sauron dedicated himself to putting it all back together again. His mission at the beginning of the Second Age began “with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth” (Letter 131). There are lots of ways to reassemble the splinters of original truth, some more poetic, others more effective. As I’ve previously noted, Sauron chose “hierarchy” as his organizing principle, and nearly conquered the world with it.

This is as close as I’ve ever come to sympathy for the devil. From this point of view, Sauron was working from almost the same motives as Celeborn and Galadriel, trying to reassemble something out of the messy shards of reality around him.

Of course, his plan for organizing things didn’t end well. He chose a method designed for effectiveness, not poetry. Efficient dictatorship, not poetic diction. Sauron was not just organizing the physical world, after all. “Morgoth dispersed his power into the very matter of Arda…” as Tolkien says in Morgoth’s Ring, so as Sauron reassembled and organized things, he simultaneously was re-consolidating Morgoth’s evil. You can’t do one without the other. And that might be the most succinct argument for Tolkien’s odd fusion of Catholicism and anarchism I’ve ever heard.

Communication Devices

crystal ball by Yasmin AlanisStephen Winter has another insightful essay, this time about the palantir, which he thinks about next to smartphones (as we all must, now). He uses the generic term “device” instead of “smartphone”, as is common.

The word “device” is fascinating in this context. It appears 20 times in LotR, 12 referring to insignia and 8 referring to some sort of art or craft.1 The word is evenly split between the good guys and the bad guys, depending on how you count Fëanor.

When Gandalf talks about the palantir he could be foretelling the smartphone: “Perilous to us all are the devices of an art deeper than we possess ourselves.” (LR 3.11.099) To Stephen’s question whether our palantiri are more mysterious than we think, the answer is an emphatic “yes”. The constant stories of surveillance both by their makers, for purely pecuniary reasons, and by others who can be much more nefarious, make it undeniable that these things are perilous.

But then there’s Eomer’s observation that “Our enemy’s devices oft serve us in his despite.” (LR 5.04.026) In this context I can’t help thinking of the Arab Spring, or the flash protests against the attempt to ban Muslims from entering the United States. Both were organized over cell-phone networks. Perhaps it is a stretch to think of oppressive governments and the lords of Silicon Valley as a single Enemy, but their roads often seem to lie together for many hundreds of miles.


Note

Who owns the One Ring?

A few years ago, Ashley at The Nef Chronicles wrote a post in which she tried to work out who the legal owner of the One Ring might be. She was at the time a law student. She concluded that nobody owns it.

Yesterday, Daniel Stride took up the challenge and revealed himself as a legal bloodhound: https://phuulishfellow.wordpress.com/2023/09/17/of-golf-balls-and-war-spoils-the-one-ring-and-property-law-squabbles/ He concludes that it’s complicated, but there are four possibilities. The strongest one is one I never would have guessed. (Clickbait.)

The only weakness I can find is that Stride applies New Zealand law. While there is substantial videographic evidence that many of the events in question took place in New Zealand, the veracity of those records can be challenged. Instead, we have to consider that Sauron, the original owner, is not human, but has a quasi-divine status. Therefore ownership of the Ring is subject to Divine Law.

For the most relevant explication of Divine Law I am indebted to Tom Holt1 He quotes Erda, Mother Earth herself, saying “Human law has no bearing on property that is or has been owned or held by a God.” “God” in this context, explicitly includes characters like Sauron. She continues,”under divine law, right of inheritance is subordinate to right of conquest.” (p. 200] Lest there be any confusion, Alberich the Nibelung clarifies, “if I take something away from you it becomes mine, and if they take something away from me it becomes theirs.” (p.201)

With this precedent in mind, many of the ambiguities clear up nicely. After numerous transfers by violence and trickery, Frodo is the true owner. If any further confirmation were needed, we may note that Sam said the Ring was Sauron’s [LR 4.05.132], and Sam may be assumed to be incorrect.

 

Robots don’t get nuance

Large Language Models with chat interfaces are all the rage, everywhere we turn these days. Some people are sure they’ll lead to a cataclysm for the human race, others are sure that they’re going to destroy the creative professions, and still others think it’s just fancy autocorrect.  Without endorsing any of these positions, I decided to ask LLaMa 3.0b at Hugging Face an important question.

A speaker at this party said, “I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” Was he insulting us or complimenting us?

The quote “I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve” can be interpreted in different ways depending on the context and tone in which it was delivered. On one hand, it could be perceived as an insult if the person saying it implies that they think most of those present are not worth their time and effort to get to know them better. On the other hand, it could also be seen as a compliment if the person means that there are some individuals present who are truly interesting and deserving of greater attention and appreciation. Without further clarification from the speaker or additional context, it is difficult to say for certain whether the statement was meant as an insult or a compliment.

This sounds like Otho Sackville-Baggins trying to mollify his wife. Any Brandybuck could do better, even after a big dinner with two bottles of wine.

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