Chapter 3: The Ring Goes South
Jacob's Thoughts (6/6/14)
I would like to respectfully dispute Ben on a comment he made during "The Council of Elrond," wherein he mentions "the benevolent pastoralism that Tolkien seems to cherish most about the Hobbits and the Elves." For on the contrary, a theme that I've been tracing in this series--one I first noted clear from the first chapter but that has slowly become more apparent as we've continued--is specifically the anti-pastoral elements implicit within Lord of the Rings.
We had noted right off the bat how the Shire, though Tolkien clearly harbors affection for its residents, is certainly not presented as some sort of Edenesque sanctuary as one would expect from such a pastoral realm, but rather is filled with the petty, small-minded, and even the cruel. The Old Forest too, for all of that chapter's manifold faults, also features a darker Natural world, even one not under the explicit influence of Sauron. While Nature is certainly celebrated in this series (from Tom Bombadil's and the Elves' harmonious relationship with it to Frodo's longing for mountains), nevertheless nature is never actuallyromanticized as intrinsically virtuous, good, or rejuvenating--a clever inversion of the traditional English Romantic model of Wordsworth and Coleridge with which Tolkien would have been familiar.
This chapter especially foregrounds this anti-pastoral, un-romantic conception of nature as morally neutral at best. For we see spying birds flying against the wind, every woodland critter a potential ally of the Dark Lord. The vindictiveness of Caradhras, too, presents a nature that, even as it has no active affiliation with Sauron (or with anyone really), can nevertheless be a hindrance and an enemy.
Of course, none of this is to say that Nature is inherently an enemy in this series, either; for example, Strider is the one who identifies the eery stillness of the silent forest as a sign of something ominous and wicked. That is, when Nature herself is silenced, then something has gone horribly wrong (such was Rachel Carson's intention with the title of her famed anti-DDT screed Silent Spring). Nature has as much a right to exist as anyone living creature in Middle-Earth--but also like every creature in Middle-Earth, there is never any guarantee that Nature will be an ally or an enemy. Nature is neither intrinsically benevolent nor inherently evil in the world of Lord of the Rings, no--Nature is morally neutral. Respect her, yes, but don't count on her for help or goodness. (Always good advice when one goes out hiking).
Now, that all said, I will agree with Ben on another intriguing element of these chapters, that "Sauron is all about gaining knowledge, rule, and above all, order." The panoptic, NSA-esque, surveillance state nature of the aforementioned birds flying against the wind is another great example of how Sauron seeks to exercise total control over the realms under his influence, enlisting all living things as spies one against another in a sort of Orwellian nightmare (one wonders if Tolkien had read then-recent 1984), refusing to allow any potential enemies of Sauron's state to escape the watchful eye of Big Brother.
Contrast these totalitarian tendencies of Sauron against Elrond, who delivers the following parting words to the Fellowship:
Tolkien recognizes this, and communicates that wisdom in the mouth of Elrond by refusing to supplant one form of tyranny with another, but rather ensures that Sauron's defeat is accomplished by free men only.
We've barely touched on Tolkien's religiosity, but I feel his Christian faith may actually be relevant here, for, believe it or not, this same principle of voluntary military service is present within the Old Testament of the Bible:
But these topics of warfare, tyrants, and misery are all so dark and dreary; how about I finish with one of the more hopeful moments of the chapter? As usual, it is by the Hobbits:
Ben's Thoughts (6/25/14)
I'm not entirely sure what to write about in this chapter. It serves mainly as a transition between the comfortable planning of "Council" and the horrors of "A Journey in the Dark" and what comes after. The Fellowship is created and pitted against the elements, which it is hinted are empowered by Sauron or perhaps by some cruel anima of their own, and comes off the worse. The chapter is a showcase of personalities, as each member of the Fellowship (except for Merry, who is completely and predictably shafted) gets their moment(s) in the sun to add input, ideas, and otherwise emerge as singular personalities. The banter between members is quite lovely, actually, and is the highlight of the the chapter. I'll run through some of the members' moments later in the post.
But first, my promised rebuttal to Jacob's heretic notion that Tolkien is somehow anti-pastoral! Blasphemy! What Jacob is searching for, I believe, is that Tolkien is not a Romantic. Indeed, this chapter highlights just how cruel nature can be, from the birds (likely spies of Saruman) to the ceaseless cold you can almost feel creeping into your bones as the Fellowship trudges south to the snow and potentially other things on Caradhras. And this is not the first time that Tolkien has underscored the idea that nature is not something that brings joy in every circumstance: to this point we've been confronted with the ancient anger of the Old Forest, the frustration of the Midgewater Marshes, and the bleak hostility of the Ettenmoors. No -- a Romantic Tolkien is not. Finding oneself in or being rejuvenated by Nature is not one of his major themes in LOTR, not by a long shot.
But Tolkien is quite consistent in his philosophy, I feel. He advocates a simpler lifestyle -- one that is removed from the machinelike order of Mordor or Isengard; one that is most obviously exemplified by the Hobbits in the Shire, but is brought to the fulness of essence in the character of Tom Bombadil.
Yes, I know -- you thought we had left old Tom behind (he won't be referenced again until the very end of "Return of the King"), but I must drag him back into the spotlight to make this point. Tom is "Master." He is in complete control of the Nature that surrounds him -- Nature that is itself harsh, cruel, and predatory. And yet he chooses to surround himself in that Nature, not ruling over it by forcing it into constricted forms as Sauron would do, but instead coexisting and yet not submitting to it. In the same way, the Shire, with its cultivated fields and simplified lifestyle, is idealized (although Tolkien is not shy about pointing out the faults in this society as well; nowhere is perfect, he seems to be saying) and set forth as what should be protected and saved from the terror in the East. The Elves, especially those in Lothlórien (which we will meet in a few chapters) live in this same way -- in the trees themselves, in fact. They do not eschew the protection of technology and warfare and magical protection, but instead coexist with it, lord over it, but do not subdue it in the process.
This chapter shows a different philosophy in the form of the departed Noldor who settled Hollin under the leadership of Celebrimbor (the original forger of the Rings of Power). The stones themselves seem to lament their short-sighted outlook: "they are gone". Their forgings and delvings availed them nothing, and in the end they had to flee Middle-earth. Tolkien depicts the Noldor in this way throughout his works: concerned with craft and smithying, they subdue the materials of Arda (Tolkien's name for the world) but are never satisfied with what they have created (a less destructive mirror of Sauron's philosophy of order and control). Compare that with Tom's existence -- one of constant cheer and delight in what is encountered in the natural world around him and those who enter his sphere of influence, but from a position of powerful deity who could control, if he so wished, but chooses instead not to.
I don't want to get ahead of myself, but of course Tolkien undermines these ideals throughout the text as well. Tom is presented as someone who cannot bring about a greater good because of how he has chosen to exercise power. Likewise at the end ofLOTR, Frodo cannot find satisfaction in the pastoral simplicity of the Shire, and must seek transcendence elsewhere (of course, this is just as likely a metaphor for death).
Thus, all in all, Tolkien is not advocating Romanticism, but a brand of pastoralism, where man should be in contact with Nature but also exercise benevolent control over it. This is the lifestyle that Our Heroes are sacrificing for (well, some of them, at any rate). His love for Nature and the dominion of Man, ideally in perfect balance, shines through in the text's quiet moments, as when Frodo recites one of Bilbo's poems in "Three is Company":
On the new characters: Gimli's stalwart personality and love of all things Dwarvish is front and center, what with his comments to Elrond and his waxing poetic over the nearness of his deep roots in Khazad-dûm. Likewise, Boromir emerges as a resourceful and invaluable contributor to the party as he essentially takes charge after the snowfall on Caradhras. He remains ridiculously arrogant, however, what with his comments about "doughty Men" and "lesser Men". You can practically see him flexing his muscles for the benefit of the Hobbits as he talks about how the "strongest of us" must force a path through the snow. Legolas, sadly, is defined only by his race: his comments all revolve around being an Elf and the history of the Elves.
I have to end on Sam, however. He has some beautiful moments: regretting the lack of rope, for one, which genre-savvy Sam realizes will be needed a chapter down the road and beyond; and his thoughtful comment about how fairy tales never address what comes after: "Ah! And where will they live? That's what I often wonder." LOTR is a tale that fully addresses the consequences of the choices made by the characters throughout the book with its bittersweet denouement. No doubt we'll address this more in "Return of the King," but I always appreciated those final chapters. Frodo and Bilbo are irreparably changed by their experiences bearing the Ring; Frodo especially is unable to return to the simple life because of his trauma. Sam, too, will undergo a similar journey; while he will be showered with blessings of property, prestige, and posterity, after the death of his wife he will follow Frodo across the sea. Although the journey to Valinor is likely a metaphor for death, as I mentioned above, it is at once a cop-out and an acknowledgement that at some point, we can never truly learn about what comes after.
Leave it to Sam to say something profound in such simple terms.
Eric's Thoughts (8/7/14)
Hmm, after analyzing this out loud, I'm not sure if the oath bit makes any sense. It sure does sound poetic though, and it appeals to us freedom lovers, so maybe that's the point.
I would like to respectfully dispute Ben on a comment he made during "The Council of Elrond," wherein he mentions "the benevolent pastoralism that Tolkien seems to cherish most about the Hobbits and the Elves." For on the contrary, a theme that I've been tracing in this series--one I first noted clear from the first chapter but that has slowly become more apparent as we've continued--is specifically the anti-pastoral elements implicit within Lord of the Rings.
We had noted right off the bat how the Shire, though Tolkien clearly harbors affection for its residents, is certainly not presented as some sort of Edenesque sanctuary as one would expect from such a pastoral realm, but rather is filled with the petty, small-minded, and even the cruel. The Old Forest too, for all of that chapter's manifold faults, also features a darker Natural world, even one not under the explicit influence of Sauron. While Nature is certainly celebrated in this series (from Tom Bombadil's and the Elves' harmonious relationship with it to Frodo's longing for mountains), nevertheless nature is never actuallyromanticized as intrinsically virtuous, good, or rejuvenating--a clever inversion of the traditional English Romantic model of Wordsworth and Coleridge with which Tolkien would have been familiar.
This chapter especially foregrounds this anti-pastoral, un-romantic conception of nature as morally neutral at best. For we see spying birds flying against the wind, every woodland critter a potential ally of the Dark Lord. The vindictiveness of Caradhras, too, presents a nature that, even as it has no active affiliation with Sauron (or with anyone really), can nevertheless be a hindrance and an enemy.
Of course, none of this is to say that Nature is inherently an enemy in this series, either; for example, Strider is the one who identifies the eery stillness of the silent forest as a sign of something ominous and wicked. That is, when Nature herself is silenced, then something has gone horribly wrong (such was Rachel Carson's intention with the title of her famed anti-DDT screed Silent Spring). Nature has as much a right to exist as anyone living creature in Middle-Earth--but also like every creature in Middle-Earth, there is never any guarantee that Nature will be an ally or an enemy. Nature is neither intrinsically benevolent nor inherently evil in the world of Lord of the Rings, no--Nature is morally neutral. Respect her, yes, but don't count on her for help or goodness. (Always good advice when one goes out hiking).
Now, that all said, I will agree with Ben on another intriguing element of these chapters, that "Sauron is all about gaining knowledge, rule, and above all, order." The panoptic, NSA-esque, surveillance state nature of the aforementioned birds flying against the wind is another great example of how Sauron seeks to exercise total control over the realms under his influence, enlisting all living things as spies one against another in a sort of Orwellian nightmare (one wonders if Tolkien had read then-recent 1984), refusing to allow any potential enemies of Sauron's state to escape the watchful eye of Big Brother.
Contrast these totalitarian tendencies of Sauron against Elrond, who delivers the following parting words to the Fellowship:
"'The ring bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid...The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way. You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows. The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.'
'Faithless is he that says farewell when the road is darkness,' said Gimli.
'Maybe,' said Elrond, 'but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.'
'Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart,' said Gimli,
'Or break it,' said Elrond."For Elrond, the Fellowship must never be compelled to continue their Quest--they must all proceed of their own free will and choice, fully cognizant of their freedom to quit at any time. Otherwise, if they act only under compulsion, how are they any better or different than Sauron? One recalls that scarcely a decade before LotR was published, Stalin was able to stave off Hitler's invasion through a policy of shooting all deserters--which has a sort of brutal logic, for if you have a 90% chance of dying against the Nazis but a 100% against your own government, then you'll take your chances against the Blitzkrieg. This compulsion is part of what helped the Allies wear down the Third Reich; but it is also what allowed Stalin to remain in power post-war and starve to death twice as many Ukrainians as Hitler murdered Jews. In the battle between Hitler and Stalin, there was no functional difference between the two.
Tolkien recognizes this, and communicates that wisdom in the mouth of Elrond by refusing to supplant one form of tyranny with another, but rather ensures that Sauron's defeat is accomplished by free men only.
We've barely touched on Tolkien's religiosity, but I feel his Christian faith may actually be relevant here, for, believe it or not, this same principle of voluntary military service is present within the Old Testament of the Bible:
"And the officers shall speak further unto the people, and they shall say, What man is there that is fearful and fainthearted? let him go and return unto his house, lest his brethren’s heart faint as well as his heart." (Deuteronomy 20:8)In the supposedly-barbaric Law of Moses, if anyone is "faint of heart," they are excused from the battle, no questions asked, no bridges burned, for everyone else is barely a notch away from fainting in fear as well. Or, as Elrond would say, "no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts." I can't help but hear this same Jewish voice in Elrond's mouth.
But these topics of warfare, tyrants, and misery are all so dark and dreary; how about I finish with one of the more hopeful moments of the chapter? As usual, it is by the Hobbits:
"What about helping me with my book, and making a start on the next? Have you thought of an ending?"
"Yes, several, and all are dark and unpleasant," said Frodo.
"Oh, that won't do!" said Bilbo, "Books ought to have good endings. How would this do: and they all settled down and lived happily ever after?"
"It will do well, if it ever comes to that," said Frodo.
"Ah!" said Sam, "And where will they live? That's what I often wonder."As someone who has spent the better part of the past decade myself not knowing exactly where I live either--not merely where I pay rent or work or go to school, but where I'mfrom--I can say alongside Sam that "that's what I often wonder" too.
Ben's Thoughts (6/25/14)
I'm not entirely sure what to write about in this chapter. It serves mainly as a transition between the comfortable planning of "Council" and the horrors of "A Journey in the Dark" and what comes after. The Fellowship is created and pitted against the elements, which it is hinted are empowered by Sauron or perhaps by some cruel anima of their own, and comes off the worse. The chapter is a showcase of personalities, as each member of the Fellowship (except for Merry, who is completely and predictably shafted) gets their moment(s) in the sun to add input, ideas, and otherwise emerge as singular personalities. The banter between members is quite lovely, actually, and is the highlight of the the chapter. I'll run through some of the members' moments later in the post.
But first, my promised rebuttal to Jacob's heretic notion that Tolkien is somehow anti-pastoral! Blasphemy! What Jacob is searching for, I believe, is that Tolkien is not a Romantic. Indeed, this chapter highlights just how cruel nature can be, from the birds (likely spies of Saruman) to the ceaseless cold you can almost feel creeping into your bones as the Fellowship trudges south to the snow and potentially other things on Caradhras. And this is not the first time that Tolkien has underscored the idea that nature is not something that brings joy in every circumstance: to this point we've been confronted with the ancient anger of the Old Forest, the frustration of the Midgewater Marshes, and the bleak hostility of the Ettenmoors. No -- a Romantic Tolkien is not. Finding oneself in or being rejuvenated by Nature is not one of his major themes in LOTR, not by a long shot.
But Tolkien is quite consistent in his philosophy, I feel. He advocates a simpler lifestyle -- one that is removed from the machinelike order of Mordor or Isengard; one that is most obviously exemplified by the Hobbits in the Shire, but is brought to the fulness of essence in the character of Tom Bombadil.
Yes, I know -- you thought we had left old Tom behind (he won't be referenced again until the very end of "Return of the King"), but I must drag him back into the spotlight to make this point. Tom is "Master." He is in complete control of the Nature that surrounds him -- Nature that is itself harsh, cruel, and predatory. And yet he chooses to surround himself in that Nature, not ruling over it by forcing it into constricted forms as Sauron would do, but instead coexisting and yet not submitting to it. In the same way, the Shire, with its cultivated fields and simplified lifestyle, is idealized (although Tolkien is not shy about pointing out the faults in this society as well; nowhere is perfect, he seems to be saying) and set forth as what should be protected and saved from the terror in the East. The Elves, especially those in Lothlórien (which we will meet in a few chapters) live in this same way -- in the trees themselves, in fact. They do not eschew the protection of technology and warfare and magical protection, but instead coexist with it, lord over it, but do not subdue it in the process.
This chapter shows a different philosophy in the form of the departed Noldor who settled Hollin under the leadership of Celebrimbor (the original forger of the Rings of Power). The stones themselves seem to lament their short-sighted outlook: "they are gone". Their forgings and delvings availed them nothing, and in the end they had to flee Middle-earth. Tolkien depicts the Noldor in this way throughout his works: concerned with craft and smithying, they subdue the materials of Arda (Tolkien's name for the world) but are never satisfied with what they have created (a less destructive mirror of Sauron's philosophy of order and control). Compare that with Tom's existence -- one of constant cheer and delight in what is encountered in the natural world around him and those who enter his sphere of influence, but from a position of powerful deity who could control, if he so wished, but chooses instead not to.
I don't want to get ahead of myself, but of course Tolkien undermines these ideals throughout the text as well. Tom is presented as someone who cannot bring about a greater good because of how he has chosen to exercise power. Likewise at the end ofLOTR, Frodo cannot find satisfaction in the pastoral simplicity of the Shire, and must seek transcendence elsewhere (of course, this is just as likely a metaphor for death).
Thus, all in all, Tolkien is not advocating Romanticism, but a brand of pastoralism, where man should be in contact with Nature but also exercise benevolent control over it. This is the lifestyle that Our Heroes are sacrificing for (well, some of them, at any rate). His love for Nature and the dominion of Man, ideally in perfect balance, shines through in the text's quiet moments, as when Frodo recites one of Bilbo's poems in "Three is Company":
Upon the hearth the fire is red, / Beneath the roof there is a bed; / But not yet weary are our feet, / Still round the corner we may meet / A sudden tree or standing stone / That none have seen but we alone. . . .
We'll wander back to home and bed. / Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, / Away shall fade! Away shall fade! / Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, / And then to bed! And then to bed!As mentioned above, the chapter is something of a showcase for the personalities of the members of the Fellowship and the other main characters, particularly the new characters. Pippin manages to make more comments of astounding stupidity, not least of which is his comment that it was not fair that Frodo and Sam got to go on this awesome quest and they were stuck in Rivendell. Elrond gets to be wise and somewhat mysterious; his comments suggesting magical foresight were very interesting to me. In this day and age of fantasy books with increasingly complex and well-defined magic systems, Tolkien's rule-less system of suggestion and innate knowledge employed by the Elves in particular is both intriguing and frustrating. I'll be sure to keep a close eye on how Tolkien treats Galadriel's magic when we are introduced to her later in the text. Elrond's comment about how the Shire is not free from peril demonstrates that he knows something of what is happening there already with the influx of Saruman's agents. Bilbo manages to get in a few licks, as well, and Tolkien perfectly conveys both his age and his love for Frodo. It's heartwarming and tear-jerking to see him try to pass off his most prized possessions as relics for which he has no further use, all for Frodo's benefit and protection.
On the new characters: Gimli's stalwart personality and love of all things Dwarvish is front and center, what with his comments to Elrond and his waxing poetic over the nearness of his deep roots in Khazad-dûm. Likewise, Boromir emerges as a resourceful and invaluable contributor to the party as he essentially takes charge after the snowfall on Caradhras. He remains ridiculously arrogant, however, what with his comments about "doughty Men" and "lesser Men". You can practically see him flexing his muscles for the benefit of the Hobbits as he talks about how the "strongest of us" must force a path through the snow. Legolas, sadly, is defined only by his race: his comments all revolve around being an Elf and the history of the Elves.
I have to end on Sam, however. He has some beautiful moments: regretting the lack of rope, for one, which genre-savvy Sam realizes will be needed a chapter down the road and beyond; and his thoughtful comment about how fairy tales never address what comes after: "Ah! And where will they live? That's what I often wonder." LOTR is a tale that fully addresses the consequences of the choices made by the characters throughout the book with its bittersweet denouement. No doubt we'll address this more in "Return of the King," but I always appreciated those final chapters. Frodo and Bilbo are irreparably changed by their experiences bearing the Ring; Frodo especially is unable to return to the simple life because of his trauma. Sam, too, will undergo a similar journey; while he will be showered with blessings of property, prestige, and posterity, after the death of his wife he will follow Frodo across the sea. Although the journey to Valinor is likely a metaphor for death, as I mentioned above, it is at once a cop-out and an acknowledgement that at some point, we can never truly learn about what comes after.
Leave it to Sam to say something profound in such simple terms.
Eric's Thoughts (8/7/14)
“For many sunless days an icy blast came from the Mountains of the east, and no garment seemed able to keep out its searching fingers.”
Jacob and Ben both touched upon the prevalent themes of this chapter, choice and nature.
Choice. The first thing that struck me as noticeable was the scene where Elrond bestows a sacred "charge" upon the Company to stay with Frodo -- but only if they feel like it. “On the [Ringbearer] alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need. "The others go with him as free companions. You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows. .[. . .] No oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will.”
Gimli notes that “Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart.” Elrond counters, “Or break it. Look not too far ahead.” (Quick side step: In stating "Look not too far ahead," Elrond points out that focusing on the task at hand is crucial to finishing a long project. I wonder if Tolkien, who hated writing Lord of the Rings, also shared this sentiment about the text that he was writing, and that we are now reading.)
So, in that quick interaction, Elrond was stating that the Company has no obligation except for Frodo. Yet, as Frodo expresses in the previous chapter, “I do not know the way.” I suspect that wise old Elrond knew that the power of the Ring was such that only those who went willingly would be of any assistance to Frodo. For such is the Ring’s power – one by one the Company begins to be corrupt, which is why Frodo leaves. Jacob uses a great metaphor of the Stalinist method of compulsion to win a war. However, I think that there is a difference between Stalin and a hypothetical Elrond that made the Company take an oath: the oath would be taken willingly, upon which a bond would be placed. So, oath or no, the choice to take the oath exists, and that is the difference between taking and oath and Stalin’s troops, who assuredly were drafted without any choice, and then shot for desertion. Here, the Company is willingly entering into a Quest to save the world. Personally, at this stage of the book, I think an Oath would have made a lot of sense. But again, Elrond might have known about the corruption of the Ring, and how Frodo might have to leave anyway. Even Frodo in the end was corrupted, and the story is won by the good guys because of mere chance. What seems strange though, if avoiding corruption is the goal of not having the Company taken an oath, is that only Frodo is given an oath. If oaths "break" quaking hearts, Frodo especially should not have been given an oath.
Nature. Ben and Jacob are using fancy words like pastoralism and naturalism and romanticism. I vaguely remember those terms when studying literature as an undergrad. I don't really remember what they mean, or how you want to label what occurred in this chapter, or what Tolkien is espousing, except to point out a few observations. As Jacob notes, nature is an obstacle in this text. This occurs in this chapter (the freezing mountain) as well as later chapters. For example, in later chapters, from the marshy bogs where Frodo passes through the dead , to the mountains into Mordor, to the giant spider that Frodo encounters in Return of the King, nature is simply nature. Cold (see the opening quote above), unforgiving, and deadly. In the end, that’s exactly what nature is. Only through mathematics, fire, and engineering have we learned to act some level of predictability to it, and comfort.
As for our roles in nature, pastoralism and naturalism and these other movements make arguments that relate to our role in nature, but I forget specifically what they argue. Also let’s not forget about the transcendentalists. (Interesting fact: when Thoreau was writing Walden and “living in the woods,” he actually would go home every weekend and get a home cooked meal from his mom. Most people don’t know that, and it undercuts his arguments in the text, but I digress.)
As for my own two cents, I enjoy hiking but I also enjoy modern medicine. I would not want to raise my own cattle and hoe in my garden (except for maybe a small garden later on in life). But some psychology studies suggest that our primitive brains have not evolved out of caveman years, and that our mental evolution has not caught up with our industrialized, urban world. So whatever the transcendentalists argued for, I would not give up running water to go live in a hut -- or freeze on Cadharas. Sorry, Thoreau, but you were wrong. Tolkien's descriptions of Cadharas I think has the right of it.
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