Friday, July 5, 2013

Day 3: War

Yesterday instead of finding myself on local trails, I found myself several hundred miles north in the once sleepy town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. In reality (the one far away from Middle Earth) my country is experiencing the 150th anniversary of our bloodiest war: the American Civil War. As I am a living historian in the little free time I have, I travel up every year to participate in the reenactment of Gettysburg. This year, though, the sheer number of people projected to attend led me to come only as a spectator.

The day was filled with history, remembrance, and the garish and fascinating reenactment of a tragedy long since passed. For many in my generation the reality of war is a foreign thing. Even though my country is currently at war in the Middle East, I and many others have not been affected by it. I often wonder what the reality of war is like, though a very large part of me never wants to find out.
At the reenactment I watched a staged battle take place. And as always I am shocked by it. The idea that men die so brutally at the hands of one another is jarring. The use of guns and canons leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The images both live and captured as photographs 150 years prior, inspire awe and sorrow. But I continue to come to view this reenactment year after year because events like this can’t be forgotten.
Tolkien himself knew the realities of war all too well. He as many of you know, was involved in the First World War. In fact, he began writing of Middle Earth from his hospital bed after he was laid low with trench fever. Tolkien was a witness to what would later be known as the first modern war. He would see a war where guns and gas attacks claimed countless lives in awful and grotesque fashions, a world in which days upon days in foul trenches spread horrible disease, where men’s bodies decomposed in no man’s land. When all was said and done, Tolkien would be one of the few out of his friends to return home. During the time Tolkien was writing The Lord of the Rings, his son was fighting in the Second World War. Two generations exposed to a world of war and its aftermath, exposed to countless deaths that many would never understand.
In The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien would write much about war. It is important to note that the wars Tolkien wrote of remained in the fashion of old, fought with swords and arrows. Here people met each other face-to-face on the battlefield instead of in trenches. Here the armies of Middle Earth contended with mostly straightforward weapons and tactics (if we exclude the army of the undead) rather than disease and neurotoxins released from leagues away. In the midst of a book centered on war, Tolkien grips his readers with deep contemplation of what war means and with the question of humanity. Even Sam and Frodo, after witnessing the death of a Haradrim warrior, would be forced to consider why men fight, what they were like before they left for war, if they had family or loved ones behind. They were forced to ask: was this man not unlike myself once upon a time?  Tolkien summed it up best when he said, “War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” (Faramir, The Two Towers)
On a side note I walked 6.46 miles (10.4 km) today. Between walking the expansive reenactment site and hiking in the Gettysburg Battlefield park, I walked longer than I thought I would. At this point in their journey the hobbits had ended their first day and found shelter behind a hill and some tree roots to curl up for the night in. The hobbits would began day two at a leisurely pace and continue to hike the rolling hills of the Shire.
 
The road goes ever on and on,
~Daisy Buttons

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