Those are the obvious thoughts. There are more operating beneath and around them like a wallpaper, but are harder to identify. Perhaps there is an avenue in late-romanticism, post-impressionism, its fascination with the Far East and the Chivalric similarities to those movements. But grounded in something more concrete- more terra firma.
I saw a blurb the other day. A critic was reviewing a book that discussed ethics with the suggestion that, like money, ethic/morality is a castle we build in the sky and live in. It is fictitious and illusory but because of our common agreement, it becomes a meter that we can all build with.
That idea is interesting, but terrifically flawed, and the critic is the one who makes the observation. And it's probably the observation that undermines all deconstructionists, which is what the book's author ultimately was. A dollar is an idea and nothing more. However, what it represents is not. And that's really the crux of everything. A dollar 100 years ago might have represented a day's hard work for an unskilled laborer. Today it represents about 10 minutes of work. The work- the underlying principle- is unchanged. A meter is a subjectively determined unit of length. The length itself is unchanging.
Applying this to morality needs more precision. What was modesty 100 years ago is not modesty today. The underlying principle, which is adultery and lusting, remains the same. People get sloppy. Whether I use metric or English, the building won't stand unless I obey the underlying principles of physics. Whether I use dollars or euros, the workers won't work unless they're paid a fair wage- unless I observe the underlying principles of the matter.
And this is what the critic observed. He suggested that what we, as a society observe as "law" is perhaps an instrument to sense or gauge the underlying reality of things. When we come up with a law for anti-trust, that is an instrument for feeling out the fundamental truth of "fairness". Therefore, the underlying reality of morality or ethics is absolute and exists over and against us. Societal observations on this truth may be imprecise or outright wrong, like bad instrumentation, but the underlying principle does not change.
And now in an act of alchemy, I will wed these disparate themes into a salient whole:
The Hobbit, through Tolkien, grew out of a fascination with the roots of things. It's interesting to observe that Hobbits live in the ground. Tolkien loved old English, etymology, and the idea of language. All those things are concerned with genesis. They all look for the foundation of things and are an observation of how little things have changed. Tolkien was fascinated with the solidity that echoes throughout time like a bell- the eternal. In finding the roots of a word, or the roots of myth, he takes a hammer and sees how the meaning echoes. He listens for its fidelity. So when he names a sword "Sting" it is unlike the nickname for a WWF wrestler. It sounds immediately like the hot needle of a wasp bringing agony to a larger opponent. It sounds like a pin that could prick the belly of a monster and bring to it doom. The Hobbit, like "dollars" grasped at something beneath us. Something true. Tolkien's philological empathy helped English to act as a conduit of these verities that a sloppier author would blithely pass over like a beachcomber looking for sand dollars when jade, and emeralds, and doubloons, and crimson rubies lay buried. In his linguistic savvy, Tolkien brought along a metal detector. And his excavation yielded us quite a booty.
Through Tolkien, I find new gems of the older linguistic heritage. Like a forest path, it leads to fields of meaning and significance. Through him, a newfound appreciation for Beowulf, Gawain, and by extension, Arthurian legend. It's like a world where each path leads to other paths, and throughout them is this sensing of the firm, the underlying sameness, the truth. Some are perhaps closer than others, but all carry some observation of something far larger than themselves.
So continuing further we arrive at romanticism. Romanticism's main aim, above all else, was expression. It sought to say and was not particular about what. This can be outrageously fortuitous or evil. But in every respect, it is louder. And so some of these romantics latched on to the earth and spoke it loudly. They guessed at truths and proclaimed them boldly. It's not surprising that they had an interest in the Far East. The world was growing smaller and a discipline obsessed with expression is always hungry for new ways to say something. It's easy to see why they clung to the marvelous minimalism of Japan. In it, they found a new medium perfectly suited to the aims of Romanticism. It stripped all away but the meaning- the spirit or essence. It turned down all the channels in a mix except the one that you want everyone to hear. It is a form of amplification.
So, in the ways that this minimalism branched from traditional romanticism or served it, it still accomplished the thing that great art always can. It observed a fundamental truth. It was a seismograph that looked deep into the ground, felt reality, and conveyed it to us in a language we can understand.
So in conclusion, I certainly don't like every example of any of these mediums I've mentioned. Some are outrageously bad, or dangerously wrong. Yet, at its best, they sound like a clear chime that resonates, like a tuning fork, somewhere deep inside my soul. Sometimes it sounds much like the peace that God declares for us. The peace of which He alone is source. It echoes throughout time, throughout language, and throughout cultures. Sometimes dimly, but there is always an element of it there. After all, He built everything. As C.S. Lewis (another who was fascinated with the terra firma) suggested, the best evil can do is distort truth.
Tolkien served as a door to these larger treasures. I can't help but feel the old thrill of traveling again to the hole under the Hill and finding Mr. Baggins' coat pegs hung with the colored hoods of unexpected guests now emptying his larders of cakes and ale. There's something pleasant about the earth there.
