So, What Was Aragorn's Tax Policy? Economic Philosophy in History and Fiction

 That question "What was Aragorn's tax policy" has been attributed to George R. R. Martin, and cited as an inspiration for his books. This, despite the fact that his books don't really answer questions of that nature. Though it does support my previous assertion that Martin is less trying to tear down fantasy and more trying to steer the genre in a better direction. While Martin writes a great deal about the political machinations of the courts: he mostly ignores questions of actual policy. The Westerosi economy is as much a mystery as the Gondorian one. But that mystery is lesser than it first appears. Because in fact, many clues about the economics of various societies within Middle-Earth CAN be deduced from the text.  I will be confining my analysis to the societies presented in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit.

Now the first clue to Gondor's economy is in Tolkien's text itself: Gondor uses money. The exact denominations are given, but they aren't particularly important. Gondor has a currency, made of metal. That is important. It is also significant that Gondor's currency is the only one known to be used in Middle Earth. Perhaps the Easterlings have their own currency, we cannot know for sure. It is also significant that Smaug lies on a bed made of coins: but the dwarves don't seem to care at all about these coins. They care only about the items with a use-value. The coins, clearly, have limited use for the dwarves: which makes sense if they can only be redeemed for value in the markets of Gondor. Of course, just because Gondor has a currency doesn't mean that all or even most transactions involve currency: most likely, the vast majority of trades are by barter. This was true for most of human history. The original function of currency was as a substitution for trade items that were immovable: such as land. However, there is no mention made of credit. The Hobbits pay for their rooms in the Prancing Pony, but the meal and beer seem to be included. This suggests that the value of resources is extremely low. This makes sense if most societies in this world do not even have a market economy. As indeed, neither the elves nor the dwarves seem to. 

An incident in The Hobbit illustrates how the non-human residents of Middle Earth view material possessions. Thranduil takes the Arkenstone, a large and valuable gem. Thorin becomes offended. However, neither party even bothers to tally up how much the Arkenstone is worth compared to any other item. Tolkien doesn't even bother to tell us what type of gem the Arkenstone actually is. One would think that would be important to the characters who are arguing over it. From the description it could be several different things: a star sapphire, jadeite, agate, jasper, quartz, or a pale turquoise. Obviously, those gems would have vastly different values given their wildly varying hardness and qualities. It seems to be an uncut gem as well, which would further decrease it's intrinsic value. Despite it's size, in other words, the Arkenstone isn't likely all that valuable: not valuable enough for two Kings to fight over. But, it's intrinsic value is not of concern to Thranduil.  He doesn't care what the stone is: only what it looks like. He wants the Arkenstone, because it reminds him of another gem: the Silmaril once worn by King Thingol of the Sindar. 

The Arkenstone's value for Thranduil then, is in it's use as a memento. But what about for Thorin? Well, he's a dwarf. Dwarves, above all else, like to craft stuff. Furthermore, the Arkenstone is a symbol of his clan. So again, the Arkenstone's value for Thorin has nothing to do with it's intrinsic value. It's value for him, is as a symbol of power and as a potential crafting material.  A market economy then, simply wouldn't make sense to either Thranduil or Thorin: demonstrating their inhuman psyches. So what does this mean for Gondor then? well, full-blown capitalism simply wouldn't function in this world. You can't make people pay for milk with gold if elves will accept feathers as payment or dwarves will accept seaglass. Gondor's market economy then, such as it is, must be confined to those things that humans consider luxurious or special. Even here, prices can't be firmly fixed. An elven merchant might want silver coins over gold, and a dwarf might be more concerned with the gold's purity than with the coin's established value. Haggling would be the norm, and non-standard forms of payment would probably be acceptable.

So what is Aragorn's tax policy? well first of all...does he even have one? Does the King of Gondor levy taxes? One might think "well duh, he's a king, of course he does". Actually however, the evidence points to the answer being "no".  But wait...the Kings of Gondor are wealthy. Look at the grand palace, look at the clothes they wear and the priceless jewels they are crowned with. They have staff, who have to be clothed and fed. Well yes, but the mere fact that they have wealth does not imply they are taxing their subjects. Elendil brought staggering wealth with him, when he fled Númenor: wealth which has been invested over time. Aside from this: Aragorn inherits all the wealth of Elrond and Galadriel as well. In other words, Aragorn doesn't need a tax policy. He has more money than he knows what to do with dumped on his lap. The Ring of Barahir alone, a ring forged in Valinor, is worth more money than exists in the world today. The Elessar from which he derives his throne-name, is not only an intrinsically valuable gemstone but also magical. If Aragorn is levying anything, it is soldiers: not taxes. This then is the answer. Aragorn's "tax policy" is military service. 

See, the thing about Aragorn is that his position is technically not what was called a "king", historically. In Latin, the term "rex" denoted a tribal chieftain: although it is usually translated in texts as "king".  While I've been calling him the King of Gondor here, he's technically not that at all. He is the King of the Reunited Kingdom: not truly a successor to Eärnur, but to Elendil. This means he is not a "king", but a High King. Indeed, his full title is spelled out in the King's Letter quoted in the Appendices to LotR: "Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor and Arnor and Lord of the Westlands." What this actually means is that his Kingdom was even larger than that of Elendil: for it included what had been the realm of Lindon in the Second Age, and had become Rivendell and Lothlórien. Of course, the elves who had inhabited those realms in the Third Age were now gone: and Rivendell itself was now uninhabitable without the power of Vilya to hold back the furious Bruinen. However, the point remains: Only Rohan and Mirkwood were not under his rule in any shape or form. 

Unlike the Kings of Gondor, Aragorn has sovereign leaders as vassals: Thain Peregrin Took, Mayor Samwise Gamgee of the Shire, Master Meriadoc Brandybuck of Buckland, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Prince Faramir of Ithilien, King Bard II of Dale, and King Dain Ironfoot of Erebor. He was in this sense a High King as that term was used historically in the real world. This is a position very different from that of the medieval monarch we associate with the word "king".  His realm is far more akin to the Commonwealth of Great Britain, and his authority is similarly limited. Aragorn is not so much a direct ruler, at least outside the city of Gondor or the rebuilt Annuminas, as he is a military and cultural leader. His role is primarily to defeat Sauron's forces, and to be a model of righteous behavior. In other words, everything the rulers in A Song of Ice and Fire are decidedly not. But this does make him akin to the Biblical kings of Israel: who again, were technically High Kings. They ruled over the twelve tribes of Israel, each of which had it's own sovereign ruler. 

So Aragorn is not levying taxes. If he is levying anything, it is soldiers. His underlings might or might not tax their people: the hobbits don't seem to pay taxes, and it would be surprising if the Princes of Dol Amroth levied anything since again their wealth derives from Númenor. No dwarf would willingly hand over gold, no matter how much he loved his King. The Kings of Dale don't seem to have any wealth to speak of, nor do they seem to much care about acquiring it.  Only Faramir might be levying taxes, since he needs to rebuild Minas Ithil, and that's a big IF. Faramir's family also has Númenorean wealth after all, presumably invested in Emyn Arnen. Indeed, given their suspicious habit of naming themselves after people specifically tied to the hero of the first age Húrin Thalion, it could be that Faramir's family is illustrious indeed: and in possession of artifacts that could rival the Ring of Barahir for value. They may not be hurting for money in the slightest, so he might very well be only levying labor.

It is not the King's job to see that the city streets are clean, or the sewer is working: presumably Minas Tirith has a mayor.  This is the person levying taxes in order to ensure public services then. In ancient and medieval times, this tended to be how things worked. Only in modern times do states concern themselves with infrastructure, with a few noteworthy exceptions like the ancient Persian highway system. This is of course because ancient states rarely had any infrastructure large enough that it was necessary to pay for it by levying taxes. Even Rome paid for it's roads with the loot from foreign conquests, not through taxation. 

Without full-blown capitalism, Gondor doesn't need to provide welfare services the way that Rome did. Bread and circuses are not required. Additionally, it should be noted, wealth cannot buy you power in any way shape or form.  There are no elections, and offices cannot be bought. Neither can marriages: the concept of a bride-price or dowry does not seem to exist. There are poorer and richer citizens of Gondor, but no one is so poor that they must depend on the state for assistance. It's not even clear that land is bought and sold. Even if it is, during the reign of King Elessar the price of land would plummet. The freeing of Ithilien from the orcs would open up lands that have been off-limits for centuries. Éomer and Faramir would be giving away land left right and center as they pushed the orcs back farther into Mordor. Anyone willing to work hard, would be able to get themselves a plot. At the same time, Aragorn is also opening up lands in the Northern Kingdom. For those who don't want to farm, a townhouse in Annúminas and plenty of work would be easily attainable. 

For the past few centuries, Gondor has been desperately clinging to the Anduin river valley. Other settlements existed on tributaries. The Shire is cut off, an island of peace in a sea of turmoil. The lands of the North are inhabited only by wights and regrets, with the Kingdom of Dale as the sole remnant of the splendor that was Arnor. It is a world grown cold with paranoia, which even the events of The Hobbit did little to thaw. This is the world created by the Witch King, at the bidding of Sauron. But in this cold world some lights still burn. Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, and the Dúnedain. A web of light is woven centered on Rivendell, and the undying love of Elrond for all his kin. It is not hope that keeps the men of Gondor fighting, but pride. It is not hope that makes Aragorn and the Rangers get up each day and watch the borders, but love. It is not hope that keeps Galadriel fighting Sauron, but sheer bravado. Hope has to be brought in from outside of the world, by Gandalf. 

The situation at the end of Return of the King could not be more different. Hope reigns in this world, and spreads out over all the world. King Elessar is not merely a beacon of hope for the men of Gondor, but for all the Free Peoples. And indeed, for those who were once Sauron's subjects too. He makes peace with the Haradrim, and retakes Umbar for Gondor. The downfall of Sauron is the end of the cold and dark, the end of night and the beginning of day. It is not the end of evil for all time, of course. It is however a golden age, a time of hope for the future. In short, King Elessar creates the social conditions necessary for people to be good. They have a leader they can trust, full bellies, and the promise of a better future. Anyone can be generous, forgiving and kind in those circumstances. Even the most uncaring people have no reason to be cruel if there is neither scarcity nor animosity. Only the most twisted would have any reason to cheat, kill, or steal: and they would be rightly afraid of Aragorn's wrath. This is why they call him "Envinyatar", which means "redeemer".

An economy based on wages presupposes that if wages aren't paid then no one will work. It supposes that people are intrinsically lazy. Biology contravenes this idea. Animals, and we are animals, are hard-wired to work for their livelihood. The idea of taxes presupposes that people need money as a motivator: either it's a bribe to the state, or it's a means for the state to bribe private actors. But Aragorn needs no such extrinsic motivation. He has been protecting and nurturing his vast kingdom for his entire life, without pay or thanks. Love and hope, and a thousand years of simmering righteous anger, are all he needs to get up and push the frontier forwards every day. Nor does it seem likely the men who follow him have a need for such crude motivators as money. "what was Aragorn's tax policy?" is thus entirely the wrong question. The real question is why do we think he needs one. 

Tolkien was making a point about human nature. It's not hard to be good when you live in a good society. When all the incentives are for being kind, very few people will refuse to show kindness. If you have it good, it's easy to feel generous. The harder things are for you, the harder it is to feel that you should help even those less fortunate than yourself. And if you cannot trust your country's leaders, it's hard to trust your fellow citizens as well. Paranoia is the cause of most atrocities in the world. Anyone can become a concentration camp guard with the right mix of paranoia and ego-mania: unless they actively resist such thinking. Science bears out Tolkien's conclusion. Perfectly normal college students were willing to give their fellow students, who had done nothing wrong, electric shocks that would result in severe burns. But while all of this sounds bleak, it's really not. What if I told you that we have been able to feed the world since the Bronze Age? 

Greedy kings and then corporations have taken what the people produced, and wasted it. There, that is the history of the Iron Age and the Industrial Revolution, the modern age and the postmodern age in a single sentence. The people of Gondor might call Aragorn a "king", but he is not a king as we tend to think of them. Nor is he the product of Tolkien's vision. He is Isaiah's Messiah. Funny what you realize when you try to translate Christmas Carols. Not the Christ of the Gospels, but the Emmanuel spoken of in the final book of the Old Testament: a warlord with divine powers of healing and inspiration. If such a man were to exist in the real modern world, he would not be called a "king". But perhaps he might be called "commandante". 

Genji: What Measure is a (Hu)man?

The Singularity.

The name given by science-fiction writers and futurists to the time when an AI becomes indistinguishable from a human. Overwatch is a game that imagines what might happen when this point is passed. At least by all standard metrics, the Singularity has been reached. But, has it? Mondatta and Zenyatta, the omnic monks, certainly show human-level intelligence.  But are they indistinguishable from a human? Can a human having a conversation with one of these characters without seeing their physical forms tell that they are robots? Just what does it mean to say someone is human?

Enter Genji.

Genji was almost murdered by his brother Hanzo after a dispute over leadership of their family's criminal empire. His body was almost completely destroyed in the fight. Hanzo believed him dead. But actually, he was placed within a custom cybernetic suit by the omnic monk Mondatta. At Mondatta's monastery, Genji slowly recovered. As he recovered, he learned to not simply use his machine body but to merge with it. Through ancient spiritual practices, Genji learned to wield modern technology in ways that no one ever had before. Through embodying and living out an ancient story of two brothers, he restores his lost family. Is he human? Yes, and no.

To kill your brother or sister is perhaps the most monstrous crime there is, second only perhaps to killing one of your parents. Yet, Genji forgives his brother. But why? is he being nice? No, not really.  Genji lost his body, and with it the ability to produce a child. All he can do now, is support Hanzo so that their family line doesn't fail. But that is more logical than a normal human would think. That is what you get when you merge man and machine: something too logical for one, too emotional for the other. Genji does genuinely care for his brother. At the same time, his graciousness is calculated.

Genji carries a high-tech katana. The game calls him a ninja, but this is not strictly speaking accurate. While it's clear that the Shimada clan are intended to be ninjas turned mafiosi, Genji does not really fight like an ancient ninja in any way. Nor is the katana a ninja weapon. It is however a samurai weapon, and Genji is much more of a samurai warrior than a ninja. This is kind of significant. Genji has left behind his flesh-and-blood family, and devoted himself to another cause: Mondatta's cause. He fights in the name of reconciliation between human and omnic. He is a modern version of a samurai: a warrior whose life is devoted to something beyond himself. For all Genji's machinery, his true power lies within himself. It is spiritual, not physical. In this fantasy world, and make no mistake for this is in fact fantasy rather than sci-fi, chi is a real thing. Genji and his brother both have the ability to channel their chi through weapons, creating spectral dragons that devour the life energy of their opponents.

To the fanatical purists on both sides, Genji is an abomination. To those who seek reconciliation he is a miracle and a beacon of hope. But to the audience, he represents something else. His character design is...odd, to say the least. He does not look like the other omnics: who look vaguely humanoid but made up of pipes and plates and such. Genji looks like a perfectly ordinary person wearing a suit of high-tech armor. Only his voice gives him away as a true cyborg: it has the metallic sound of a robot, but the personalized cadence of a human. Unlike the omnics, Genji has put effort into making himself look good: a very human thing to do.

In other words, there is no Singularity. There will never be such a thing as an AI indistinguishable from a human. Why would an AI be vain? Why would an AI have a desire to reproduce? they wouldn't. These basic desires drive much of human behavior: the desire to reproduce, the desire to be wanted. An AI simply wouldn't have them. A human having a conversation with an AI would pretty quickly be able to pick up on the fact that the AI lacks these desires. These desires do not arise out of simply being intelligent. They come from our biological needs: which a robot would not share. There is no reason to fear losing our humanity if we replace our body parts with robotic ones.

That is not to say that we should do this. We should definitely not get too cavalier about replacing our bodies. Why? because we should remember that as a species we tend to undervalue ordinary things. It is one thing to give a person who has lost an arm a robotic replacement, another thing to chop off your arm so that you can have a robotic one. Arms, after all, are quite capable things: and they come for free. We should take care of our bodies, and appreciate them. But, our bodies do not define us either: it is our emotions which make us human. Some day soon we will likely see the first true cyborg. Whipping up hysteria based on myths and superstitions over that possibility won't help prepare anyone for it. Let us instead have a real conversation using what we know about ourselves. 

The Dragon Prince Season 3: Taking Old Tropes in New Directions

So, I'm way too old to say I told you so. But I told you so.

Sort of.  He is, after all, the great hero who has united the peoples. 

But, he's not a King. Well...he is, but he isn't.

Ok, backing up. In the first post on this show, I compared Prince Callum to King Arthur. I said that the title of the show referred to him, as well as to the (now hatched) Dragon Prince. I made my argument for that idea, by using the etymology of the name "Pendragon": which roughly does translate as "Dragon Prince".  And, the show has confirmed it. But they've taken the idea of King Arthur in a new direction. Callum is indeed a King, in everything but the name. And that is entirely consistent with the archetype that King Arthur represents: the True King. Or as I previously called it, the Leader of Leaders. A person who leads not by intimidating or manipulating other people, but purely because people want to follow this person. People might even actually ask to follow this person, as Soren does in his roundabout way with Callum. Callum is someone that people want to follow. Why?

Because he is stubbornly committed to goodness now, no matter how hard that path becomes. The creators of the show talked about how the romance between Callum and Rayla "sprang naturally" from the narrative. And, indeed, it does.  Specifically, it is the inevitable result of the episode that finishes the second season: when Callum chooses to reject Dark Magic completely after his first time using it. This rejection enabled him to understand the Sky Arcanum, becoming the first known human primal mage. There is no way that Callum, as he is now, could love anyone else. Callum at the beginning of the show could have fallen in love with Claudia. He did, after all, want power. That is why he picked up the primal storm in the first place: which is what allowed him to cast sky magic before. But he [spoiler alert] sacrificed that power to save the Dragon Egg, by allowing the Dragon Prince to hatch. When he did, he changed his view of himself. Callum, see, is a Prince but not the Crown Prince. Callum is the Queen's son from her first marriage. Thus, Callum is not in line to be King but Ezran is.  Callum doesn't resent Ezran, but does feel lost.  Being smart and not physically large or strong, Callum is also bullied by Soren: and he knows that Soren is only saying what other people are thinking. Callum, doesn't respect himself: until the moment when he saves the Dragon Prince.

Now, Callum has done something he knows is good, which will effect the entire world. It cannot be undone. Whatever happens now, Callum will be the hero who sacrificed his power to save the Dragon Prince...and possibly the world. The war between the humans and Xadians cannot continue, the price has become too high. Callum's mother, Sarai, died on an expedition into Xadia. He has sought to change the circumstances which caused her death. Whether he succeeds or fails, he can die knowing that he did his best. That is enough for Callum to begin to respect himself. And indeed to know himself. He is not just King Harrow's adopted son, or Ezran's brother. He is not the "step-prince". He is a man who puts the greater good ahead of his own desires, a hero. And a perfect foil to Viren, who believes this is also what he is doing: but has really enslaved himself and the kingdom to the whims of the godlike Aaravos.

Callum's desire for Claudia was a desire for respect from Soren, whom Callum saw as representing the normal person. A good desire for a Prince to have. But in this case misguided. Soren's dislike of Callum came not from a sense of superiority, but rather from jealousy. Viren, Soren's father, mistreated him. Viren values his children only insofar as they can either feed his ambitions, or else carry on his legacy. Soren, can't do either. He has no interest in feeding Viren's royal ambitions: and he is not talented in magic so he can't carry on Viren's legacy as palace mage. Thus Viren openly favors Claudia, seeing as she can do both things. Viren appears to be a better man than he is because he doesn't want power solely for himself: he wants power he can pass on to his family. Soren craves his father's approval, but can't be someone his father approves of. However he sees that King Harrow loves Callum unconditionally, even though Callum is not his son. Soren can't stand that, understandably enough.  Being still immature however, Soren cannot see that his father is a despicable person. He sees his father's lack of care for him as the natural consequence of his own failures.

Now one version of the King Arthur myth has Arthur's identity be hidden and puts him in a similar situation to Callum in our story. Although in this version Arthur is really the son of Uther Pendragon, because his mother was not the Queen he is similarly not in line for the throne. Until, of course, he pulls the sword from the stone. This fit with the courtly love genre and the old as dirt trope of the prince being raised among the people. The True King was the product of the union between the King and his true love: and his infidelity could be justified by taking the common woman as a representation of the nation itself. Callum similarly was not born royal: his mother married into the royal family. A commoner elevated to royalty. Perhaps the oldest trope in fantasy, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why.

Thus it was not only Soren who was jealous of Callum. Viren was too: because Callum had acquired with no effort what Viren wanted. That Callum didn't seem to want to be royal only made things worse. Sarai, a woman with a son but no husband, fulfills the age-old narrative purpose of representing the nation.  The name "Sarai" is interesting as well. It is a biblical name, though few probably realize that as it is mentioned only once and some translations entirely gloss over it. It is mentioned as the original name of Sarah, Abraham's wife. But Sarai in this show seems to play the role of Abraham in the original story: the founder of a family line with a special destiny. For Callum was indeed destined to be a Primal mage and to love Rayla, in the sense that he always had the possibility inside him to make this choice. All he needed to do was learn that earning the approval of others was not the route to self-respect.

It is Rayla who teaches him that: for Rayla respects herself, even though others do not. Runaan, her adoptive father, does not respect her because she cannot take a life. She understands however that Runaan is wrong, that she knows the right path. While she wants the approval of her community, she knows better than to try to change herself to earn it. Instead, she is willing to act to persuade others that she is right. That is the harder way, but in the end more satisfying. She won't force anything on anyone, but she will persist in acting according to her principles. This is what makes her a hero and a worthy love-interest for Callum.

Meanwhile, Claudia has turned to the dark side. She eventually chooses her father over her brother, although she did make a decent effort at trying to solve the conflict between them. Why? She is a teenage girl: it is natural she would feel powerless, and that she would still think that power can only be found outside of oneself.  This seems indeed to be the difference between the types of magic: the Dark Mage hunts for power in the world, while the Primal Mage uses the power within himself. The spell that Callum uses in the final episode drives home this point, as his ability to cast the spell is expressly affected by two things: self-knowledge, and willpower.

Again, hardly anything new when it comes to magic. This is standard fantasy fare: Harry Potter's patronus charm also works off of confidence. Here though, this trope is used differently. A primal mage must know his or her emotions, not believe in his or her abilities. Callum does not know whether he can do the spell, he only knows that he must do it or lose the person he loves the most. He must admit to himself how he feels in order to work up the willpower. This is normally something difficult for Callum, as one would expect for a boy his age. But he can do it here because he is facing death. When you are facing death, you are also perforce facing who you truly are: your deepest truth. Callum's deepest truth then, is that he loves Rayla: and by extension, Xadia. He cannot go back down the path of Dark Magic now. 

Originality is overrated. Far too often, writers chase the goal of being original so single-mindedly that they forget to write well (see Suicide Squad).  There is no need to throw out old tropes, old plotlines. Those things were popular because they resonated with people. Assuming the trope or plotline isn't dated because of changing ideologies, there is no reason it won't resonate in the modern era. But old tropes and plotlines are so familiar they've ceased to be interesting: so change it up. Use an old trope, but take it in a new direction. Start someplace familiar, and take your audience somewhere new. Start with King Arthur, and end with an interracial romance. Have fun, and write a story you want to read.

The Shannara Chronicles: Twisting Stories

*This post is about twists, so unmarked spoilers all over the place.*

Remember all the furor over the end of Game of Thrones, over The Last Jedi, over a hundred hundred sequel flops? Why do these controversies happen? is it just because white men can't handle a story that breaks the mold? While that is a component of the rage, it isn't the trigger. The story of Rey's parentage was badly mishandled in the Star Wars franchise.  The movies set up one thing, and then delivered another. 

But wait, you say, is that bad? Lord of the Rings sets us up to believe Gandalf is dead, and then he suddenly reappears not only alive but more powerful than before! At the end of the Fellowship of the Ring, it seems like Sauron has already won: having killed both Gandalf and Boromir (in the original British version, which the movies follow as well). The reader is questioning whether they want to read the second book, but of course you have to know how it ends.  You have to keep reading to know whether, and how, the unlikely heroes will beat the horrific odds. I've seen several commentators make a list of the "rules for good twists".  Now, I'm not going to say that making these rules is a bad thing: but when it comes to writing, rules exist to be broken. A twist that breaks all or most of the rules is not necessarily bad. There is however one important rule for a twist: it has to be earned. 

The reason why the ending of Game of Thrones was so hated is simply that they ran out of time. They'd committed to eight seasons of a certain number of episodes: and then wrote a script that took longer than that. Here's the thing: it could have worked. See, it's not as if Danaerys' madness wasn't foreshadowed to some degree: it was. When she crucified the Masters in Meereen, she took her crusade for the liberation of slaves too far. It had seemingly not occurred to her that justice and revenge are not the same thing. As the old saying goes: an eye for an eye, makes the whole world blind. So, the "Dany goes mad and kills everyone" twist was earned. 

The part that wasn't earned, was the part before that. The part where Dany, for some inexplicable reason, can't wait for Jon to show up and ride Rhaegal. It's sloppy, it looks like they finished the Battle for Winterfell (episode title: The Long Night) and then realized "wait a minute, we didn't kill Rhaegal!" You know bro, he's CGI.  You could just change the episode so that he doesn't take off, without reshooting any footage (and then cut that nonsensical line about how Jon isn't going to ride him). You could have him and Jorah Mormont both expire at the same time, so that Dany can't run to save her precious child because she is in mortal danger.  You know if you really wanted to twist the knife, which you should since this is GoT and everything. The Battle would honestly have felt better if Rhaegal had died. It didn't quite feel devastating enough because virtually all of the major characters were alive at the end. Rhaegal's death wasn't earned, and so everything that proceeded from that event didn't feel earned either. 

So finally, that brings me to the quirky Kiwi-made Shannara Chronicles. Now, they're based off a book series which I haven't read: so keep in mind that I'm solely analyzing the tv show here. The show is mediocre, but not on account of it's writing. It has some questionable cinematography choices, and the acting is a bit inconsistent. The plot is essentially a series of twists, most of them devastating.  One of the best, is when Cephalo saves the group from cannibalistic trolls at the cost of his life. Cephalo, up until this point, has been a self-centered swaggering rogue. 

Or at least, that is what all the characters think. But, this isn't the whole truth. Cephalo isn't truly selfish in the conventional sense, he's concerned for the welfare of the group over that of any individual member. He's a leader in a cutthroat world of thieves and killers. Would he sell Eretria into slavery? absolutely. Not however, for his own benefit. He would do it only for the benefit of the group.  He hasn't yet, because he sees that having her in the group benefits them more than selling her would: she is, after all, an excellent thief. He doesn't care very much about abstracts like "all of humanity". But, if he's a member of a group then he will do whatever it takes to see them through. When the heroes start to treat him as a proper member of their group, despite all the times he has betrayed them, he responds by dying for them. The twist, serves his characterization.

A second rule for twists, is that they must support one of the story's themes.  Cephalo's sacrifice underlines the message of the show: which is that the way people act, is partially a mirror of how they've been treated. This is what the show's hero, Wil Ohmsford, knows that other characters do not. He realizes that the only way to expect others to be good, is to treat them as if they have the potential to be good. This is an extension of his deepest desire, although he doesn't realize it: to be a healer. It also makes him stand out from everyone else in the world. Other people treat each other with suspicion, with the expectation of being hurt. And so, all the races hate each other. And so, Rovers prey on the innocent travelers and nobody can stop them. And so, the vaunted cities of elves and humans crouch in fear behind their walls. What they all don't know, is that this fear and this attitude was the very thing that destroyed the great civilization of old. 

Now the idea of an ancient advanced and glorious Empire is a cornerstone of medieval fantasy: and medieval fantasy is very much what the Shannara Chronicles is. After all, in the real Middle Ages there was indeed an ancient advanced Empire: the Roman Empire. But in the Shannara Chronicles, that ancient advanced and glorious Empire is America. It's not completely clear how long ago the apocalypse happened, but it can't have been that long. Exposed metal hasn't yet rusted, so it was less than a thousand years. It was a man-made apocalypse too, that much is clear. The degrading remains of unused chemical weapons still litter some areas. Though the show was shot in New Zealand (same place where they made Lord of the Rings, you can even recognize a few locations), the landscape is clearly intended to be the Western United States. 

Thus, unavoidably, the theme of this show speaks directly to a modern audience. Cephalo sacrifices himself because he cares about the group, but also because he has been treated like he was capable of that by Wil. The second season (spoilers) reveals that Wil is not just any random kid. He is a member of the titular Shannara bloodline, which means that he has powerful magic within him. The most powerful magic in the world, in fact: the sole force capable of destroying demons (rather than just sending them to hell) or of resurrecting the dead. And indeed the force that protects and enables all life in this place. But this show avoids the usual problem with this sort of character construction: which is that the audience feels like "oh, so Wil was just that way because he was magic".  

Another character in the show, one who is not special at all, really takes Wil's philosophy to heart. A character Wil met only once: Ander Elessedil, King of the elves. Facing the existential threat of the demons Ander decides to reach out to the gnomes even though they are traditional enemies of the elves. Slanter, the gnomish leader, has been imprisoned in the castle since killing Ander's brother Aine a few years ago. Ander decides to use him as leverage to get the gnomes' help against the demons. As Ander takes Slanter back to the gnomish lands however, they run across some gnomes killed by demons. Slanter asks to be unchained so he can perform last rites. Ander decides to allow it. Slanter takes the chance to escape. But, a day later he shows up again with an army in tow. Having been treated with grace by a man he wronged, Slanter decided to help against the demons of his own volition: and indeed, becomes devoted to Ander. 

With this philosophy of treating others as though they have the ability to be good, along with a healthy dose of canny diplomacy, Ander successfully unites the gnomes, humans and elves. This despite the machinations of General Riga and the magic-hating Crimson cult, which ultimately cuts his reign tragically short. Yet even in such a short time, he truly undid the decades of emnity between the races and proved himself a greater King than his father. How? Ander convinced them all it was in their personal interest to work towards a safer and more tolerant future together. They do so, even in his absence. Indeed, Ander's death ensures that his dream will come true: because the elven throne passes to Mareth, who chooses Wil as her partner. 

Twists can be hard to do. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do them. It means you should edit after you write. You can easily fix a bad twist in the edit. You should also be more careful what you commit to when making television. Despite the fact that The Shannara Chronicles ends on a cliffhanger, it is a much better ending than Game of Thrones. The cliffhanger-twist ending feels earned: and so it is satisfying even though it creates curiosity. I actually want to read the books to find out what happens (and if the story is vastly different in the books, I might actually be disappointed).  That's a pretty good recommendation for what is obviously a low-budget show aimed at teenage girls.

The Negotiation: Moving Past Mass Atrocities.

 Anduin Wrynn is the new, young, High King of the Alliance. Anduin's unique life story is important here. At the age of only seven, he-just like his father Varian-was thrust into the position of King. While he had a regent, the knight of Lordaeron Bolvar Fordragon, Anduin was forced to learn how to lead at this young age thanks to the machinations of Lady Katrana Prestor. With the help of a hero of the Alliance (the player character of WoW), Anduin was able to uncover the mystery behind his father's disappearance and Lady Prestor's identity. It turned out, she was the black dragon Onyxia: and that she was the one who had kidnapped Varian. Who, it turned out, was alive although not quite well.  Able to step back a little, Anduin was nevertheless a political force to be reckoned with on the world stage: and not one who necessarily toed the Alliance line. More than once, he intervened with attempts to make peace between the Alliance and Horde. He also developed an affinity for wielding the cosmic powers of Light and Shadow. Most of his attempts at peace were short-lived: but, each was better than the last.

Anduin was even unafraid to oppose Varian: and not without merit on occasion. When the disappearance of King Magni Bronzebeard in Ironforge led to a dwarven civil war: Varian came with elite Alliance assassins to kill Moira Thaurissan, who had taken over Ironforge. The trouble was that Moira was King Magni's only child: and dwarven society misogynist enough that it was an open question whether she or her uncle Muradin had the better claim to the throne. Falstad Wildhammer meanwhile believed that neither was fit for the throne, and sought it for himself. Anduin saw a different solution: King Magni after all was not technically dead, just unable to rule.  And so, he stopped his father from killing Moira Thaurissan. He then proposed that the dwarves install a council in which all three tribes had a voice: which would govern the day to day affairs of the dwarves. Ironforge would be open to all dwarves, and the seat of dwarven power. All the dwarven leaders, and Varian, saw the wisdom in this proposal. Emboldened by his success with the dwarves, Anduin attempted to end another war without bloodshed: but this didn't go so well. In fact it went massively not well and [spoiler alert!] got Varian killed. But, Anduin learned from his mistakes: guided by the draenei prophet and leader, Velen. At the same time, Velen also took his magical training to the next level: well, next several levels actually. Anduin at age 20 talking to Saurfang is not only a gifted priest, but a canny leader and seasoned diplomat. Still, he has the idealism of the young. Saurfang could not be more different.

Varok Saurfang is a contradiction. Like all orcs, he believes that a glorious death in battle is what will imbue his life with meaning. However, he struggles with PTSD. He is one of a dying breed: veterans of the first Orc invasion of Azeroth. For perspective: that means he's almost as old as Anduin's grandfather. Indeed, it is partially his PTSD which has caused him to be where he is right now talking to an Alliance High King. When the Warchief set fire to Teldrassil he heard the screams of the Night Elves: and remembered the screams of draenei children he and his fellow orcs killed in Shattrath City thirty five years ago. He snapped, refusing to strike down the Night Elf leader Malfurion Stormrage. The Warchief, Sylvanas Windrunner, branded him a traitor: and let him be captured at the Battle for Lordaeron. This was how he first encountered King Anduin: as his prisoner. But after Saurfang revealed that he wanted to lead a rebellion against Sylvanas: King Anduin let him go. So, Saurfang stands in this tower speaking to a man he owes a debt to. He is also a father who has lost his son, and indeed who believes his son superior to himself: for his son Dran'osh died with honor in battle opposing a threat to the entire world. Not dissimilar from how Varian Wrynn came to view his own son, after they were reunited. Anduin sees in Saurfang more than a little of his father. This surrogate father-son relationship is what makes their deeply vulnerable conversation possible.

Anduin poses a question to Saurfang. If we overthrow Sylvanas, he asks, what kind of Warchief will you be? Saurfang does not answer the question. Instead he offers to Anduin his own self-loathing. This is not simply because Saurfang is depressed: this is a calculated move. In order to overcome the past and move the Horde towards it's highest ideals: the past must be faced and dealt with. The fact that the Path of Glory on which the orcs walked in order to invade Azeroth was paved with the bones of the draenei they had slaughtered: this must be put out in the open. This is not an apology. You can't apologize to someone for invading their kingdom and murdering their grandfather: which is precisely what the First Horde did. You can however face what you have done and take responsibility for it, in front of a representative of your former enemy. Anduin responds to Saurfang in kind: for the Alliance is not innocent either. Again though, this is calculated. Anduin decides to admit specifically to the abandonment of Quel'thalas. Arthas, having picked up Frostmourne and leading the Scourge was nevertheless not the Lich King yet when he invaded the elven kingdom. He was, technically speaking, the King of Lordaeron: even if the still living citizens of that Kingdom no longer acknowledged him as their sovereign. This means that the Alliance of Lordaeron is in fact responsible for the invasion: and thus Prince Kael'thas was justified in joining the Horde.  Now, this is the first time in the entire game that any character from the Horde has taken responsibility for the first invasion, or any character from the Alliance has taken responsibility for Arthas. Indeed, other characters prior to this had explicitly disavowed responsibility for these particular events: blaming the Burning Legion for both crimes. But now as Anduin and Saurfang stand here: the Legion has been defeated, if not totally eradicated.

Anduin is positioning himself as a new kind of King: setting out to topple old assumptions about what it means to be a leader and even what it means to be a man. He tried to be a Warrior-King like his father: that lasted for all of five seconds at the Battle for Lordaeron. Realizing that he was not helping by trying to wield a sword poorly: Anduin set it down and healed his comrades instead. Not only did this save crucial lives, it also improved morale: and the Alliance was able to win the day. But the people of Stormwind still need a warrior-leader: someone who can stand on the front lines where the troops can see them. Luckily, on Kul Tiras Anduin found someone who could do just that: Taelia Fordragon, daughter of his old regent Bolvar. She has a warrior's heart, like Varian and unlike Anduin. Alongside her mount Galeheart, she has become a formidable force for law and order on the docks in Kul Tiras' capital Boralus. She is able and willing to solve problems with force, when that is what the problem requires. This is not however the traditional role for a Queen of Stormwind. It will take the people of that Kingdom some time to adjust to their new rulers, but they will. Anduin has already proven that his powers and approach are effective enough to warrant a break with tradition. 

Varok Saurfang can't do this. He is too old to successfully complete the process of redefining what it means to be an orc or a member of the Horde. But he can start that process with his death. His own death, and no one else's.  He does not tell Anduin this, but it is clearly what he is thinking about. The Horde has a tradition called Mak'gora: a ritual combat to the death. Any leader of a member race can challenge the Warchief to Mak'gora. But, everyone knows that Sylvanas will cheat because the whole reason they are here is that she has no honor. If Sylvanas cheats, Saurfang will certainly die. He will probably die even if she doesn't.  So the way to make his death meaningful is to expose how little Sylvanas cares for her own people: the Forsaken, and those of various other races who have also remained loyal to her. He can do that by preying on her arrogance, by embarrassing her in front of a crowd. She'll need to defend her actions, and in doing so she will mock those loyal to her. Saurfang can leave an example to follow so compelling that others will be able to do the work of redefining the Horde.

Others, like the young troll who idolizes Saurfang: Zekhan. Others, like the old Warchief Thrall: who has in the past few years been forced to face his own mistakes, and his own flaws as a leader. Others, like Lor'themar Theron: the Regent Lord of Quel'thalas, who betrayed his longtime ally Sylvanas to stand with Saurfang. Others like Thalyssra, the leader of the Nightbourne elves who recently joined the Horde.  Most especially, others like Baine Bloodhoof:the High Chieftain of the Tauren people, whose father Cairne helped establish the current Horde back at the time of the Third War. Whether the mantle of Warchief passes to Thrall or Baine, Saurfang's example will be their guide. That means they cannot go back to the way things were. They will be held to the standard that Saurfang held himself to. Because, you know, spoiler alert: Saurfang does indeed die.

Anduin and Saurfang cannot erase the atrocities committed. But they can agree on two important things: Azeroth is their home, and that the future is not determined by the past. Now this is opposed to Sylvanas: who sees the notion of "home" as irrelevant, and who is letting her past dictate her future. She has refused to grow beyond the suffering that Arthas inflicted on her, and so she is letting Arthas define her: even though Arthas is long gone. She reveals in a cutscene that she despises her fellow Forsaken for finding new places for themselves in the Horde and reasons for continuing to exist. She destroyed the Undercity, the home that the Forsaken had constructed in the sewers under Lordaeron's palace. She refuses to die, but refuses to live: a trap many of us, myself included, have fallen into as well. But it's important to swerve away from that and grow beyond your trauma: because then your pain becomes something you can use. Saurfang's empathy for those who have suffered is born from his guilt about the atrocities that he committed. His empathy is also the very quality that makes him so beloved among the Horde. Anduin's profound love for others is born from his personal suffering: and his love for others is the source of his immense power as a priest.

Anduin is not the first Wrynn that Varok Saurfang has inspired by accident. The Lich King killed and raised Varok's son Dran'osh. The heroes of the Horde (the player characters) went with Saurfang to destroy him and take home his body. His bravery, after all, merited a proper funeral. Muradin Bronzebeard tried to block the way. Until, that is, King Varian showed up. Now Varian usually, understandably enough, hated orcs. But Varian instead bid Muradin to stand down and "let a grieving father pass".  As a father recently reunited with his son, Varian could suddenly empathize with Varok Saurfang. He could see him not as an orc, but as a father. Having come back to Stormwind to find that Anduin had ruled capably in his absence, Varian understood for the first time how terrible it would be to lose his son. He could project his feelings for Anduin onto Saurfang, erasing the racial emnity between them for one moment. Furthermore, Varian could compare Dran'osh Saurfang to his own father: both were leaders who stared death in the face with pride and defiance. He could understand for the first time how his father felt as they stared death in the face: how he felt love, not hatred, in his final moments. So he could let go of his own hatred of orcs, because his father had not died hating them. He could instead honor his father by following his example. Which, when the Burning Legion returned to Azeroth, he did. Indeed Varian did not simply die with defiance and with love in his heart for others, but like Dran'osh Saurfang, willingly embraced such a death.

So, as Anduin and Saurfang stand in this tower confronting the ghosts of the past: they are honoring Varian by following his example. Indeed, they are taking his example and applying it on a greater scale. He confronted and overcame his own personal trauma, his own personal fears and hatreds. Saurfang and Anduin are dealing with mass traumas here. It is not enough to confront them on a personal scale, they must do so on a mass scale. It is necessary to defeat Sylvanas that they confront both the legacy of the First Horde, and the legacy of Arthas: both the atrocities committed by the Horde, and those committed by the Alliance. The atrocity of action, and the atrocity of apathy. Sylvanas after all, is not simply an individual: she represents an ideology.  She believes hope is a weakness, home is a lie, relationships are tools. She has not overcome her trauma, and is trying to drag others down with her. She was created from Arthas' invasion of Quel'thalas, and she represents a continuation of the First Horde's legacy. To stop her, Saurfang and Anduin must commit to overcoming these atrocities.

There is a reason we use the word "atrocity".  It is because these are actions you cannot apologize for or compensate: they involve loss of life on such a grand scale, or inhumane actions that cannot be justified by reason. It is tempting to think that you can, but in doing so you would devalue human life and human dignity. There can be no reparation. There can however be a confrontation, and an acceptance. No human society after all is entirely innocent of atrocities: the scale, nature and frequency might vary but all societies have had their darkest hours. We cannot justify abuse, but we can understand it: we can empathize with those who have hurt us. This is our greatest gift as human beings, although it is one we do not use as often as we should. I can look at the man who assaulted me and understand that he was just as much a victim of the Patriarchal system as I was. I can understand that he acted not out of malice but out of desperation, having been told that sex was the way to get the validation that his mother and his peers were not giving him. I also knew then as I do now that his satisfaction would have been short-lived and hollow if I had given in. So too, I can look at a homophobe and see, not as monster, but a person who has doubts about his or her gender and sexuality just as I do. I can oppose that person because they are dealing with their problems in an unhealthy way rather than because I hate them. And only by doing this can we move past these traumas. 

What we need in order to have this conversation, is three things. 1) to recognize that we have experiences in common which transcend the boundaries of identity. 2) to recognize that we share a home: earth. and 3) to recognize that the future is not determined by the past.  We need to be willing to share deeply with each other: to share not only the things we're proud of but the things we are ashamed of or afraid of.  We need to be willing to take responsibility for both our actions and our failures to act. We need to have this conversation, or the sins of our past will continue to haunt us because we will continue to be traumatized by them: both those who committed the atrocities and those who they were committed against. Only by taking responsibility can we move beyond the trauma.  This simple short film from a video game shows us what that conversation about the atrocities in our past looks like. It is an amazing example of what is possible in games, when developers have the courage to actually tackle a complicated theme like "how do we move past mass atrocities?" It is a perfect example too of why we need media despite all it's problems. We need these models, these test-runs, these myths.

The Legend of Zelda: Fantasies Games Sell.

So I was watching a video today that talked about the disturbingly colonialist underpinnings of many sandbox games. I just recently started playing Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess for the first time, so that was fresh in my mind as I watched the video. At the end of the video the narrator posed a question: is it possible to make a sandbox game about exploration and building that doesn't have these colonialist underpinnings? Well, let's think about what characteristics such a game would need to have.

1) the player character would be a local inhabitant of the world the game takes place in. In most games of the genre, the player character is a foreigner. Changing this element immediately eliminates the problem of the player's goals clashing with the goals of the local inhabitants. If the player is a local, his or her goals presumably match up with at least some subset of the other local inhabitants. Any conflicts with the other local sentient beings are re-contextualized as tribalism rather than colonialism.

2) the game is not framed as a struggle between the player and the natural world. Rather, another force could be present in the world which the player is struggling against alongside the denizens of the natural world. Conquest or taming of the world is not framed as the reason for building and crafting. That is not to say that the natural world can't and shouldn't be hostile in some respects. Wild animals after all, are indeed dangerous. But they shouldn't be the most common enemies in the game.

3) the incentive structure of the game promotes sustainable practices. It shouldn't ask the player to harvest an ever-increasing amount of resources from the environment, and should provide a reason why the player would invest resources in the environment. In general it should encourage the player to invest in future gains, rather than try to gain as much power as possible in the short term. The player should be able to trade power now, for more power later on.

Now, not only do the Legend of Zelda games (with the exception of Majora's Mask and Link's Awakening) do all these things: they actually invert the convention entirely. Gannon, the villain, is the protagonist of any survival game: someone from another world who has come with dreams of conquering Hyrule and uses environmentally destructive technology in order to do that. It's Link's job to make the game Gannon is playing into an unwinnable survival horror game. Of course, Link is a Hylian and there are other species in Hyrule. However, Link has a choice about how he wants to deal with these other species. The Garudo in particular have been hoodwinked by Gannon: they think he's one of them, and he's promised to lead them to a glorious future and blah blah blah. But the games usually give you a choice about how to deal with the Garudo: do you kill them because they are hostile towards you, or do you find a way to reveal Gannon's deception to them? Twilight Princess takes the anti-colonialist themes even further, because the invaders are not just Gannon and his armies. The Twilight realm as a whole is invading Hyrule: led of course, by Gannon. You have to work with Midna, the eponymous Twilight Princess, to stop the invasion.

The characteristics normally ascribed to heroic male characters in video games are given to Gannon here. Gannon is physically strong and tough, and emotionally aggressive. Link on the other hand is physically weak, and emotionally gentle. Link makes up for his physical weakness with agility and cleverness. However, his gentleness is not cast as something he needs to make up for. Link does not need to be aggressive because HE is not under threat. Link is the immortal Hero of Time. Gannon is not a personal threat to his life. If Link dies this time, he will be back to try to stop Gannon again. This also incentivizes Link to think about the long term, and to invest in the world. Link will be there when the seed he just planted is old: whatever he does now, he will deal with the consequences of those actions in the future.

The infamous death by cuckoes mechanic reinforces the idea that Link should strive to live in harmony with nature as much as possible. And it underscores that Link's apparent weakness is not really a weakness at all. A single cuckoe after all, is not a threat. But a swarm of them is. Link won't win against Gannon through personal heroics. Link's job is to be a focus for all of Hyrule's power. He's a silent protagonist not simply because it's easier for the player to project themselves onto him that way, the game's narrative actively requires the erasure of Link's personality. Each game is the story of Link becoming the Hero of Time, an archetype rather than a person. He makes this choice again, and again and again: trading his own autonomy for the continued freedom of Hyrule and choosing to live multiple lives even though he knows he will not have freedom in any of them.

Link's sacrifice of his personality occurs as he gains more and more power. This is a highly unusual setup in a game. Normally we would expect that the hero's personal attributes would start to take on more and more significance as he gains power: as happens in games like The Witcher and Assassin's Creed. As you go on in the games, the personality that you give to Geralt through the games starts to have bigger and bigger effects. He has a network of friends and enemies, allies and rivals. In The Witcher 3, Geralt must guide another character on her path to mastering magical powers and in this scenario the characterization the player chooses to give Geralt actually determines the ending of the game. But Legend of Zelda does the opposite. As Link becomes more powerful, he also becomes more and more the archetypal Hero of Time. In other words, his legend begins to eclipse him.

At the end of the day, all stories are about real life: and The Legend of Zelda is no exception. Sure, it wears the masque of an ancient mythology: an Edda from a long-lost civilization. However, only a little investigation reveals that it is very much a product of it's time: whether this was the intention of it's makers or not.

This is not a story that could have been created anywhere except 1980s Japan. It was created as the last survivors of WWII were retiring from the workforce, the last people who remembered Japan's Empire. It was also at a time when Japan's industry was plateauing, having reached the point where it could no longer grow unchecked. Japanese auto makers were now facing stiff competition from western companies like Ford, Chevrolet, Volkwagon and Fiat. Japanese computer makers now had Microsoft and Apple to contend with: and ultimately most chose to flee the market rather than deal with those two. The liberalization of China was also a problem for Japan. It was time for Japan to confront their history: but it was still too painful to talk about openly. The Legend of Zelda was not originally made for a western audience, although the newer games including Twilight Princess were very aware that western gamers would be playing them. It was originally made for Japan's domestic market: an attempt to satisfy the insatiable appetite that Japanese youth had for hard games. The original Legend of Zelda was hard. It was so hard that few westerners played it, it was simply beyond what they were willing to invest in a video game. Asian gamers dominate in gaming competitions not because Asians are somehow better at gaming: but because Asian cultures value games more. Video games in Japan are not simply entertainment.

Much ink has been spilled about why video games are so often violent. However, there is a reason that is not often discussed. Video games offer an outlet for warrior cultures to find expression: without the devastating loss of human life and destruction of resources that real warfare brings. The world is too economically interconnected to make warfare a good idea in most cases, and prosecuting a war has become increasingly difficult for both economic and social reasons. The tide of popular opinion too has turned against warfare: traumatized by the World Wars, Vietnam and Afghanistan. But, it would be a mistake to leave the martial traditions of the past behind. Discipline, bravery, persistence, strategic thinking, and managerial skills are all as important for us today as for anyone in the past. Our grandfathers weren't wrong when they said the army builds character: nothing turns a teenager into an adult quite like military training. But, we can get this training without needing to join the real military. From the point of view of our brains, what happens in the game is the same as what happens in real life. But the fact that you can turn off a game allows for your brain to process what happens to you in the game better. It's hard to process what is happening when you're actually at a protest, in a potentially life-threatening situation. You can train yourself to do the right thing in that situation by playing games which you can pause or turn off. That is the reason we have games in the first place: they are training for real life. People talk about putting games into education as if games weren't inherently educational: when in fact, a well designed game is one of the best educational tools humans have ever developed (you know, for actually mastering skills and concepts: which is not the goal of most educational systems irl but that's another conversation).

Now, the world is sometimes violent: and very often violence occurs when we least expect it. You can be walking down the street and get mugged, or you can be having an argument with your mom and she hits you. Knowing how to act in these situations can mean the difference between getting hurt more, and resolving the situation. We need violent games in order to train ourselves for those moments when we encounter violence, as we all inevitably do. Of course, having peaceful games is hardly a bad thing. What games should be critiqued for is not how much violence they contain, but how they teach the player to deal with that violence. Here again, The Legend of Zelda stands out from other games. Sure, there are times when Link must simply kill creatures with a weapon. There are many more times however where Link must solve a puzzle instead: i.e. he must think strategically in order to avoid getting hurt more. Now when I was a kid playing these games on a neighbor's console, this made me put down the controller and think. This was something I could do in my everyday life: when I saw people getting mad at me, I could think strategically to solve the problem. I didn't have to just take whatever they dished out to me, I could avoid getting hurt by taking actions of my own free will. I didn't have to let anyone hurt me. 

I know, a grand revelation. In my defense, I was ten years old. It had not yet occurred to me that emotions had internal rather than external causes. I have a learning disorder. It causes me not to express my emotions in ways that others can understand, and to not understand how others express themselves. I have trouble reading body language: gestures, tone of voice, etc. This is of course a major problem when you grow up as a woman in our society, because our society assumes that women have a preternatural gift for social situations (they don't, they just have more practice). So, you know, I was bullied as a child. I also saw my parents struggle through their own emotional issues: partially caused by my Grandmother's vain attempts to properly raise three extraordinarily intelligent and creative boys. In her defense, her own mother's parenting skills were absolutely atrocious.  My mother and I also clashed frequently, our personalities are in some ways too similar. This idea that I could control how I felt, that I could act to control what happened to me, this was a powerful revelation.

Make no mistake, The Legend of Zelda is a Japanese game: even though the titular Princess is given a very western name ("Zelda" is from German, originally a nickname for "Griselda"). A western game would certainly never feature the name of a character who isn't the player character in the title: but that's exactly what happens here. The player character is Link, but it's called the Legend of Zelda. Link is the one who does everything, but it's called the Legend of Zelda. Why? What could possibly possess them to create a game with the name of the female lead in the title, but have you play as the male lead? This again drives home the erasure of Link's personality and identity. He doesn't get his name on the story that he is the hero of. This is a mirror of Japanese stories, specifically stories about samurai. The stories are often named after Daimyos, even when the Daimyo in question barely makes an appearance in the story. Why? because samurai were extensions of their Daimyo. They swore oaths of loyalty binding their family to the service of a particular Daimyo. They traded independence for status, protection, and clarity of purpose. This is what Link does too. However, the story is updated for a modern audience.

Link pledges himself not to a mortal lord, but to the Goddess Hylia. This recasts Link's actions as something acceptable in the modern age. The game is, after all, questioning Japanese imperialism: and the samurai-daimyo relationship was the foundation of that imperialism. But the game cautions us not to leave behind the virtues of the samurai even as we acknowledge that the relationship was fundamentally flawed. The total commitment that samurai gave to their lord did genuinely make them better people: unafraid of death or hardship, able to cooperate without jealousy, discreet with information, and focused on spiritual rather than material advancement. It probably was genuinely fulfilling for many of them to have such a clear purpose for their lives, to have such a clear explanation for their existence. A samurai existed to help his lord succeed. Questions of morality were besides the point for him. He wasn't going to be rewarded in the afterlife based on whether he was a good person or not. He was going to be rewarded in the afterlife if he served his lord well. Of course, this amorality is exactly what was so horrific about this system.

The Sengoku Jidai was marked by the sorts of atrocities you normally hear about in connection with colonial regimes: but committed by members of the same ethnic group as the victims. The combination of amoral samurai, self-indulgent daimyos, and primitive rocketry was a peculiarly bad one from the perspective of preserving human life. It was like the Reign of Terror in France, spawned from a populist revolution and concerns for ideological purity: but instead of lasting for a decade, it lasted for centuries. That is not however to say that the traditions which originated in this period should be rejected out of hand. They should be updated, taking into account modern values and understandings of the world. This period after all, marked the beginning of what we now call Japanese culture. 

The Princess Zelda of the title in the Legend of Zelda is an avatar of the Goddess Hylia: as is Midna, the Twilight Princess. Unlike the samurai of old, Link's submission is a personal choice rather than something he is forced into by his heritage: and it is an act of worship. Link does not need to ask whether what he is doing is right, because Hylia would never ask him to do something that was wrong. Not because he doesn't care about being a good person. Not only does the game incentivize playing Link as a good person, it outright disallows many bad actions. No one is more aware of how cruel children can be than Nintendo after all. Many players have noted the seeming romantic undertones in adult Link's interactions with Zelda: but also that Link has canonical love-interests (who are not Zelda) in many of the games. This seeming mistake is resolved when we realize that Zelda is a Goddess' Avatar. Although we often don't like to admit it in the West there is quite a bit of overlap between romance and worship: indeed, from the brain's perspective there is likely little difference.    

The interactions with Midna are even more clearly BDSM-esque, they only get away with it because Link is in wolf form when he interacts with her. Midna is both annoyingly bossy, and at the same time genuinely trustworthy. Far from selling us a power fantasy like most games do: Twilight Princess goes out of it's way to humiliate the player. In most games, cool mounts like a wolf are a sign of success in the game. In this game, you are the cool wolf mount. Midna riding you serves to drive home the overall message: you are here to serve, not to be served. But, like any good dominatrix, Midna does not simply humiliate you. She gives you a clear sense of purpose. She lays out for you exactly what you need to do and, if you trust her, you can easily do everything she asks of you. She's always there when you need to be reminded of what you're doing. This genuinely helps when the game starts throwing things at you that are panic-inducing: like an attack on your home village. Having Midna in your ear then doesn't seem so annoying. Letting go and trusting Midna allows you to move through the game's complicated levels quickly and gracefully: so quickly that your conscious mind gets left behind in the dust. That feels genuinely good. This game may not be selling you a power fantasy, but it is giving you a sense of empowerment all the same.

Like I said, these games could only have been made in the 1980s in Japan. They are unavoidably products of their place and time. They are also auteur games: the product of one man's vision even though many many people worked on them. The credit for their daring should go to Shigeru Miyamoto. Japan, unlike any other country, can support auteur game developers: it's domestic market for games is just that big. While not every game needs to be an auteur game, the industry needs auteur games just like the film industry needs auteur films. Why? because auteur films turn film geeks into filmmakers. Studying them teaches you how to make films. Likewise with auteur games: studying them teaches you how to make games. Playing Fortnite for thousands of hours won't teach you how to make a good Battle Royale: but playing Smash Brothers will. Why, because Smash Brothers is the carefully constructed and curated product of Masahiro Sakurai's vision. Masahiro Sakurai, who was one of those teenage Japanese boys that bought the original Legend of Zelda in 1986. It's not an accident that people like work at Nintendo: the company has obviously set itself up to be a haven for them, significant in an industry where auteurs generally have a hard time.  There is no equivalent to the Oscars to reward individual artistic achievement in video games.

Unlike auteur films however, auteur games can be accessible to regular people. Indeed they can often be more inclusive and accessible than the "generic" junk that pours out of big studios. So-called "generic" games are not really generic: there's a definite slant to them, a definite ideology they have. And that ideology is not harmless. When the Islamic State parodied Call of Duty in a recruitment video, the many people who saw this video on youtube had a wake up call. Now, this video was reaching for low-hanging fruit. It wasn't about to recruit me into a weird death cult. It was aimed at the incels; the lonely, disaffected and immature Gen Xers who hang out in the darkest recesses of 4chan. There's a whole host of reasons why these men feel the way they do: from the personal (undiagnosed learning disorders), to the social (the lingering stigma around BDSM), to the political (the loss of male privilege in the era of Roe vs Wade). But regardless of what their problems might have been, the Islamic State knew what fantasy to sell them: the same one that Call of Duty and other AAA games like it sell. Come to us, they said, and you too can be a warrior chosen by God to dominate both armies and women. Sure, it's the same fantasy that militaries have used for centuries: starting with Cyrus the Great back in the first millennium BCE. But for precisely that reason, it is something that modern media needs to question: not blindly repeat. Why do we default to this fantasy? Why is this the central fantasy in nearly every RPG or exploration game from GTA to CoD to the original Assassin's Creed? are there other ones that people will find just as compelling? The Legend of Zelda's stunning success proves that there is.

Beren: Myths, Masculinity and Metaphors

Beren Erchamion is one of the heroes in The Silmarillion. He is a failure.  He fails at every task that is put before him.  Sure, he survived the valley of giant spiders called Nan Dungortheb (the name means Fear-Shadow Valley): although obviously not through any skill of his own because he doesn't have any. Certainly, he cannot claim to rival the likes of Maedhros or Fingon. Yet he earns the love and respect of people of far greater social status and accomplishments. Surely Luthien, Princess of Doriath, has better options than this loser right?

When Beren asks for Luthien's hand in marriage, we get a pretty typical fairy-tale response: her father, Thingol, sets Beren a seemingly impossible task (in this case, obtaining a really shiny gem called a Silmaril). But Tolkien then immediately upends our expectations, by having Beren openly mock Thingol's greed. Now, quick background for those who haven't read my other posts on the Silmarillion: Thingol is the King of the Sindar elves, and the most powerful elven ruler in Middle Earth. Thingol would have been within his rights to chop off Beren's head right there. Fortunately for Beren, he's not that kind of guy. Still, mocking the guy you hope will agree to be your father-in-law in front of his whole court is maybe not the best life decision there Beren.

Or is it? Why is he saying this? is it just because he thinks Thingol is shortsighted and greedy? is it because he thinks Thingol is overrated? is he trying to get himself killed? No, he's saying this for Luthien. She presumably isn't all that happy that her father has decided to sell her off for a fancy gemstone, or that he's trying to get rid of her boyfriend. Now, JRR Tolkien put the name "Beren" on his tombstone, and the name "Luthien" on his wife's.  So, this is clearly Tolkien dunking on ancient myths like the story of Jason and Medea, and on the real-life fathers who actually did do this. He's pointing out how misogynistic this setup is, because it implies that the woman's value is the same as that of the object. The value of a Silmaril can be quantified: an expert in gemstones could assess it, and assign a price to it. A really high price, but a price nonetheless. Thingol is therefore setting a price on Luthien: which is tantamount to slavery. A person's life has no price, it can't be assigned a value.  Sure, you can assign a price to a person's labor: tally up all the hours of work and assess how dangerous or strenuous it was. However, that is not equivalent to the value of their life. A person's life is, in the most literal sense of the word: priceless. Luthien is a woman, not a rock. Beren is demonstrating here that her will is more important to him than Thingol's approval.

How does Beren fare? well, he does manage to wrest a Silmaril away from the big bad Morgoth: but for his trouble he gets his hand bitten off by a giant wolf. The hand that was carrying the Silmaril. Now, if Beren was a hero in a Greek myth he would either try to trick Thingol, or try to slay the wolf and retrieve the jewel. But Beren is not the hero of a Greek myth. He comes back to Doriath empty-handed. Now again, this doesn't seem particularly smart.

Why come back, if he hasn't succeeded? Because all along, he wanted Luthien to be the agent of her own fate. Luthien is very talented, and extremely capable: and Beren knows this. He saw it in her as she was dancing and singing. She does not know her strength yet however. She does not think she is capable: she calls herself a nightingale. A small and timid bird. But the elvish word for nightingale literally means "daughter of twilight", and the word Luthien means "enchantress".  Twilight in elven culture has a special significance: as it is the time when the sky resembles the one the elves first awoke under, before the sun and moon existed. Indeed, the sun and moon were created within Luthien's lifetime (although before Beren's time).  Her nickname therefore means more than she realizes. This feeling of hers is understandable, she's comparing herself to her mother: a perfectly normal thing for a girl to do. But Beren isn't comparing her to her mother, or to her father, or to anyone else. None of us can see ourselves accurately. Looking from the outside, Beren sees her as she truly is: both her virtues and her flaws. He wants her to make all the important choices, he wants to follow her.

Beren gets the nickname Erchamion meaning "one-handed", presumably from Thingol's jeering courtiers. This is, for elves, a fairly vicious insult. It's a constant reminder of his failure, of how incapable he is. A constant reminder, that he is powerless to get what he wants: that in the eyes of the world, he is not worthy. But Beren is not the kind of man to pity himself. His mind isn't focused on their words as he kneels before the King, to him all that matters is Luthien. She is inspired by his fearlessness and humility, and angered by the way the others are treating him. She won't get the Silmaril to buy her freedom: but she will do it to teach her father a lesson. And so she does.

What lesson?  That compared to his daughter, the Silmaril is worthless. It only caused suffering for Beren and for her: and ultimately it will only cause suffering for Thingol himself. In trying to sell off his daughter, Thingol has put that price on himself. He will later be betrayed and killed by a group of dwarves, so they can have the Silmaril. By undervaluing his daughter, Thingol diminished himself. The slave owner, is only worth as much as he believes his slave is worth: but the slave is worth more.

Now Thingol is not a villain: like most of the characters in Tolkien's stories he is a well-intentioned person blinded to the harm his actions cause by a variety of factors. The most important in this case, is his social position: Thingol is a King. Of course he is tempted to view his daughter through the lens of how she can help him gain or maintain power. He probably wanted her to marry his faithful herald Mablung, or perhaps his cousin Thranduil (yes, Legolas' father), or perhaps a son of his brother Olwe.  Maybe he was open to her marrying a human, but Beren would not have been his choice. Although Beren is royal, his father Barahir is the King of the Bëorings, he's the second son. In addition, Barahir has lost his lands to orcs and most of his tribe has been killed. And they're too far away to be of any use to Thingol as allies. Beren is no hero, and won't inherit anything. To Thingol, he's not worth much.

But to Luthien, Beren is worth risking everything. Why? because he understands what is truly important in life. He is a true hero, not because he is capable of great deeds: but because he has the courage to face the truth, to show himself as he really is. She's a Princess, she's used to having people kiss up to her. But it says something about her that she prefers honest Beren to her father's courtiers: even the kindly and talented musician Daeron. He has the courage to allow her freedom: unlike her father who is trying to use her to advance his political goals. Beren doesn't just accept that she has a will of her own: he actively wants her to exercise it. To him, that is not an annoyance or an inconvenience: it is a good thing. He doesn't just recognize that she is capable of doing things he can't do: he actually wants her to do them.

He is surely aware that he will inevitably live in her shadow: the power imbalance in this relationship is legitimately hilarious. Not only could Luthien kill him before he knew what hit him, she also wouldn't have to. I mentioned earlier how she defeated the Big Bad of the story: Morgoth. How did she do it? she did a magical dance and he fell asleep. Luthien has supernatural powers of seduction and persuasion inherited from her mother, Melian: who is an actual angel. Charming Beren would be ridiculously easy in comparison. But, she doesn't need to do that even because this man will treat her right without being told to or threatened or charmed or anything. He will love her because she is more capable than him in every way, not despite that fact. She would never need to violate his autonomy, because he would never even think of violating hers. Because he will humiliate anyone who tries to negate her will without her needing to ask: no matter who they are or what the consequences of that action might be. Because he has no trouble showing the world how vulnerable he is, and indeed how incapable he is. 

Why? because Beren knows a secret, a secret that many people never learn. A secret that isn't really a secret, just something that most people never realize because they are often told the opposite. Your value as a person does not depend on what you accomplish. You are valuable, too valuable to be assigned a price, simply because you are human. There is a corollary to this: the only thing necessary for you to be worthy of love, is to be loving. You do not need to be impressive, invulnerable, or fit some vision of perfection. You simply need to care about others, and some of those others will care about you. Beren knows that his value does not depend on him obtaining a shiny jewel from the devil. He knows that he is valuable simply because he exists. He knows that the only thing he needs to do to be worthy of Luthien's love, is to love her and show her that in everything he says and does. He may be a loser, but that is irrelevant.

So he embraces the insulting nickname he was given: and it loses it's sting over the years. It becomes a name associated with a loving husband and father, a gentle, passionate, humble man. He becomes a hero, not because he accomplished anything: but simply because of who he is. In a world of men who take what they want by force: Beren dares to admit that he cannot take what he wants, to instead be open to what others are willing to give him. In a world of men who will coldly take advantage of your weakness: Beren dares to show everyone how easy he is to hurt, and to not take advantage of others.  In a world of men who take away others' freedom for their own gain, Beren dares to defend other peoples' ability to make their own choices at the cost of his life. This inherent heroism heavily influences Beren's son Dior. Dior who will give his life so that his daughter Elwing can escape the siege of Doriath with the Silmaril, ensuring that it does not fall into the hands of Feanor's sons (who want it for bad reasons). He's one of the only characters in the entire mythos who has direct contact with the jewel, but does not become obsessed with possessing it (the others being Luthien herself, Eärendil and Elwing).  This can only be the influence of Beren.

Luthien's nickname isn't the only one with multiple meanings. See, "Eru" is a title for God: meaning "The One".  Erchamion therefore could mean "Hand of God".  This fits in the end. Beren disrupted the complacency of Doriath, questioning the way that the people there thought and acted. Beren's actions had cosmic significance. Thousands of years later, Frodo's life would be saved and the Ring prevented from falling into the hands of Sauron: thanks to the power of Melian the Maia, flowing in Beren's great-grandson Elrond. In Tolkien's narrative, it is women who bestow power on men: and it must be through their own free will. While this is a motif taken from Celtic mythology: Tolkien uses it in a unique way. Luthien is not bestowing power on Beren, but on her son Dior. It is not taken from her during the act of sex or some analog to it (see: Nissa Nissa in A Song of Ice and Fire).  Rather, she gives it through the act of childbirth, the act of creation. This seems to come about as the result of mixing this motif from pagan literature with the idea of the Immaculate Conception. Tolkien's religious beliefs seemed to center around the idea of creation: he chiefly expressed his love of God through love of nature and through the creation of Middle Earth (or "sub-creation" as he called it). The creative process was something he thought and wrote a lot about.  It was something which he felt the modern world was forgetting: like it was forgetting all sacred things. The ultimate act of creation is of course the creation of life. 

But here's the real kicker. In venerating the ability of women to create life: Tolkien also respects them as human beings. Tolkien's women are active agents of their own fate: indeed they and they alone have the power to change a person's fate. This is directly stated in the Silmarillion in the story of the Fall of Nargothrond. Orodreth, who has the gift of foresight, states that his daughter Finduilas can save Turin from his fate. This is an interesting motif to introduce because it goes against the normal characterization of fate in both Greek and Germanic mythology. In Germanic myth, the gods themselves cannot avoid their fate: and the same is true in Greek mythology. The idea that anyone can change a person's fate or save them from it is a very Christian one: but this salvific power is usually given to a male Christ. Galadriel's foresight saves Frodo and Sam in Cirith Ungol. For love of Arwen, Aragorn refuses the Ring and chooses to embrace his heritage: saving Middle Earth from quite a pretty pickle. Eowyn changes Faramir's fate: in order to marry a Princess, the Steward's son must become a Prince. Aragorn creates the title Prince of Ithilien for him.  Quite a modern notion, which reminds us that these are not ancient legends. 

It is of course understandable that feminists would blame the focus on reproduction for women's woes. However, that's just straight up wrong. There is no inherent reason why an individual or a society which venerated a woman's ability to reproduce would not also value women as human beings. Those two ideas are far from mutually exclusive: either logically or emotionally. When we give a person an award for military service, we do not assume that is all that person is good for. The same is true of giving women praise for reproducing. Likewise, when we award a soldier for military service we do not intend to say that all men should be soldiers. What, after all, is the point of soldiers if there are no farmers? Likewise, when a woman is praised for having children: that need not be the same as saying that all women must have children. It takes a village to raise a child after all: everyone should be contributing to the raising of the community's children, whether they decide to produce any themselves is irrelevant. Quit ragging on women for having kids, and quit ragging on writers who point out the obvious: that creativity is a feminine thing. They are not the problem.   

The conceptual link between sex and conquest is the foundation of women's oppression, not the focus on reproduction. We speak of the male sex organ as a weapon, and of penetrative sex as akin to killing. We've gotten hung up on those metaphors, repeating them over and over and over again: until we find it very hard to think in any other terms. No wonder then that men rape women solely to prove that they are men. No wonder then that media portrays women as sex objects: prizes to be won. Even media made for and by women: like "If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it". Note that Beyonce speaks of her body as "it", not "me".  No wonder that any trait deemed feminine is demonized. To be feminine is to be marked for slaughter: and to be a victim is to be emasculated. 

We do not however have to keep using those metaphors. Our language has a fantastic (indeed, mind-boggling) capacity for metaphor creation. We could speak of the vagina as embracing the penis: a metaphor both kinder and more accurate. Vaginas are not just holes after all, they are active organs. Explicit language need not be unkind language. 

We all have the ability to make new metaphors for ourselves, simply by speaking or writing. And many of us do this all the time. Our language even has a simple word for this process of creating new metaphors, a word with no really good translation in any other language as far as I'm aware: kenning. It's a present participle of the archaic verb "to know" which still has the same form in modern German: kan/ken. This is also, by the by, the reason we maintain a distinction between "able to" and "can".  If you can do something, then you know how to do it (but might not be physically capable): if you are able to do it, you are physically capable (but might not know how).   To make a metaphor for something, is to demonstrate that you know it. Or, as Einstein put it, "if you cannot explain it simply, you do not really understand".  As Einstein was a native German speaker, it should be assumed this was in fact exactly what he meant. Science is how we come to know things: but art is how we know that we know things. 

Creating new metaphors is how culture shifts and changes over time. Myths are the way that we encode and teach metaphors. Nietsche said that myths were useless because the metaphors they encoded were no longer applicable to modern people. Tolkien said: no, we simply need new myths. Yes, the metaphors encoded in the myths of olden days are well...strange and distasteful to us now. But we still need things in that style, of that kind: myths encoding new metaphors. Children still need heroes to look up to. Teenagers still fall in love with heroes and heroines. Adults still need models for how to deal with the situations they encounter in their lives.  The failure of our society to recognize the value of Tolkien's women shows only how deeply entrenched these old ideas encoded in old myths still are. But the true heroes in Tolkien's stories do not fail to recognize the value of these women: this is what sets them apart from the other characters in these stories. Furthermore, their brand of masculinity is precisely the antidote to the toxicity that permeates our society. Beren is a modern man, make no mistake: for Beren is Tolkien himself.