Some Thoughts on Sex, Abstinence, and God

As I was mindlessly scrolling through my Facebook page, I ran across this article:  What Happens to Men Who Stay Abstinent Until Marriage? Curious to see what I would find, I clicked and read it. I was going to just share it as a status update with my thoughts, but then my thoughts got away from me and a small blog entry happened. Here it is: 

The tl;dr version of the article is this: men who practice abstinence and talk about it end up in sexually unfulfilled marriages where they can't talk about sex and end up being unhappy about it. It's a gross over-simplification of the rather short article, so do read it. It's interesting.

I want to say that this article was respectful and it about went this with a more open mind than expected, so I'm pretty happy about that. But I didn't really like it. Forget that they come out saying that abstinence is bad--the issue for me is that they look at a group of guys who got sex wrong. 

"[T]o these men, sex is both sacred and beastly...[The] respondents had been told, since they were young, that women were nonsexual. At the same time, these men had also been taught that their wives would be available for their pleasure. It’s a double standard that’s in line with longstanding cultural ideals of the relationship between femininity and purity." 

These are Christian guys, so I think it's same to assume the church taught them that.

These guys also felt upset because they 

"could no longer reach out to their support networks due to their own ideals of masculinity. They had been promised a sacred gift: a sexually active, happy marriage. Yet many weren’t fully satisfied, as evidenced by the continued tension between the sacred and beastly. However, to open up about these continued struggles would be to admit failure as masculine, Christian man."

Now, I'm really unqualified to actually speak to this, but what I keep hearing for godly, married people, pastors, my parents, and the Bible is that sex isn't a bad thing. It's not dirty, it's not shameful, it's not evil--it's a beautiful consummation of two peoples, both in body and soul that, in the context of marriage, is right and awesome in God's eyes. There's a whole book dedicated to it that, from what I understand, in the English translations is the G version of a much sexier book. It's certainly sacred, but I wouldn't say beastly. 

I can't speak to how we as Christians should talk about sex in marriage. Women, we talk with our gal pals about it? Men, do you guys chat about it over beer? I have no idea. I figure that marriage couples should talk to each other about it, if something isn't right, yes? But honestly, I have no idea. I'll figure that out when I get there, but I figure that in some regards, talking is healthy, yeah?

Now, I could go on and on and ramble about my thoughts on the matter, but frankly, I think Tim Keller of Redeemer Presbyterian in New York explains my thoughts much better than I could. It's a 42-minute sermon, but it's beautiful and well worth a listen whether you're single, married, co-habitating, whatever. 

But what I'm getting at is that I think these guys found sex to be unfulfilling because they came at it the wrong way. They were raised to think that it's a shameful, "beastly" thing, something good people can't talk about in marriage, and I don't think that's true. It's created by God which means it must be good. It also means it can, and has been, perverted. But just because sex has been perverted doesn't mean that when it's done the way God intended it to be, that it's bad. 

What is harmful about abstinence is when we think sex is "beastly." I think that when we see sex as something beautiful, sacred, good, and from God and go into abstinence wanting to to honor God, our spouse, and sex the way God created it to be that while abstinence will be hard, that it will be worth it. I'm not saying that sex inside marriage will be perfect--from what I've heard that's not the case, but I think that it can be, should be, and is fulfilling when done the right and God honoring way.

Sorry if this has been awkward, but as I walked away from my computer to make lunch, these thoughts stuck with me and I felt like sharing them. 

Cheers. 

Never Have I Been So Wrong

This post is admittedly a day late. I wanted to write one about our last day through the last few miles of Kansas, all of Missouri, the southern tip of Illinois, down through Kentucky, and finally into Nashville, Tennessee; but, frankly, after doing all of that, I was in no state to write about it. Especially after gorging myself on a burbon, maple milkshake, tater tots with truffle oil, and one of the best ranked burgers in the state. (I would apologize for bragging about that, but I can't. It was magical, guys.) 

Now that I've had some time to digest my food (and eat more similarly wonderful food), stretch my legs, and take a whirlwind tour of Nashville, I can write.

Here's the thing--being an ignorant and awfully proud Californian, I have lived under the assumption that the rest of the Union (with the exceptions of New York City, Hawaii, and perhaps Chicago) is generally inferior to the perfection that is Southern California. Never have I been so wrong. While I still have little love for certain parts of the country (I'm looking at you, I-can-bake-cookies-in-my-car-it's-so-hot Arizona), I have developed a new found love for the Great Plains, Utah, Colorado, and the South.

Why is the flatness of Kansas so quietly beautiful? What is it about the tree lined rolling hills of Kentucky farmland that captures my heart? How do the layered, red bluffs of Utah ignite my imagination? Why do the simple woods of Illinois and Missouri beg my hand to write? Why did I envision Nashville as anything other than an unassumingly cool place to be? How is it that I could be so ignorant of such beauty in my own country?

So, though California will remain my first love, I have discovered a deep appreciation for the non-coastal states. What's more, despite it's lack of mountains and ocean, I would not be wholly opposed to living in Nashville if for no other reason than their food is a gift from God. (Seriously though. I don't want to think about how much weight I gained from even a day there.)

As my cross country trip comes to an end, I find that despite days of ten hour drives, filling up for gas two times a day, and listening to hours of alternative punk rock and 90s music, I would absolutely do this again to see more of my amazing, diverse, weird, and wonderful country. 

And I Wouldn't Walk 500 More

I am still enjoying myself, for those of you wondering - I know you're so curious about my life - despite the fact that today is a 700+ mile day through most of Colorado and most of Kansas. Now, for those of you, like myself, unfamiliar with US geography that means that we drove the beautiful, awe inspiring Rocky Mountains along the winding Colorado River through lush, green, pine covered mountain gorges reaching nearly two miles high before getting to Denver where we grabbed sushi and Voodoo Doughnuts before we then got to the endlessly flat, ubiquitous, straight road of the  Great Plains. Imagine my surprise when I realize that once you leave Denver, you've left the Rockies and all mountains behind.

I'll be honest: I was not looking forward to this part. As a So Cal native who lives surrounded by mountains, hills, and trees, who lives half a hour from the beach and an hour from a number of world wide destinations, the idea of driving through nearly the whole of Kansas in a day sounded a bit like hell.

Imagine my surprise then when I realized that  Kansas held its own sort of beauty. What's more, it somehow became more and more beautiful the further in we got. The corn covered flat lands beneath mountain clouds gave way to rolling hills of farmland dotted with trees and wind turbines like silent guardians. It lacks the loud grandeur of the Rockies or the bold majesty of Utah, but it possesses its own strong, soft beauty befitting of America's heartland. 

I thought those 400+ miles through Kansas would be miserable. I'm very happy to be completely wrong. While I Wouldn't walk another 500 miles, I might be content to drive it.

And I Wouldn't Walk 500 Miles

You know the song, "And I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more to be the man who walked 1,000 miles to fall down at your door"? Honestly, if I guy walked even 500 miles to see me, I'd probably marry him on the spot. (Or call the cops. Bit of a toss up.) I can say that because today we drove 500 miles through 4 states to get from Las Vegas to Grand Junction and so I appreciate the vast distance.

Now, not only has the music changed (we listened to "Thoroughly Modern Millie" at one point), but so has the landscape. Gone is the endless desert of harsh, tan crags and sand flats, barren and desolate. Instead, it's been replaced by red and cream colored layer cake bluffs, sometimes dotted with shrubs and pine, that sit under blue skies and Toy Story clouds. Occasionally, there is farmland with winding rivers and cute little homes, but it is predominately majestic red rocks that tower far and above the plateau to create an otherworldly beauty.

And yet it's strangely familiar. It's as if John Wayne or the Lone Ranger will appear any moment on the horizon and whisk you away on some adventure. But no movie, no photo, no jaunt through Street View on Google Maps can prepare you for it. Even though I drove the I-70 as a kid, my memories pale in comparison to the reality of the awesome majesty of God's creation in Utah.

As a single example, I offer Spotted Wolf Canyon. I was driving and so I couldn't grab any pictures, but look it up (though I doubt any picture can capture it) and see for yourself what I'm taking about. It makes Vasquez Rocks look like ant hills. Places like that make the 500 mile drive today worth it. I'm hoping that there will be similarly beautiful things to make tomorrow's 800 mile drive worth it too.

Yep. You heard me right.

800 miles.

Praise the Lord I'm not walking that.

Buckle Up, Simple Plan, We're Going on a Road Trip

Remember back in middle school when Simple Plan was a thing and we all connected with the lyrics, "I'm just a kid, my life is a nightmare" on a level we're embarrassed to admit because we were super uncool and unspeakably lame? Yeah, me neither.

I raise the pimply ghosts of years past because I currently sit next to my sister on a cross country road trip from LA to Nashville listening (and NOT singing, just to clarify) to more alternative punk rock from middle school than I think I've ever actually listened to. I'm taking Green Day, Bowling for Soup, Sum 41, My Chemical Romance, Blink-182, Simple Plan, Good Charlotte--that's right, the classics. No, I don't remember the lyrics to these songs. No, I'm not belting at the top of my lungs. No, I don't have the desire wear enough black eye makeup to look like the Winter Soldier. Why would you think that? 

I mean, there are worse things to listen to for four straight hours for the first leg of the journey to Las Vegas, right? Ah, yes, "Why are you going to Nashville, Sammy?" Glad you asked. I was beginning to feel awfully insecure and broody. (I wonder why.) My sister, Emily, and I are driving her to school in Tennessee. The car is going to stay there with her with the rest of her life that she's packed up in the back and I will hop on a plane back to LA. Of all the ridiculous things I've done this year - including flying from Venice to London, driving to another London airport and flying to Dublin in a single morning mostly by myself - this is higher up on my list of crazy.

The plan is thus: by Monday, drive over 2,000 miles through eight states, the Rockies, five major cities, and over thirty hours of driving with my little sister listening to almost every genre of music except for country and classical. The last time I did a road trip, Lizzie McGuire had finally kissed Gordo and A-Team was the music of choice. You heard me right.

Buckle up. It's going to be an(other) adventure, ladies and gentlemen.

Now, if you don't mind, I have some whiney, teenager angst to listen to and feel wildly misunderstood.

This Week Was Very Long

This morning I had to remind myself how to walk. Left, right, left, right; use the whole sole of your foot, not just the outside; one foot in front of the other, not wildly to the side; knees bent, but not too much lest you collapse onto the sidewalk--it was brutal. By the grace and strength of the Holy Spirit was I able to walk the twenty-five minute walk to my tutor's house this morning.

Before you ask, "No. No, I did not have a massive hangover." It sounds like I might've, yes, but I did not. No, this morning's trek was merely the icing on top of what was a very long week.

My plan was thus: Finish Shakespeare essay by Monday or mid-day Tuesday. Finish Tolkien essay by Thursday 1 PM. Go to my home college's mandatory weekly meet up on Wednesday. Apply for internships for summer. Edit two to three papers for publication in the Oxford Tolkien Society's 25th Anniversary Magazine that were due by the end of the week. See Imitation Game on Thursday at 2 PM. Go to Tolkien Society on Thursday at 7 PM and on Friday at 8 PM after a Tolkien talk at 5 PM.

It's a lot, but it should have been sort of doable. Maybe not the film or one of the talks, but I should have been able to do most of it.

Monday: So, my Monday's are usually pretty chill. This one was actually really great. I finished reading most my primary text for my Shakespeare tutorial, King Henry IV, Part 2, and then saw Nick Jonas - yes, that one - at the Oxford Union. It was...cool. Yeah. He's a nice guy, a bit vanilla in what he had to say about life, but nice. He does a mean Blue Steel in all his photos though. The lower lip could stand to be a bit poutier, but he's 22--he has time to perfect it.

Now, what I was planning on was having my essay mostly written so that I could devote the proper amount of time to my Tolkien tutorial's essay. For those who don't know, I have to write two essays each week. For my Shakespeare tutorial I read a play and write a 1,000-1,500 word essay (or so) on a topic. It needs to be well written, well edited, well thought out, and answer the ever elusive, "So why does this matter?" question. In addition, I have to write a 2,000-2,500 word essay on Tolkien's Lord of the Rings on various subjects that meet the same basic requirements. The Shakespeare essay is due Thursdays at noon, 24 hours before my tutorial; Tolkien at my tutorial , 9 AM Friday where I read it aloud. If it sounds stressful that's because it is. If it doesn't then keep reading and you'll understand.

Now, I really shouldn't have gone to see Nick Jonas. I mean, he's cute, but I had to stop at 5 PM rather than work till 10 PM in the library. I lost five hours. Five precious hours.

Tuesday: I return to the library at about 11 AM, grab a desk and work until about 9 PM. You read that right. (And yes, I've spent longer in the library.) I finished my text, got all my sources together and started to try to piece together an essay. While I should have had it finished, I did not. As the day wore on, the essay did not want to be written. I had what would be the worst writers block I've ever had.

By about 7 PM I had little to nothing written and felt the weight of what I needed, and wanted to get done begin to crush me. What's more, the lack of exercise due to the need to finish essays plus the 10-20 pounds of books and computers I carry a mile and a half each day had finally caught up with my back. I was in substantial pain and so had to leave early. I was, as friends to whom I whined and complained can attest, miserable.

Wednesday: I was not having the mandatory meet up so I skipped it. I stayed at home all day and wrote my essay for Shakespeare as well as took a much need day to chat with friends. A package from my Uncle Steve came in  - a much needed hand warmer for the bitter cold - and that was a wonderful gift. He could have sent me a pack of pens and I would have appreciated it. (I am SUPER happy about the hand warming though. It also doubles as a charger for my phone!) I didn't get it written until late that night, but my back and my brain were, at the moment, quite happy. It was a much needed day of merriment.

And then came Thursday.

I stayed home that day too. My back was not having the trek to and from the library, so I edited my Shakespeare essay, sent it, and began work on my Tolkien essay: a look at gender in Rings. I really started at about 12:30 PM for that. It should have been an easy essay. It's a well discussed topic, it's easy to pick on Tolkien for his lack of female characters, the elves are practically a-sexual, and then there's some people's ridiculous views on Frodo and Sam--the essay should have been easy. I should have been done by 8 PM. Maybe 9 PM.

Ah, if only.

By the time 7:30 PM rolled around I had a grand total of 0 words written. I had no thesis and scarcely an idea of what to write on. Gender criticism is something I have a massive time getting my head around. I grew up playing with both Barbies and action figures. With dolls and Legos. I did tea parties for birthdays and played flag football with the boys. I went on adventures in my head as both the sacrificing hero and the damsel in distress.

With the exception of a few areas that I won't get into - but you're more than welcome to inquire about - I feel that if you can do the job, I don't care if you're a man or woman. So long as you can do the job you're required to do, gender shouldn't matter.

What's more, while I do believe that there are certain traits that are more masculine or more feminine, both genders need some of all the traits to be a well rounded human being. I'm not for gender neutrality, but I certainly don't think that men can't cry or women can't be strong leaders.

What's more, I have to discuss this in Rings and, frankly, I don't care about it in a story context for the most part. I mean, I do. I'm not a fan of stories that make either gender second class. The ending of Taming of the Shrew pisses me off frankly. But, for me, gender in Rings isn't something I see as being totally relevant. It's a story written by a man in the 1940s and 50s about war set in a medieval sort of time. Of course there won't be a lot of women. It's just not what Tolkien was going to write. He was writing for himself--he says so in a letter.* I figure we give him a pass, accept him as a product of his time, and focus on fixing gender issues in the real world.

But that's just me. It's not a popular view I hold, I suppose, not caring all that much - not enough to write 2,000 words about it anyway -  about gender Rings, but it's how I feel. I just couldn't wrap my brain around it.

That's why yesterday I nearly had a mental break down. I cried quite a bit, had trouble breathing, and generally freaked out for about an hour (after hours of frustration and writer's/thinker's block) as the possibility of failing to produce an essay became very real.

Luckily, I have some of the greatest friends anyone could ask for. My dearests Gregg and Sarah and Meredith were kind enough to talk me through it and help me as I nearly lost it. Gregg even helped me with the thesis so that by 9 PM I had a thesis and so the writing began. Finally.

About six hours - 3 AM - later, I have just over 2,000 words written. Yay. But it was rough. Really rough. And needed lots of editing. Sarah and Gregg, being the angels from God that they are, were kind enough to edit it for me.

By 4:30 I had an essay that I could print out for my tutorial in--

Four and a half hours.

I've cut it closer...Once. And frankly, it wasn't quite as bad as this.

And so I napped for three and a half hours before stumbling out of bed, into clothes, and 1.4 miles to my first tutorial. It went as well as can be expected all things considered. It wasn't a terrible essay, but a bit repetitive and not quite as well thought out as it should have been. (I wonder why.) I then popped over to G&D's (an ice cream shop of great renown that also serves coffee and glorious bagel creations) for breakfast and coffee. After doing some quick editing for Sarah (in whose debt I am deeply in [same for Gregg]), I walked across the street (or so) to my next tutorial.

It also went alright. In G&D's, I gave that essay a once over and it really wasn't as good as I'd hoped. It was passable, an improvement upon my first three essays according to my tutor, but not as good as the last one. I thought my tutor was being generous, but I'll take it. We chatted about 2 Henry IV for an hour and a half or so and then ended.

I stopped by the Oxford Union for some Shakespeare DVDs and then popped into Poundland (the UK version of the 99 Cent Store) for some supplies before heading home. Somehow I didn't pass out before I got back home today. I meant to go to the lectures, but instead decided that my bed was more comfortable and that the Shakespeare DVDs would be more fun. (They are. The BBC's Hollow Crown series is really good. The Jesus imagery that makes The Chronicles of Narnia looks subtle aside, it is a lot of fun.)

Suffice to say, it has been a hell of a week. I am glad for the weekend where I shall be going to Bath. But, with the exception of the sleep I'll get tonight, there is no rest for the weary. Next week I have another two essays due and to be able to do justice to my Shakespeare essay, I need to have my Tolkien essay mostly done by Sunday.

Joy of freaking joys.

But what am I complaining about? I live in Oxford.

I walk across this bridge each day.

I study here.                  

                            



                                                                              I have coffee and bagels here each week.

This is my college.                                                                                                                   

                 

          I visit places like this.                                                                          

I have to walk through woods to get to my tutorial each Friday.

Look at the friend I made.                                                                               This is a complete normal, nothing special street.

 

Who am I kidding.

This is stressful. It's painful. It's mentally, emotionally, and physically taxing. But I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world. Because at then end of the day, I live here:

Oh. Did I mention that it snowed a few weeks back? No? My bad. 

--

*Letter 163 from The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, complied and edited by Humphry Carpenter

This Week Sort of Sucked

I would be lying if I said this week didn't sort of suck. It's not the worst week I've had in school by a long shot, but it was really difficult. After a great weekend of seeing a protest at the Union, doing well on my essays, finding the Tolkien Society, going to see C.S. Lewis's home, and having a wonderfully relaxed Sunday of Fellowship of the Rings commentaries I woke up on Monday morning having to do two things this week:

1. Write an essay on Tolkien's use of poetry and song in The Lord of the Rings.
2. Do a close reading of a passage in Richard II.

So I got going. I'd started identifying verse in Rings on Sunday so I figured I could come back to that later. I've never actually done a true close reading of Shakespeare, but I was familiar with the concept. For those of you who aren't, I'll explain:

Essentially, you go through, line by line, word by word, and pick it apart. What does the word mean? Does it have other meanings? Does it relate to past of future stuff within the play? What are the other layers? What's the subtext? Does this reference cultural things? Religious things? Historical things? Is this word or phrase found elsewhere? What about themes? What about--what about--what about--and on and on. I didn't have to have cohesion, I just had to pick it apart.

I'll tell you now, it's as daunting as it sounds.

But I underestimated it. I read through the Shakespeare without difficulty, picked a scene with my tutor and then decided on a speech. I picked the speech, if you're familiar with the play, in Act IV, Scene I where Richard unkings himself and crowns Henry. It's twenty-two lines. Not terribly long, not unduly short, should be manageable, right?

Ha.

Now, while I readily admit that I am not some intellectual titan, I have a fair amount of intellectual stamina and endurance. But this close reading nearly killed me. It took about four hours of close reading to exhaust me to the point where my brain felt like it was going to ooze out of my ears. And I has only done five or so lines. This was Monday. It was due Thursday at noon. I had another essay to do.

Tuesday rolled around and by the end of it, I was ten lines in and at 3,800 words. My essays for my tutor, Peter, are only supposed to be 1,000-1,500 words. I'd been given some leeway to do 'much more' than normal, but this--this was madness. So I emailed him and asked if he wanted me to keep going and for a little more clarification on what he wanted.

He didn't get back to me at once, so I carried on. When he did get back to me, he said finish it and have a max of 2,500.

Now, part of me was relieved. I could stop going way down the rabbit hole like I had been, but part of me was not relieved. I had to finish it - seven or so more lines - and get it 2,300 words under where I was already at having not done those other seven lines. (So by the time I'd gotten the email, I was at 4,800.)

So, I did the only think I could do: get chocolate, Indian food, some wine, and finish the bloody thing that night. Before I started to edit, I was at about 5,500 words. By the time I finished editing, Thursday morning at about 1:30, it was at 2,700.

Attach in email. Send email. Pray brain still functions next day. Sleep.

I got less than six hours of sleep and I woke up.

I still had an entire 2,000-2,500 word essay to write on the use of poetry and song in Rings. So, embracing the British culture I kept calm and carried on. I got a large mocha with an add. shot from the coffee shop near the library, found a desk on the main floor, and began to work. I started at about 10 AM.

So. Many. Post-its.

Twelve hours, two meal breaks, another mocha, and only God know how many post-it notes later, the library hours ended and I had to leave with my essay almost finished. So I went home, cleared my head a bit, and started again. At about 12:45 AM I finished. I asked my friend, Gregg and edit it for me and by 2:30 in the morning on Friday was it done. 2,00 words exactly.

Print. Brush teeth. Sleep.

Get up in morning and go to my tutorial. My one tutorial. See, Peter, my Shakespeare tutor, had come down with the flue, rescheduled my tutorial for Monday, and assigned me a small essay on 'nothingness.' Well. Worse things could happen.

So I got up this morning and went to my tutorial. The sun wasn't shining, but it might as well have been. I liked my essay (still do, despite the issues). It was all primary sources. This was completely original. There was nothing I could find in my twelve hours in the library so I took a chance and went with all original though. And I really liked it.

That sounds vain and arrogant--it's not meant to be. I really, really just enjoyed this essay. It was about how the verse of the Elves, Hobbits, and of Rohan all speak to and inform the reader about their specific cultures. I loved it. If I could write a book on it, I would. I haven't had this much fun writing a proper essay since my film class where I wrote on Monsters, Inc. and that was two years ago.

But it was an essay that I had written in about fourteen, fifteen hours. I'm one of those people that needs more time than that to write an essay. I need day. I need time to think about it. Mull over points. Immerse myself. Really live with it for a bit before I get going. And so I missed some things. Some fairly crucial things.

I was frustrated. I could literally spend the next month looking at verse in Rings and be perfectly content about it, but I was given one day. One measly day because my Shakespeare tutorial had wreaked havoc on my brain and rendered it useless within hours.

And it wasn't worth it. What I sent to Peter was not great work. It was literally half of what I'd wanted to send to him. And even then, I'm not sure all of that was any good. So it was frustrating. My secondary tutorial almost killed me and robbed me of the time I needed to write a good essay for my primary.

As I realized all of this over the course of the next few hours, I naturally teared up, ate some chocolate, watched part of the Return of the King appendices (for the record, I only have three DVDs here with me. You get one guess what they are), and fell asleep until about 6:00 PM.

There was a Tolkien Society meeting tonight at 8:00 at Christ Church College so I showered, got dressed, and went to that. It takes twenty minutes to get there so as I walked I had a chat with myself about the day.

And as I walked all of doubts and insecurities I thought I'd moved past two weeks ago came back: realizations that I'm not that intelligent; that I have knowledge, but not intellect; that I wasn't bright enough to matriculate into this university so I came in the back way as an associate; that all the other students are studying highly intelligent things and I'm here doing Rings; that I've frankly never been all that bright or good at essays or having my own thoughts; that I'm good at reciting information, but not coming up with original thoughts; that I'd been lied to with the best intentions about my abilities; that I don't deserve to be here; that I won't ever achieve greatness; that I'll be average, ordinary; that I'm not special; that I'm not smart enough; that I'm not good enough.

Now - for the love of God - I am not fishing for compliments. While I know I'm being hard on myself about all of this, I also think that there is a bit of truth in some of it:

There are people much, much brighter than I. I've never been good at essays. I'm not really built as an academic. I can only think of one or two essays that was good and had original arguments where I wasn't parroting things back. I don't know if I'll achieve greatness. I might be ordinary.

And--it's hard. It's really hard. I want to fish for compliments, but I know that's wrong. I know that it's petty and co-dependent of me, to find my worth in what others think of me and to base my worth on people's opinions, but that does't make any of this easier.

But you know what does?

God. Because I know - even if don't always choose to believe it or if I don't always feel it - I know that my worth is not found in my essays. Or my intellect. Or my achievements. Or what I study. Or what I think. Or what other's think.

My worth is found in God. I am a child of God. I am a daughter of the King. I am loved. I have been given worth by Him. I am important. I am worth what He says I am worth. I have been gifted a wonderful brain, the best friends anyone could ask for, a family that loves my more than I can bear some days, a fantastic life full of wonder and adventure, and I am loved deeply and intimately by the Creator of the universe. The Guy who invented physics, poetry, trees, jellyfish, weather patters, plate tectonics, language, light, imagination, cells, diamonds, birds, quantum mechanics, fire, coffee--

This Guy--this Guy has given me my worth.

And so I cling to this. Because if I don't, if I don't cling to Him and His joy and love and mercy and goodness, if I don't I will be left with the certainty of those thoughts which plague me. And I know that I'm being hard on myself, that I allowed myself to sink into despair and wallow in my misery, that some of those thoughts are lies or only half of the story, that some of it, a lot of it, is pride and that I need to deal with it. So I'll deal with it.

I will wake up tomorrow and praise the Lord for the day He has made. I will find my worth and joy in Him. I will not wallow in my misery, rather I will continue on in my essays, take the criticism that is given, and get better because honestly, I'm not supposed to be writing perfect essays. Or be the smartest. Or the most intelligent. Or necessarily have all these ground-breaking, fully formed original thoughts about some of the most critically assessed works in existence--I'm here to get better and learn from some actual intellectual titans.

My worth is not found in my essays. My worth in found in the Lord God Almighty.

Disgustingly Magical

Most of my posts this far have been me trying to wax eloquent about the beauty and magic of this city and of England in general. I could go on ad nauseam about the my walks next to the Thames, the way the light hits the spires, the cobblestone streets, the ceilings and their intricate designs, the English feel of the place--it would get disgusting, how much I could talk about how magical this place is. But instead, I want to talk about the difficulties, the issues you didn't think you'd run into in England. Let us begin:

The cold. Oh, is it ever cold here. That should be obvious, and they tell you it's gonna be cold, but I'm from Southern California. If it gets above 85° there it's scorching hot and not worth living the house unless it's to go to the beach, and if it's below 65° we break out the puffy parkas and fear the imminent apocalypse that's sure to follow. What I'm saying is that I'm a weather wimp and so far it has yet to get above 48° here. There are days my fingers have difficulty moving, that my legs get red with cold, that I fear my face will never be warm again because the wind drives relentlessly against me. It's a bit miserable some days and my flatmates and I consider not leaving the house because of the 20 minute walk we'd have to endure. But we do. Every day. And every day we fear that we'll never be warm again.

The washing machines. Did you know that there is a philosophy behind washing machines? In America, we wash our clothes more often, and therefore our washing cycles are shorter, no more than an hour. In Europe, they wash their clothes less often, and therefore they're washing cycles are longer. If I want to wash and dry a single load of laundry, it'll take AT LEAST 3 hours. If jeans are involved, forget about it--5 hours. (Granted, I do a lower heat setting, but even in America this nonsense doesn't happen!) It's absolutely mad.

Food. I'm not even going to discuss the cuisine--it's a multifaceted discussion that warrants its own post. I'll say only this for now: some of it's as bad as you've heard and some of it is glorious. But food here. Their burgers are very odd. They have a totally different type of beef they use. Their ketchup is different. They don't have ranch. Mac and cheese comes in a can. The supermarkets don't have spicy peppers. They call "cilantro" "corriander." Their beer...oh, man. Their beer. I don't even want to talk about it. Their IPAs are weak. I really enjoyed their IPA. I hate IPAs; they're too bitter and awful, but this one was good. It's very odd. The beer sort of sucks. (Sorry, England.) Yeah. Food is a whole separate topic.

People on the street. Now, I'm from SoCal and I rag on LA for being a rude city, but at least we all smile at each other as we walk past one another. Here no one smiles. I've run into a handful of cashiers who smile, but most of the time I have to awkwardly scurry away as they stare past me and into my American soul, judging me with their unsmiling eyes filled with perpetual clouds and rain. Shopping can be a bit stressful to say the least. Seriously though. As I walk past people on the street there are no smiles. It's very odd.  

Driving in the town. Now, I don't have a car, right? So I don't have to worry about driving on the other side of the road. As a pedestrian who's had to retrain the directions to look when jay-walking, I've gotten used to it. That's not what I'm annoyed about. I'm annoyed that this city, Oxford, makes NO SENSE. Driving in it is insane. There are streets you can't go down, streets that only go one way. Streets that are for buses only, for pedestrians only, streets that are closed at such and such time of day--and then there's road work, and THEN there's traffic. Suffice to say I hate using taxis in this town and I only use them in the utmost need. 

The cold. "Wait, Sammy, you already talked about--" Yeah, yeah, I know. What I DIDN'T mention was the indoor factor. This country still uses radiators. Now, I like them. They're picturesque and toasty to lean up against, but sometimes...sometimes they don't heat the room like they should. Or at all. Like the dining room where I need to eat in the morning. Or the kitchen where I can see my breath some mornings. Yeah. It's cold here. 

Cash. This whole city runs off cash. Well, more or less. If I want good coffee from a good coffee shop, I need cash. If I want amazing food truck food, cash. G&D's magical ice cream? Cash. The market where I get great prices on veggies, fruits, and cheese? Cash. I need cash for all the cool stuff. I mean, I can go to pub and use a card, but I can't get good coffee without cash and I just never carry it. It's annoying and a total culture shift. They could use Square, but they don't. It's very odd. 

Also, everything closes down incredibly early. Unless you're a pub, club, or bar you're closed by, like, 6PM. Very strange. 

All those things being said, I love this town. I love this country. I love that I get to study Tolkien where he lived, that I get to hear world famous speakers at the Union, that my college is older than my country, that I get to walk on cobblestone paths to the library, that the English countryside is practically in my backyard, that my walk to my tutors necessitates me walking along the Thames at sun up. While there are a number of cultural oddities that befuddle and (mildly) annoy, I will happily put up with them and jokingly complain about them (except for the cold--that one is serious business; I will never be warm again) because this place really is disgustingly magical. 

Like I said. Magical.

Magical...and cold. Freaking cold.

Birdman

Before we get into this, you need to know where my head is at: I'm studying Tolkien at Oxford and this week I'm comparing Tolkien (who I love) and modernism (which I don't). I've been reading a lot of criticism and more than one person has been less than complimentary of the sort of modern way of not allowing a story to exist for the sake of being a story but making sure that it has some deeper meaning that makes the story almost secondary. It should be noted that I was writing and doing critical literary analysis right before I came and that my brain is, rather annoyingly, in the mode. So, suffice between the lit crit and this film I need an aspirin or a strong drink or something because my brain is just done.

Where my head is at is critical to how I came at this movie and my response to it.

First off: WOW. I mean--just--WOW. I scarcely know where to begin with this film and I apologize for the scatter shot review that is to follow. But that film was something else. Something both wonderful and frustrating. And something that should win Michael Keaton best actor without question. That is one of the best performances I've ever seen by anyone. And I  understand why it's up for best picture. I mean, aside from the sheer technical brilliance of it, you have the writing, the acting, the messages it's getting at, the play not within a play sort of thing, and then there's the drums and the music--let's just dig in.

So there is something I hate about this movie. I hate that it's trying to tell me something more than the story. I hate it partially because I'm currently in the "story for story's sake" camp (a place I'll always have a summer home in, but I don't plan on residing forever) and partially because I didn't quite get the ending or the music at some points or some of the writing, so that's frustrating. That being said, that it is trying to tell me something more is partially why I love it.

It's like a puzzle, this film. Parts of it make sense very quickly and other parts don't. (While I might not want to see this again in theaters, or to some extent ever because it's an emotionally draining film, I want the director's commentary, all the behind the scenes, everything where the director and writers explain what in the heck is up with this movie.) So, I think I understand the music. I think. I noticed - and this comes from having only seen it once and not having read up on it at all - that when there is music in the film there is acting. Now, obviously, they're acting the whole time. This isn't a story about Michael Keaton and Edward Norton. That isn't what I mean. What I mean is that there are only a few times when the characters are honest.

When there is no score, there is honesty. When they are on stage, there is honesty. When anyone talks to Emma Stone, the non-actor and non-producer, there is honesty.

I'd have to watch it again, but it is interesting that Riggan, Keaton's character, "controls" the score. Is there only music when he's on screen? Maybe--I don't know. I'll have to check. The music is very tricky. Very tricky indeed.

Mike, Norton's character says that he's only honest on stage and that is, by and larger true. The only other time he is even remotely honest is with Sam, Stone's character. But she is, with the exception of her mother, the only non-showbiz character. She doesn't take people's nonsense, but people, except for Mike, take hers. She is a bit dishonest like the rest of the characters. But when she's not...I don't know. It's good. She stops trying to be the tough girl with the problems.

In fact, that's one of the driving themes of the film: honesty. I think that might actually explain the ending. This is a difficult and tricky theory to explain so buckle up and try to follow (I'll try to lead well):

Okay, first off, this play takes post shots at all of Hollywood. Producers (Jake, Galiflanakis, calling the press leeches when he is the biggest one of all), critics (Riggan's speech about critics essentially calling them cowards), Hollywood (Batma--I mean Ironm--I mean Michael Ba--I mean Birdman. I totally mean Birdman, guys), celebrities ("You are not an actor, you are a celebrity."), elitists (Mike, the scene with the critic, the critic's review)--everyone...except perhaps actors. Actors are exempt from the mocking I think. Or if they aren't, they're certainly not roasted like everyone else is. So, the actor is someone who, as exemplified in Riggan, struggling with all these forces, all these others pounding against them.

Second, there is a theme of trying to be you, trying to be worth something, trying to have meaning as a human being. And while the film has some interesting things to say about that, it ends on what I think is a positive note. Sam seems to kind of get past her front to an extent and accept who she is and I think at the end so does Riggan. I think the ending goes like this:

He flies away at the end (literally???) with the music because he accepts that he is Birdman and that's not bad. He's trying so hard to be something he isn't: a member of the theater elite who see him as an invading Hollywood celebrity trying to make themselves feel like they are worth something by doing "real" acting. (That is a discussion and essay unto itself so, I'm not even going to go further down that rabbit hole.) But he isn't. He has worth (another topic from this film that is an essay unto itself) is being who he is, not who he's trying to be. He tries to hard to get love from people who don't love him and never will. He has a group of people who love him and he needs to embrace that rather than shove it away. I think it's saying that actors need to embrace their craft is whatever aspect it comes in.

That's my crazy theory on the ending. If you think I'm wrong, tell me because I probably am.

Now I'm just going to gush about the film:

Use of music: covered, but oh my gosh it was SO BRILLIANT.

Writing: curious. Very curious. ON stage the dialogue feels honest, but OF stage it can feel as if it's being written for a play and a bit dishonest, forced. Also, all the women, except for Sam, feel like that off stage. What does that mean? NO IDEA. But I love it. This is the "play not within a play" thing I was getting at. The play takes place off stage, but the play itself is where the honesty is. It's a very smart reversal.

Acting: GUYS. I hope I see Galiflanakis in more roles like this because he was awesome. Stone was sublime. Norton was just so perfect. Keaton deserves the Oscar. Period.

Cinematography and Editing: Oscar gold. And also just fun to watch. But really. If I could explain the feeling in my soul that the cleverness of this brings I would, but I can't. It was stupendous. There are maybe - MAYBE - four intentional cuts (and those "cuts" are not really cuts at all, but clever fades--I mean, they're totally cuts, but they're not meant to be). The rest was almost totally seamless and beautifully clever. Just give them the bloody Oscar and spare everyone else the non-tension and disappointment a few weeks form now. I have no doubt they are equally brilliant, but let me explain something about the Academy:

They not only love films about film (which is what this essentially is), but they love the clever stuff, the different, the films that have that "holy crap" "wow-factor" thing going on. That, if for no other reason, is why it should do very well. It should also do well because it's an, if I may be so bold, instant classic.

This will be shown in film classes, scholars will write essays about this film, books will be published--this film will be, and should be, critically picked at for a long, long while to come because it is so complex and deep and also rather straightforward.

So there you have it. My scatter shot review. Please comment below telling me why I'm wrong and what I missed because I know I am and did.

Final words: I loved and I hated. I both grasped it and watched as it slipped through my fingers. It enthralled, frustrated, delighted, annoyed, and made my head ache as I tried to wrap my brain around it. Suffice to say, it is an excellent film and an instant classic.

UPDATE:

I woke up this morning and realized that I'd missed it, the point of the film. Well, I'd missed what I think is its main point. The film is about love. Where do we get love, will anybody love us, is love the same thing as admiration, what about loving ourselves? THAT is what this film is about. Love and ultimately people finding it, people discovering that they have worth and accepting it.

Think about it. Think about how the film ends, when characters stop being used and the circumstances around it, think about the two women not being important after they kiss, about Mike not being important after he kisses Sam (who, again, I still think is the only exception to this--don't know why...), think about the mask in the hospital when Riggan accepts that he is Birdman and flies off into the sunset. When people get it, when they finish that arc, they're not on screen anymore as an important character. They figured it out and get to disappear from the chaos of people trying to find love.

This film is about love.

‘Aragorn and Beowulf: That was a Great King’

‘Aragorn and Beowulf: That was a Great King’

by Samantha E K Reynolds

When comparing J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and the epic Beowulf, it is almost too obvious to say, ‘Oh, look--Professor Tolkien’s gone and stolen the Anglo-Saxon culture and given it to Rohan.' While it is a valid look between the two of them, it can be both very interesting and very tedious. Instead this essay is going to have a little more character to it and do a comparison of Aragorn and Beowulf. Tolkien, while he never stated that he overtly drew from it, named Beowulf as one of his ‘most valued sources.’1 I think that allows for a comparison. What’s more, I think they are sufficiently similar enough to say this: both had similar expectations placed on them by people. Beowulf failed to meet them where as Aragorn did not. The term 'great king'2 was applied to Beowulf despite having failed to meet the terms to become a ‘great king.’ Aragorn was given a similar set of criterion and met them, beautifully. Therefore, Aragorn is worthy of that title and Beowulf is not.

First, how are they alike? I will go through their reputations, their interactions of their respective foreign kings, their Christianity, a few other miscellaneous nuggets, and their archetype.

Their reputations: Beowulf is first described as a ‘thane of Hygelac’ and ‘mightiest among mankind in that day and age, noble and powerful.'3 Aragorn is a ‘Chief of the Dúnedain’4 and as ‘worthy of honour, [...] the most hardy of living Men.’5 Both men also have deeds of courage attributed to them. Beowulf’s is more specific, involving a swimming competition,6 but it is said that he has ‘undertaken many glorious deeds.’7 Of Aragorn it is said that ‘he laboured in the cause against Sauron,’ ‘made many perilous journeys,’ and fought for other rulers.8 They are cut from much of the same cloth, meaning they hopefully they will achieve similar ends.

Their interactions with their respective foreign kings: both men came unbidden to their respective kingdoms they saved after encountering a small delay. Aragorn found out about Saruman’s wickedness when he ran into the Éomer and said that he would help when he could,9 and while we don’t know exactly how Beowulf heard about Grendel, we do know that he came after getting counsel from his people.10 Both came with other warriors11 and both were asked to leave their weapons at the door.12 Interestingly enough, both men had met their kings before they came (albeit in opposite circumstances).13 Both Aragorn and Beowulf played an integral role in saving Théoden and Hrothgar’s kingdoms between the epic battles of Helms Deep and Grendel as heroes.

Their Christianity: now, perhaps it is because I am a Christian and I know that Tolkien is as well, but Aragorn has Christian, even Christ-like elements to him. The most obvious being the title of the third part of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. He’s of an ancient line of people who fell from grace,14 like Christ,15 who comes back to fulfill prophecy,16 he has the ability to heal people and does,17 and, as pointed out by Ralph C. Wood in The Gospel According to Tolkien, one of his names ‘Estel’ means 'hope.'18 What’s more, he’s a good guy, to be very casual about it, well loved by all who meet him, something that only good people possessing of virtue find happening to them.19 Now, I will grant that this seems like a stretch, but not so great of one as to warrant ignoring. 20

Beowulf’s Christianity is as the same time more obvious and less specific. Tolkien himself spoke of a ‘blending’ of Christianity and paganism in Beowulf and I think that’s what we see.21 While you would be hard pressed to call Beowulf a Christian, as you obviously would with Aragorn, there are some threads there. Margaret E. Goldsmith notes ‘Beowulf's selfless courage’ 22 when saving Heorot, and that he speaks of a ‘Christian state of “readiness for contrition,” [when] Beowulf grieves that he has incurred God's anger unwittingly.’23 He does indeed give thanks to ‘the Lord of all, the King of Glory’ by the end.24 While he’s not a ‘Christ-figure’ in the same way that Aragorn might be construed, it is worth noting the Christian-influence on both of them.

Or perhaps, as T.M. Gang puts it, it is that Beowulf is sort of a ‘secular Saint.’25 Indeed you could probably ascribe that to both he and Aragorn which means that we can assume, them being saintly, that they are men of strong moral fiber who will rise to the occasion.

There are a few minor things to note, a few fun items such as swords and kingdoms.

Both men have important named swords with stories behind them and neither is the first owner of that sword. Beowulf has Hrunting, formerly belonging to Unferth,26 and Aragorn has Andúril, formerly belonging to Elendil.27 Both are singular swords.28 Both men do, by the end, get their own kingdom. Aragorn becomes king of both Gondor and Arnor,29 and Beowulf becomes king of the Geats30 after he had already been given his own little realm.31 This continues to show the coinciding trajectories of their lives.

Their archetype--this is where things get a bit more involved: first, we must explain that Tolkien was creating a mythology.32 ‘Myth, in its most general sense, provides a link between the eternal and the human, as manifested in the human [sic],’33 arguably as manifested in the hero. This places a heavy burden on a hero to live up to the eternal, to the divine, to be better than human, to not fail. This is all important because, myths tend to deal in archetypes.

Beowulf is an archetypal hero, ‘“embodying the dark side as well as the light” [...] [with a] desire to be supremely destructive as well as supremely creative’34 as seen in his killing of Grendel and creating of peace, if only for a time. In his defeat of Grendel, he ‘control[s] [...] chaos by the forces of order’ thus ‘repeat[ing] the act of a god.’35 That, certainly, makes him ‘better than human,’ I would say.

Aragorn does something similar. As king, he presumably brings order to some of the chaos in Middle Earth, restoring the peace that the darkness had brought in his kingdom of Arnor. (We can assume this, I would argue because no mention of a failure on his part is mentioned in the Appendices and there is certainly some cleaning up needed in places like Bree where there are ‘wolves [...] And dark shapes in the woods’ that are disturbing the peace.36) Even before he is king, he is restoring order, playing a massive part in freeing Rohan from Saruman at the Battle of Helms Deep37 and leading an Army of the Dead to rescue Minas Tirith from certain chaotic destruction.38 Keeping in mind the actual ‘better than a normal man’ qualities he already possess - healing, as discussed earlier, and his long life and delayed aging process39 - it’s safe to say that he too, like Beowulf, ‘control[s] [...] chaos by the forces of order’ to some extent. Because of all of this, I would say that we can infer that he possessed both the ability to destroy (by killing, like Beowulf) and the ability to create (peace and a kingdom, more or less like Beowulf).

Now that we have established that they are in fact akin to each other, we come to,the question ‘Is Beowulf really a “great king” as is claimed or is he just an “okay king”? Particularly when you compare him against someone like Aragorn who is, as I have shown, sufficiently similar to contrast against?’

As both men have similar backgrounds (one is a thane, the other a chief, both are men of

repute), entered into these situations under similar circumstances, with similar moral characters and trajectories, and are similar (if not the same) archetypes, one would hope that they would both live up to this title of ‘great king.’ But no!

The archetype is where the first part of this discussion begins.

Whereas Aragorn maintains this archetypal element staying ‘more than human’ not only because of his long life, but because of how it ends - in that it ends successfully, something that will be gotten to shortly - Beowulf does not maintain this mythic archetype. After his defeat of Grendel, his two other battles bump him from a mythic archetype down to ‘an historical figure,’ then to ‘an historical king,’ finally letting both ‘encounters demythologize[...] Beowulf.’40 His defeat at the hands of the dragon ‘destroys the hero’s effectiveness as an archetypal figure’41 and of his society.42 (This does not happen to Aragorn who dies peacefully leaving the kingdom to his son, Eldarion.43)

Continuing on, the standards set for them by others--standards, I would wager, that are a fair yardstick. Beginning with Beowulf:

The first standard is woven into the very fabric of the poem. His funeral and proclamation as a ‘great king’ at the end ‘symmetrically closes the poem’44 which opens with another ‘great king,’ Scyld, and his funeral.45 Scyld is a king to whom people paid tribute who had a generous and beloved son.46 The translator, Michael Swanton put forth that the poet opens with this seemingly unimportant story to ‘make it appear that Scyld’s arrival marks the very foundation of the Danish state and the springtime of its fortunes.’47 Beowulf has to live up to that.

The second standard is set for him by Hrothgar:

‘Bebeorh þe ðone bealoníð, Beowulf leofa,

secg betosta,  ond þe þæt selre geceos,

ece rædas; oferhyda ne gym

mære cempa!’48

Hrothgar is extolling Beowulf ‘do not be obsessed by arrogance!’ It’s a very straight forward standard and something Beowulf has, in comparison with how the poem ends, lived up to. Whereas at the end of the poem where he tries to take on the dragon singlehandedly as an old man,49 when dealing with Grendel he has his people with him50 and even when he deals with Grendel’s mother he doesn’t preclude, verbally, people from joining him.51 At least prior to dealing with the dragon we can see that he has not become ‘obsessed by arrogance.’

Beowulf has two standards set before him and, I would argue, missed the mark with both despite what his people say of him.52 Beowulf does not, in fact, live up to these standards.

Concerning the first: If Scyld is ‘the very foundation of the Danish state’ who is succeeded by his son, presumably as it wasn’t noted that he was not succeeded by his son, then Beowulf is the end. Not only did the dragon destroy villages under Beowulf’s protection, but Beowulf’s hall.53 The Anglo-Saxon word used is ‘gifstol’54 which literally means ‘gift-seat’ or ‘throne.’55 Very literally, and symbolically I would argue on account of his apparent lack of action to defend his home while it is being attacked, Beowulf lost his throne. To add insult to injury, he had no heirs, no son to carry on his name.56 He has failed on both things that were important to note about Scyld. That is one failed standard.

Concerning the second: I would argue that, to make matters worse, not only does he fail at Hrothgar’s standard, but it is because he fails at this standard that he fails at the first. Lines 2345-2354 speak to how Beowulf will not take a sizable troop to fight the dragon with him because he does not seem to think the fire-breathing beast of death and destruction is going to be all that much of a challenge after all the beasts he has already defeated. What’s more, after fifty years of being king,57 making him well into and his sixties if not his seventies, he feels that his own strength is enough to defeat this monster.58 If that isn’t pride, if that does not sound as if a man has become ‘obsessed by arrogance’ then I do not know what does.59

Aragorn on the other hand lives up to the standards given to him. One comes from Bilbo Baggins and two from the elf-lord Elrond. What’s more, he even surpasses his ancestors to whom he is compared with.

Bilbo and Elrond both set the standard for Aragorn to become king. Bilbo states, almost prophesies ‘The crownless again shall be king.’61 Elrond is less poetic about a standard saying that unless Aragorn becomes 'the King of both Gondor and Arnor'61 he will not be allowed to marry Arwen, Elrond’s daughter.

The other standard set is more dramatic. Elrond, again, states that Aragorn will either succumb to the fate of his ancestors and ‘fall into darkness’ or become so great a king as has not been seen since the great kings.62

The last one, also set by Elrond, is perhaps the most nebulous. He mentions a ‘hard and long’ test that Aragorn must not fail, lest his years are cut short and his stature diminished.63 It seems that this test is lifelong and culminates with death: do not give in to despair.64

Three standards, one more than Beowulf has, and as, if not more, difficult: become king of two kingdoms, become such a king as has not been seen in many years, do not give into despair.

He was crowned king of Gondor and Arnor, was a successful and righteous king as

had not been seen in many ages,65 and he passed the test, going hopefully ‘beyond [...] [the circles of the world] [into] more than memory.’66

Whereas Aragorn lived up to his standards, Beowulf did not. What’s more, Beowulf failed to live up to the most important standard: the one set by Scyld which carried the mantle, ‘That was a great king.’ Aragorn, more or less, was given that same standard in being told to surpass his ancestors and lived up to it. How then can the poet say that Beowulf was a ‘great king’? I would argue that he was a good and even heroic king, but not a great one.

As shown through the course of this essay, only Aragorn is deserving of the proclamation, ‘That was a great king.’

1. Tolkien, J.R.R. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Compiled by Humphrey Carpenter. Edited by Humphrey Carpenter and Christopher Tolkien. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1981, letter 25.

2. Swanton, Michael, trans. Beowulf. Revised ed. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1978, line 2390.

3. Beowulf, lines 189-193.

4. Tolkien, J.R.R. The Fellowship of the Ring. 1965/1966 ed. Vol. 1 of The Lord of the Rings. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1954, 206.

5. Tolkien, J.R.R. The Return of the King. 1965/1966 ed. Vol. 3 of The Lord of the Rings. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1955, 341.

6. Beowulf, lines 529-606.

7.  It should be noted that he himself says this, but given all the other things that we know of him as a leader of men I don’t think he lies about it. Beowulf, lines 408-409.

8. Tolkien, The Return of the King, 340-341.

9. Tolkien, J.R.R. The Two Towers. 1965/1966 ed. Vol. 2 of The Lord of the Rings. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1954, 39.

10. Beowulf, lines 194-204.

11. Beowulf with ‘champions, the bravest he could find’ (Beowulf, lines 205-207) and Aragorn with Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli (Tolkien, The Two Towers, chapter four).

12. Beowulf, lines 397-398, and Tolkien, The Two Towers, 114-115.

13. Beowulf, lines 373-374, and Tolkien, The Two Towers, 441.

14. Not to speak of the fall of Men from Númenor (Tolkien, J.R.R. The Silmarillion. Compiled by Christopher Tolkien. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1977, 259-282), but then Isildur who allowed the Ring of Power and Sauron to exist, and then the subsequent kings who diluted the blood line (Tolkien, Return of the King, 332-333) thereby allowing the stewards to rule in their stead.

15. That is a completely different paper altogether, but suffice to say that the genealogies in both St. Matthew and St. Luke’s Gospels trace Christ’s bloodline back past David whose ‘house and [...] kingdom will endure forever’ (2 Samuel 7:16, Zondervan NIV Study Bible (Fully Revised). (2002). Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan), and who is part of the race of mankind which fell from grace and into brokenness in Genesis 3 much like the race of Men in Middle Earth did.

16. Albeit the prophecy of Bilbo Baggins as given first in Gandalf’s letter (Tolkien, Fellowship of the Ring, 182) and then again at Rivendale (260-261), but a prophecy nonetheless.  

17. Tolkien, Return of the King, 141. Many of Christ’s miracles were ones of healing.

18. Wood, Ralph C. The Gospel According to Tolkien: visions of the kingdom of middle earth. Louisville, KT: Knox Press, 2003.

19. As evidenced by, if nothing else, Lady Éowyn’s declaration that those who go with him to the Path’s of the Dead go with him ‘because they would not be parted from thee--because they love thee’ (Tolkien, Return of the King, 58). This is the most obvious of many instances where Aragorn is loved.

20. Tolkien himself said that while he wrote a myth, but not a Christian myth (‘I suppose that a difference between this Myth [presumably his Legendarium] and what may perhaps be called Christian mythology’ [Letters, Letter 212]) he did say that the fact that he is a Christian can reasoned from his work (Letters, Letter 213) therefore making an inference like this fair game.

21. Tolkien, J.R.R. The Monsters and the Critics: and other essays. London, UK: HarperCollins Publishers, 1997, 21.

22. Goldsmith, Margaret E. 'The Christian Perspective in Beowulf.' Comparative Literature 14, no. 1 (Winter 1962): 71-90, 75.

23. Goldsmith, 'The Christian Perspective,' 79.

24.  Beowulf, lines 2794-2795.

25. Gang, T.M. 'Approaches to Beowulf.' The Review of English Studies, n.s., 3, no. 9 (January 1952): 1-12, 11.

26. Beowulf, lines 1488-1491.

27. Tolkien, Fellowship of the Ring, 260.

28. Hrunting is a singular sort of sword , I would say, because the word used to describe it, hæftmece is ‘otherwise unrecorded. It is interesting that in the same place in the paradigm in the Old Norse Grettis Saga, the same kind of strange weapon occurs’ with an ‘otherwise unrecorded’ word being used (Beowulf, 198). Andúril is singular as well being a reforged sword of ‘the Blade that was Broken’ and having originally been forged ‘in the deeps of time’ (Tolkien, The Two Towers, 115).

29. Tolkien, Return of the King, 246.

30. Beowulf, lines 2386-2390.

31. Beowulf, lines 2194-2196.

32. He himself called it ‘my “mythology”’ in his letters (Tolkien, Letters, 229).

33. Helterman, Jeffrey. 'Beowulf: The Archetype Enters History.' ELH 35, no. 1 (March 1968): 1-20, 2.

34. Helterman, ‘The Archetype Enters History,’ 3.

35. Helterman, ‘The Archetype Enters History,’ 9.

36. Tolkien, Return of the King, 272.

37. Tolkien, Two Towers, 131-147.

38. Tolkien, Return of the King, 123.

39. After the events of the War of the Ring, Aragorn ruled for 120 years already being 88 when he was crowned king (Tolkien, Return of the King, 343, 370, 376).

40. Helterman, ‘The Archetype Enters History,’ 17.

41. Helterman, ‘The Archetype Enters History,’ 19.

42. Helterman, ‘The Archetype Enters History,’ 20.

43. Tolkien, Return of the King, 343-344.

44. Helterman, ‘The Archetype Enters History,’ 5.

45. Beowulf, line 11.

46. Beowulf, lines 10-12, 20-24.

47. Beowulf, 15.

48. Beowulf, lines 1758-1761.

49. Beowulf, lines 2538-2541.

50. Beowulf, lines 688-690.

51. Beowulf, lines 1473-1491.

52. They’re biased anyway.

53. Beowulf, lines 2312-2327.

54. Beowulf, line 2327.

55. ‘gifstol.’ Hall, John R. Clark. A Concise Anglo-Saxon Dictionary. Third ed. London, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1894.

56. Beowulf, lines 2729-2732.

57. Beowulf, lines 2732-2733.

58. Beowulf, lines 2538-2541.

59. I will grant that I come at this with 21st century eyes and that I could be completely wrong in the eyes of the culture. I am not so arrogant or stupid to assume that I am unable of being wrong about a culture from almost 1,500 years ago.

60. Tolkien, Fellowship of the Ring, 261.

61. Tolkien, Return of the King, 342. If you look at a map, that’s a sizable kingdom, split, actually by a mountain range.

62. Tolkien, Return of the King, 340.

63. Tolkien, Return of the King, 338.

64. Tolkien, Return of the King, 344. It is a very nebulous passage this, and to my, albeit limited, knowledge, the only time such a test is mentioned for Aragorn.

65. ‘In his time the City [of Minas Tirith] was made more fair than it had ever been’ (Tolkien, Return of the King, 246), he was both merciful and just particularly in the case of Beregond of Gondor (246-247), he made peace with his enemies and freed slaves (247), and even in death he was ‘an image of the splendour of the Kings of Men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world’ (344). I would say he met Elrond’s standard. Elrond blessed his marriage to Arwen, didn’t he (251)?

66. Tolkien, Return of the King, 344.

67. As evidenced by the mourners at his funeral and the speeches made about it, the outpouring of love in the last four chapters of Beowulf (lines 2821-3182).

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