In Praise of Fiction
"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort."
Tolkien, The Hobbit
There is little to share with our ancestors long past, in the adventures of day-to-day life. The old morning scout and early hunt has developed to a commute to a nearby coffee shop, followed by a brisk walk to a crowded bus. We'd like to think that we are a lot smarter now, that life is infinitely better (it is, or at least a lot more convenient), and we are continually building towards the pinnacle of human species. Yet, it makes for an interesting observation to see that throughout history, there is one thing that has always been the same. Deeply embedded in life, close to the hearts of many, and the very purpose for a fair handful. Without it, meaning may be difficult to describe and ideals lost. The very picture of the perfection that one may wish to strive for, rendered imperceptible.
It can be quite easy to take for granted the power of stories. "Such is a thing for children", one may say in response. And certainly it is. However, aren't we all? It's not a surprise that a good story, and bless great storytellers, can captivate the mind of an attentive listener. Of course, not all story will reach its reader the same. Certain myths will appeal to one, and parables to others. Still, a good story will find a way to meet a wandering soul where it is currently at, and guide it through a journey that hopefully ends in self-discovery. It is for such reason that certain tales stick around for as long as they have, told countless times through many generations, cementing its place in traditions. The question now is not why tell stories, but why we cannot seem to stop.
At the heart of every enduring story is not a plot, but a person. Events are easily forgotten. People are not. I doubt that most readers (or viewers) remember, in crucial detail, how the various stories they've experienced played out. It is a much easier task to describe what Frodo is like, or Gandalf, or even the humble Pippin, rather than to describe Middle Earth in all of its beauty. To remember Harry, Ron, and Hermione, rather than the halls of the great Hogwarts or the arguments raised among wizards in debates about muggles. The adventure was just a sequence of events. It is who the characters were, and who they became, that transformed that sequence into meaning.
The reason for this is not that plot is unimportant, but that character is the lens through which plot becomes personal. We do not experience a story as a sequence of events. We experience it as a person experiencing a sequence of events. Their fear becomes ours. Their growth becomes something we measure ourselves against. Frodo's reluctance at the start of his journey, his smallness in the face of something enormous, is not just a narrative detail. It is a mirror. And it is a mirror that has resonated with readers for generations, because most of us know what it feels like to be asked to carry something heavier than we think we can bear.
"Would that there were kings in Gondor, as there were once upon a time, they say! For it is said in old lore: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. And so the rightful king could ever be known."
Tolkien, The Return of The King
I shall now draw attention to one of the greatest heroes in fiction, Aragorn. Initially introduced as a Ranger of the North as Strider in Book 1, the eventual king of Gondor started out completely unlike his true calling. This was a rough and suspicious man who had hidden his identity for decades as rightful King out of a belief that he was not worthy of his calling. A man hiding from himself, and the very weight of what he is supposed to become. Such tension is what strongly drives this character through his arcs in the story. He was a man who was true to himself, who does not want the throne out of right, but who had to become the one who deserves it.
Aragorn's ancestor, Isildur, failed the great test a long while ago. Upon receiving the opportunity to destroy the One Ring at the moment of Sauron's defeat, he decided to keep it, being corrupted by its power. It is by this failure that Sauron survives, living on to plague Middle Earth with his malevolence. Aragorn, knowing this, carries a fear that this weakness within his bloodline may carry on to him by nature. He grew to be afraid of repeating this failure under pressure, if he had claimed the throne without proving that he was worthy of it.
His relationship with Arwen also depicts a fascinating part of his character. She was not simply a love interest to Aragorn, but the living embodiment of something he was fighting for. Being an elf, Arwen was immortal. It is by relationship to a man that these mythical beings would lose their immortality. As such, Aragorn would have to bear enormous weight, with failure meaning that not only did he fail to become king, but that Arwen would have given up eternal life for nothing. The stakes for hero's adventure were extremely high, yet he presses on.
At the Council of Elrond, when no one would claim the burden of taking the Ring to Mordor and Frodo ends up standing alone, Aragorn was the first to step up with him. At the Prancing Pony, at Weathertop, through the long chase across Rohan, Aragorn leads not by rank, prestige, or authority, but through steadiness and competence. At the Paths of the Dead, he calls on the Army of the Dead and marches forwards despite knowing that it was madness, because it was the only way ahead. He was a man who fully commits without long-winded speeches, who earns the trust of the people before asking anything of them, and one who would willingly risk his life in order to pursue the greater good.
A clear articulation of Aragorn can be as such: this is a man who knows what he was called to become, doubts his worthiness of it, yet pursues it regardless without needing recognition or reward. He was not a man who was spectacular in any way, like Legolas or Gimli. Nor was he a man who was visibly tortured by his burden, like Frodo. He was a hero, a man who who was steady against all odds, ready to face whatever difficulty comes his way. He was kind, caring for the hobbits with patience, and protects those smaller than him without patronizing. He was humble, recognizing his own limitations and acknowledging that despite his stronger character, Frodo's burden was indeed heavier than anything he could bear.
Aragorn is the very depiction of an unrealistic hero. One with an unwavering will, competence, and a goodness of heart that little can match. Yet, I am certain that one cannot help but feel inspired upon seeing his journey. This is an ideal that every man should strive to become, a depiction of powerful, but healthy masculinity. It is through Aragorn that one may see themselves growing into the person they were called to be. To willingly take on responsibility when one is called to do so. To pursue virtue above all else, such that good may flourish in a world of much suffering. It is by that very unrealistic nature of fiction that such a portrayal may come to life.
"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities"
J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
There is something quite captivating about the idea of a "chosen one". A gifted child, the prophesied one, a long promised savior. The one to change the course of history, save a nation from a rampant tyrant, and save the princess from the grasp of a fiery dragon. Perhaps it plays to the intrinsically human desire for purpose, as such a quest would seemingly grant great meaning to one's life. However, the burden that comes with such a calling is often easily overlooked.
Little are strangers to the story of Harry Potter. The boy with the lightning scar, the one to rival "he who shall not be named". Of course, as the story normally goes, Harry has no say in his self being the chosen one. Born to two gifted wizards who are members of the Order of the Phoenix, and surviving an encounter with the Dark Lord by some great fortune. He was raised by an aunt and uncle who resented everything about him, without knowledge of who he truly was. A child who enters the wizarding world with such a powerful reputation, yet who did not truly earn or fully inhabit it.
A fascinating implication to the story of Harry is that he did not become the chosen one because of any special trait, or whatever was innate in him. He was chosen simply because Voldemort chose him. It was the assassination attempt on his infant self that initiated his prophecy. Harry himself only learns of this in full, in Dumbledore's office, after a sequence of tragic events. It is there that he hears that he must either kill or be killed by Voldemort. That would be the only way that the plan to defeat the dark lord could actually succeed. As such, you may imagine that being chosen, as shown in Harry's story, can be more of a burden than a privilege. We see this very much so in the movies, portrayed through the much suffering and grief Harry goes through as he grows up. This burden, in turn, grants Harry one of the greatest of powers: determination.
What Harry has, consistently and under unbearable pressure, is the capacity to keep going. To walk back into danger after near-death encounters again and again. To go on despite seeing the people he loves, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Lupin, and more, pass on. Grieving through loss, yet continuing to move on. A climax of his character can be seen in Deathly Hallows, where he discovers himself to be one of Voldemort's horcruxes. He was a vessel that contains a fragment of Voldemort's soul, and therefore, he himself must die for Voldemort to be mortal. Knowing such, he goes alone to offer himself to the dark lord to die, terrified. Yet, such must be done for the greater good, and the boy does not fight his destiny.
Following the typical fashion of a hero's journey, Harry finds himself resurrecting due to a fortunate sequence of events. He did not know he was going to survive when he sacrificed his life. It is because of that, that the courage of his death is not retroactively diminished by the fact that he lived. It is by facing the greatest of all fears, that Harry finds life. He overcomes death by walking straight towards it, discovering that the very thing that kills him is what may very well save his life.
Harry's story endures not because he is extraordinary. It is that he is not. He possesses no gift the reader cannot recognize in themselves. The fear of loss, the ache of grief, the temptation to stop. What he possesses instead is the willingness to keep walking anyway, in the face of death. That is not a wizard's power. It is a human one.
This is why Harry functions less as a hero to admire from a distance and more as a mirror to look into. Few readers will be asked to defeat a dark lord. Many will be asked, in other ways, to carry something they did not choose, to keep loving people even as it costs them, to take one more step when stopping would be so much easier. Harry shows that this kind of courage is not reserved for the chosen. It is simply what it looks like to choose, again and again, to be the kind of person worth becoming.
"What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well."
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
There is still much to learn from the stories of our other friends. Characters serve to become a mirror for so many troubled selves, from the dawn of time, to a distant future. It may not be quite obvious, but story is often the greatest tool for education, perhaps only second to experience itself. Perhaps it is because it allows us to experience things we want to experience, remind us of the things we have already gone through, or show us parts of ourselves we have not yet begun to notice.
As such, I implore my dear friends to read and listen to more stories. To tell them, on top of that. And to observe the very things they are trying to show us about our selves, others, or the world. Let us philosophize less, and tell more stories. To think less of thoughts themselves as theory and abstract ideas, and to share them in form of character, experience, and adventure.