Suppose
you sat down to play a game of chess. Suddenly your opponent begins making
wild, unorthodox moves: knights act like rooks, bishops like queens, pawns
start capturing pieces right in front of them. You would say he is cheating, or
perhaps didn’t understand the rules of the game. He might counter that he is
simply being creative, and that it makes things more exciting. One thing would
be certain. Though you were using the same gameboard and pieces, it certainly
wouldn’t be chess.
This
episode, I think, finally sets a pointing finger down on the very sore spot
that has been vaguely plaguing readers of Tolkien since the very beginning. Forget
black Elves and Dwarves. Forget deviations from the timeline or contradictions
with known ‘lore’ or even clumsy writing and callbacks. The difference is even
more fundamental than that, and it is epitomized in the story the writers have
concocted for the origin of mithril.
The
story that Gil-galad orders Elrond to recount has an unnamed Elf-Lord and a Balrog
fighting over a tree growing high on a mountain. Lightning strikes the tree, and the two
combatants are somehow merged into a single substance that trickles down to the
roots of the peak and becomes the fabulous shiny ore when it mingles with a
lost Silmaril. Gil-galad states that mithril is “as pure and light as good, as
strong and unyielding as evil.” And therein lies the crux, I think.
It
would be very easy from a cursory reading of The Lord of the Rings to
describe Middle-earth as a kind of Manichean world, with good and evil poised
in a sort of yin-yang struggle for dominance. A closer reading reveals that for
all its power, there is light and a high beauty that the Shadow can never touch;
that Evil does not have the power of creation, it can only sully what is made.
To describe strength and rigor as an essential quality that evil can impart is
to deeply misunderstand the nature of Middle-earth. They are simply positive goods
that can be misused. C. S. Lewis summed it up:
“The
truth is that evil is not a real thing at all, like God. It is simply good
spoiled. That is why I say there can be good without evil, but no evil without
good. You know what the biologists mean by a parasite—an animal that lives on
another animal. Evil is a parasite. It is there only because good is there for
it to spoil and confuse.”
It
seems that moral ambiguity is the greatest, perhaps the most irreconcilable,
difference between what is Tolkien and what is The Rings of Power.
Perhaps it is this that the showrunners mean most profoundly when they say it
reflects “modern sensibilities”. This moral ambiguity plagues every episode. Are
Gil-galad and Celebrimbor’s actions evil? Do the Orcs just want lebensraum? In
Tolkien there is moral uncertainty (“I know what I must do, but I’m afraid to
do it”) but no moral ambiguity. Tolkien’s moral theme is not the largely
accepted Zeitgeist of our time and it would take a master-touch to dramatize
it.
“Good
and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among Elves
and Dwarves and another among Men. It is a man’s part to discern them …”
It is not the ridiculous constructions of the story (“The Elves are going to fade … right now! Unless we take our mithril pills!” or some such nonsense – although I suppose the forging of the Three Rings, which do resist time and fading – and could need to be made with mithril - of which Durin seems to have enough to hand out samples - but then ring-making is not a thing yet – ah, the Lore!) that is the worm in the apple here. It is the profound philosophical disconnect. They do not play by the game rules, and if they don't, they should play another game.
No comments:
Post a Comment