Review of The Wisdom of China ed. by Lin Yutang

Initially published as The Wisdom of China and India, publishers later separated the massive tome into its two natural halves, The Wisdom of India and The Wisdom of China.  Focusing on the major schools of thought from Eastern philosophy, the Chinese half is full of names familiar to the West: Laozi, Confucius, Zhuangzi, Mencius, Mozi, and others.  The book also features a large number of selections from personages most would be unfamiliar with: Luxin, Sizi, Shenfu, and so on.  Lin’s translations and introductory material invaluable, this is perhaps the best introduction to Chinese philosophy available.

Divided into sections based on theme rather than philosopher, readers will find mysticism, democracy (Chinese style), universal love, familial piety, everyday life, and a large number of other subjects broached.  Starting with the Daoists, moving through the teachings of Mozi, touching upon Mencius, and moving to Confucianism, Lin has included all of the big names expected, as well as large number of names the majority of Westerners probably have not encoutnered.  So while these philosophers’ works can be found in many, many other books (including Lin’s own The Wisdom of Laotse and The Wisdom of Confucius), the inclusion of lesser known ideologists to fill the political, spiritual, and social spaces of Chinese thought makes this book all the more comprehensive and valuable.  (I would estimate 70% of the book relates to the “famous” philosophers mentioned above, the remaining 30% to lesser known personages.)

Review of "The Farthest Shore" by Ursula Le Guin

Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle is often downplayed as YA given the style of writing and relatively simple structure of the plots.  Entirely unfair, the novels’ thematic material is complex—far from juvenile.  Self-actualization and discovering personal freedom the subjects of the first two books in the Cycle, A Wizard ofEarthsea and The Tombs of Atuan, respectively, Le Guin returns for a third bildungsroman.  Coming to terms with death the theme this time around, with The Farthest Shore Le Guin continues to challenge readers, young and adult, with heavy yet poignant subject matter in a highly imaginative setting and story.

The Farthest Shore is the story of the prince Arren and his conquering fear of death.  Ged having risen to Archmage since A Wizard ofEarthsea and Tenar having helped bring peace with the ring of Erreth-Akbe in The Tombs of Atuan, things would seem settled in Earthsea.  But subtly a new threat sweeps the archipelago, and the king sends his son, Arren, to inquire of the Masters of Roke what is to be done regarding this elusive threat.  The Masters collectively indecisive, Ged sets out with the young man in his old sailboat Lookfar to discover the source of the malaise engulfing the land and stealing the spirit of the people.  Ged and Arren face many hardships tracking down this intangible evil, but the fate they ultimately confront challenges them like no other, altering their lives forever in the process.  

It’s no secret that The Darkest Shore is the heaviest of Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle.  This, however, should not put off readers.  Dialogue bursting with perennial wisdom regarding life and death, a profound wisdom is expressed in its pages that not only pushes the book beyond YA status, but makes for positive, worthwhile reading on a subject rarely broached by fantasy.  Readers will encounter a viewpoint they perhaps have never heard before and be richly rewarded for lending an ear.

But for all the meaning of existence discussed, the book is also chock full of fantastical imagination.  Le Guin dresses the theme of death in clothes that never shy from reality, yet soften the discussion in an engaging and interest-building tone.  Dragons play their largest role in the Cycle to date, not to mention a variety of unique cultures and living standards are presented in a style coloring what would otherwise be a dreary story; Ged and Arren’s adventures take them through more than just the dark side.  The raft people, for example, are a singular creation of fantasy that prove Le Guin is in her element when writing, their culture reverberating with theme every water dance they perform.  

In the end, The Farthest Shore is another great Earthsea novel.  It combines unique storytelling, imaginative settings, profound theme, realistic characterization, and perennial philosophy in mythic tones no other writer on the fantasy scene can.  Accountable to all ages, those who dismiss the book as YA have obviously not looked deeply into the dialogue between Arren and Ged or the symbolism quietly tucked away in the story’s setting and character behavior.  Delivering a message and telling a story, readers could ask for little more in this third bildungsroman rounding out the original Earthsea trilogy.

(For those who have read the book and the Earthsea Cycle as a whole, you may be interested in reading a paper I wrote on its Daoist tenets and angles on contemporary theory called "Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past".  Part I is here and Part II, here.)

Review of "Heaven, Earth, and Man in the 'Book of Changes'" by Hellmut Wilhelm

Heaven, Earth, and Man in The Book of Changes is a collection of papers delivered by Hellmut Willhelm at the Eranos meetings held in the 1950s.  Picking up where his father Richard, the renowned scholar, left off, the book touches upon a variety of subjects directly and indirectly related to Yi Jing, or, the first book in the Chinese canon, The Book of Changes.  

The book is divided into seven papers.  The first two, “The Concept of Time” and “The Creative Principle”, provide an overview of the history and philosophical underpinnings of Yi Jing.  The two concepts innate to Chinese culture, these papers offer a good starting point for those unfamiliar with the origins of the book, particularly its relationship to Daoism and Chinese mythology, and the fundamental principles underlying its intent.  The third paper, “Human Events and Their Meaning” moves to the abstract, particularly the transcendence of the moment - fate or destiny, as it were. The book is approached from a practical stance, however, rather than one involving the supernatural or the divinitive.  The fourth and fifth papers, “The ‘Own City’ as the Stage of Formation” and “The Interaction of Heaven, Earth, and Man” attempt to locate physical representations of Yi Jing throughout history and humankind.  The arguments weak but unprovable, Wilhelm cites the abandonment and traditional layout of cities as the result of Yi Jing in the former, and the uniqueness of humanity as being the result of its position between the heaven and the earth in the latter.   This essay the most specious, Wilhelm attempts to use a more modern Chinese philosopher’s matrix for change as proof against the original, all too poor effect.  The last two papers, however, “Wanderings of the Spirit” and “The Interplay of Image and Concept” deal more with the concrete aspects of Yi Jing and are therefore sustained by less fallible research.

Throughout these seven papers Wilhelm makes ample use of the 64 hexagrams as examples supporting his claims.  The numerological aspect of Yi Jing glossed only briefly, readers looking  for knowledge on the more mystical or spiritual side of The Book of Changes should look elsewhere.  More in the vein of Levi-Strausse, Eliade, Frye, Campbell, or Jung, Wilhelm instead approaches Yi Jing as his father: a scholar.  As a result, the readings, though often debatable, are in the vein of 20th century Western critique.  Symbolism and allegory in full bloom, analogies are drawn not only amongst the hexagrams, but amongst world philosophy, mythology, and conceptual allusion, as well.  A smattering of Chinese poetry, history, and philosophy round out the work.  Aside from dialectic matters, the main complaint would be that the book contains no graphs or pictures.  Though constantly referencing the variety of castings possible, no map or plan of the hexagrams exists, though it often would have gone far toward providing pictorial support for Wilhelm’s lines of reasoning.

In the end, this book will undoubtedly prove interesting for people with general interest in Yi Jing or more seasoned experts.  Whether they agree with Wilhelm’s interpretations or not, the content is there for critique and sourced properly.  All others deciding whether or not to purchase this book should cast yarrow stalks.

Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past - Part II

(This is Part II of an essay on Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea Cycle.  For Part I, click here.)

The third and final aspect of Daoism as present in Earthsea that I will elaborate upon is reversion, particularly of the cycle of life and its inevitability of death.  As was mentioned, Daoism views materialism as futile in the wider scope of life; there is no guarantee of reward and any material gain cannot be taken to the grave.  Death is viewed as unavoidable, and what lies beyond, unknowable.  By coming to terms with these ideas, the finite nature of life on earth has a different value, than, for example, compared to the Christian worldview which sees mortal life as but one step towards an eternal life in a secondary world.  Life and death being among the most important subjects under discussion in Earthsea, there exist numerous relevant instances for discussion throughout the Cycle. 

While Ged flirts with ideas of death in Wizard, it isn’t until Farthest that a fully realized idea regarding Le Guin’s conception of life and death in the Cycle reveals itself.  In this book, Ged and Lebannen seek to find the source of magic leaving the world, and in turn discover that people’s pursuit fear of death and subsequent pursuit of immortality is the cause. Along the way, the duo encounters a variety of characters attempting to come to terms with mortality in different ways.  Hare, a former wizard, lives in his own squalor due a dependence on the drug hazia.  Disillusioned, Hare believes immortality can be found using hazia, but in fact it only brings him closer to death.  Sopli, a former silk dyer, is another person Ged and Lebannen encounter who also has an issue with death.  So great is Sopli’s uncertainty regarding mortality and afterlife that he lives in continual confusion.  His psychotic bouts likewise infect Lebannen, causing the two to doubt Ged’s leadership.  But it is Cob, the main antagonist of Farthest, who exemplifies fear of death to the greatest extent.  His fear of mortality is so great that it pushes him egocentric action; the evil wizard is able to convince others to give him their souls such that his own life might be prolonged.  While Hare and Sopli’s concerns destroy themselves, Cob’s fears extend beyond himself to have a negative effect on society.  Contrasting Cob is Ged’s ideology: “Death and life are the same thing—like two sides of my hand, the palm and the back.  And still the palm and the back are not the same… They can be neither separated, nor mixed” (97).  Ged’s aim in this statement is to underline the preciousness of living life while one is alive, and to accept death as it comes, each inseparable aspects of existence.  After Lebannen asks Ged: “Why should I not desire immortality?”, Ged responds with the most telling of rhetoric regarding death in the whole Cycle:

There are two, Arren, two that make one: the world and the shadow, the light and the dark.  Two poles of the Balance.  Life rises out of death, death rises out of life; in being opposite they yearn to each other, they give birth to each other and are forever reborn…  In life is death.  In death is rebirth.  What then is life without death?  Life unchanging, everlasting, eternal?—What is it but death—death without rebirth? (179)

The finality of accepting life as a natural consequence to life is summed up by Ged when he claims: “I know there is only one power that is real and worth having.  And that is the power, not to take, but to accept” (181). This ideology is put to the test at the climax of Farthest when Ged and Lebannen, after crossing the wall of stones, face Cob in the land of the dead.  What Loy and Goodhew describe as a “Hades-like realm” (Dharma 12), the land of the dead is a dreary place where “those who had died for love pass each other in the streets,” the “potter’s wheel was still, the loom empty, the stove cold,” and “[n]o voice ever sang” (227).  Le Guin does not paint a pretty picture of immortality.   In keeping with this imagery, Cob tries to defend his chosen domain and reason for sucking the life from Earthsea.  He attempts: “I have seen death now, and I will not accept it.  Let all stupid nature go its stupid course, but I am a man, better than nature, above nature.  I will not go that way, I will not cease to be myself!” (234).  Ged rebuts Cob’s denial of nature, replying that the price Cob has paid is of no longer having a self.  “All that which you sold, that is yourself,” he declares, “You have given everything for nothing.  And so now you seek to draw the world to you, all that light and life you lost, to fill up your nothingness.  But it cannot be filled” (237).  In replying so, Ged is pointing out that by avoiding death Cob has forfeited his life, death being “the price we pay for life” (236).  At the conclusion of the novel, Ged’s logic prevails and he sends Cob to die his natural death.  He also closes the hole between Earthsea and the dry land that Cob had opened to remove mortality from Earthsea.  Symbolic in nature, by closing the hole Ged “make[s] the world whole once more” and thus allows the people of Earthsea to once again fall within the natural cycle of life and death and the whole it subscribes (240).  No greater literary image could effect the principles of Daoism than this closing the circle of life with death.

Shifting the discussion away from Daoism, I would now like to place Earthsea in a more modern context by discussing the contemporary relevance of several of its additional themes.  The first is a subject that has certainly undergone a vast amount of transition, particularly the past century.  Gender and gender related issues have come into the vanguard of academic discussion in the fields of sociology, politics, economics, as well as many others.  Poignant changes have been implemented not only in the legal and cultural arenas, but in general, a larger shift in perspective can be seen moving toward gender valuation.  That Le Guin is a successful female writer is in itself worthy of notice considering previous centuries did not see such a proliferation of women in the field of literature.  Concurrently, if it were not for writers such Le Guin as addressing gender issues in their work, it can be argued progress would not be what it is.  Earthsea is one such example of a contributory work to the progress of gender issues in the modern era.

Though the setting is certainly medieval, a selection of social values evident in Earthsea are markedly modern, and if not modern, are values challenged by Le Guin.  The second book of the Cycle, Tombs, finds a young Tenar, with the help of Ged, breaking free from the proverbial chains preventing her from discovering her potential as a young woman. As the majority of the novel is set in a female-only, quasi-religious institution, Tenar’s behavior is strictly regulated.  All contact with men forbidden, she lives a litany of routine, routines that have been in existence so long that none of the other inhabitants of the Tombs knows why they exist but follow along regardless.  It seems obvious that setting the story as such, Le Guin creates circumstances wherein the parallels to the society of 1970 (when the book was written) are not that difficult to discern.  Thus it is that Tenar’s transition from conformist to non-conformist is not only easily traced, but provides a direct expression of Le Guin’s beliefs regarding the role women are expected to play in society.  It is important to note that Tenar’s rebellion is not for the sake of rebellion; rather, it is pointed.  Tenar transitions not only from one place to another, but also to a higher degree of knowledge, particularly of the value of freedom towards choosing a direction in life that is most proper for the individual, that is, rather than doing what is expected without question in a discriminative system.  If Tenar’s escape was not enough, then Irian’s direct affront to the male-only Master’s of Roke to accept female students at their school in the story “Dragonfly” should drive home the challenge Le Guin issues to Earthsea’s establishment: opportunity should be equal.

A second major area of contemporary discussion Le Guin addresses in Earthsea is social systems; the individual’s role, the family’s role, as well the role of leaders in the socio-political arena are all main thematic contributors to the six novels of the Cycle.  The first three stated to be “comings of age” by Le Guin herself, the latter three move into discussion on family and socio-political affairs (“Dreams”).  While seeming a paradox in context of the word “social,” the individual is nonetheless the foundational element of a harmonious society according to the ideology outlaid in Earthsea; if the individual is not harmonious within themselves, they cannot go on to join harmoniously with others, either to a family or to society in general.  To this point Le Guin devotes the first three books of the Cycle to developing an individual toward self-understanding.  As was mentioned earlier, Ged in Wizard comes to terms with the manner in which his actions affect others, and in turn affect himself.  Tenar in Tombs comes to the understand the value of her woman in terms of freedom.  Lebannen in Farthest must face his own death and accept it, allowing him to live a life free of fearing his own mortality.  These three comings of age free the respective protagonist to conquer their fears and accept themselves for who and what they are, which in turn readies them for acceptance into family and society.

Though Ged and Tenar part ways after Tombs and begin Tehanu, like Therru, in disparate places, these three nonetheless come together over the course of the latter novel to form a group that embodies the next level of social system I would like to discuss today: family.  Defying categorization, of foremost interest is the symbolism inherent in their union, particularly the bringing together of ethnicity, age, gender, and life experience.  Ged is a dark-skinned Hardic, Tenar a light skinned Karg, and Tehanu, while assumedly Hardic by race, also has another skin-type, that which bears irreversible scars and exudes the heat of dragons.  Regarding age, decades separate the trio: Ged is the oldest, at least ten years older than Tenar, while Tehanu is but a child, at least twenty years younger than the other two.  Ged is male and Tenar female, while Tehanu, just a child, can be argued is sexless.  And lastly, the three people represent the widest gamut possible of life experiences.  Ged, from boy-wizard to Archmage, has had a lifetime’s experience of adventuring and the supernatural, his path having taken him through the entire Archipelago before his joining the family.  Tenar, on the other hand, grew up in the sheltered community of the Tombs, and afterwards spent her time in domesticity on the island of Gont prior to joining the relationship.  Tehanu, though the youngest of the three, has nonetheless endured a frightening and scarring incident which few can likewise say to have survived, and thus completes the variety of experiences brought to the table by the three.  It can be inferred from such a deliberate union of disparate races, sexes, ages and life experiences that Le Guin intended the family unit of Ged, Tenar, and Tehanu to represent the ethnology, culture, demography of Earthsea toward creating a whole within a whole, what Rochelle calls a “tiny community” (58).  That in their relationship the three find peace, love, contentedness, and a reason for living only further establishes the importance of their family as an import dynamic in Le Guin’s view of a functioning social system.

Rochelle’s comment leads to the third point, that of the socio-political discussion inherent to Earthsea.  It is at the end of Farthest, particularly when Lebanenn becomes king, that readers are first made aware of the burgeoning social revolution to take place in Earthsea’s future.  Lenz writes that Farthest “shifts the drama of restoring wholeness from the inner and interpersonal levels into the larger arena of public life” (59).  As a result, the second trilogy is more social and political in nature than the first.  Explicated in Tehanu and underlined in Tales and The Other Wind, elements previously outlined by Le Guin come together to effect a drastic change on the archipelago.  Firstly, the patriarchal power structures of Roke and the capital Havnor are altered to allow the matriarchal an equal position of influence.  Secondly, the souls left trapped in the dry land in favor of Lebannen’s coming of age in Farthest are released in Other.  Lastly, in what is perhaps the greatest change in the Cycle, at its conclusion peace and harmony once again reign as a result of looming social issues put to rest.  The Kargish and Hardic, formerly at war, are now bound to mutual aims, the eminent marriage of Lebannen and Seserakh representing the change.  Finally, the dragons, having flown west on the “other wind,” simultaneously find their own calling while eliminating a threat to the human populace.  Problems undoubtedly still exist, but for the time being they remain domestic rather than “international.”  However, none of this would be possible were it not for this third collaboration under discussion: the political roundtable that first meets in Havnor and comes to its full depth when all decide to go to Roke where the “roots of the earth” are.  It is at this point that the group bonds with the aim of bettering Earthsea, or, as Cadden avers, to focus on “communication for understanding others and the world” (103).  Were it not for this collaboration, dead souls would perhaps haunt the dreams of an increasing number of denizens, the Kargish would remain at odds with the Hardic, and the dragons would remain, causing feelings of ill ease among the islanders.  From these negated results, the conclusion can be drawn that larger social collaborations with the aim of benefitting the populace play an important role in Earthsea and thus act as a degree of the whole.

In conclusion, Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea is a marvelous vehicle for ideas old and new.  These ideas are not treated individually, however, but rather as synthesized notions which utilize history as a means of revisioning the present and future.  At the character level, Le Guin casts a positive light on those who are aware of their individual, social, and political power, yet use their capability only when necessary rather than egocentric purposes.  Furthermore, Le Guin portrays gender roles which balance traditional modes with the contemporary, and in the process emphasize the family unit as vital for a harmonious society.  And lastly, Le Guin shows the positive results of returning our trust to the wisdom of nature.  As such, Earthsea can be seen to parallel contemporary theory while retaining a firm belief in the importance of applying knowledge from history.

Works Cited:

Bohm, David. Wholeness and the Implicate Order. New York: Routledge, 1980

Kraut, Richard. “Plato.” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Web April 23, 2011.

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/plato.  Sep 17, 2009.

Le Guin, Ursula K. A Wizard of Earthsea. New York: Bantam Spectra, 1968.

______ “Dragonfly.” Tales From Earthsea. New York: Berkeley Publishing Group,

            2001. 184-248.

______ “Dreams Must Explain Themselves.” The Language of the Night: Essays on

            Fantasy and Science Fiction. New York: Perigree. 1979. 47-56.

______ “The Finder.” Tales From Earthsea. New York: Berkeley Publishing Group,

            2001. 1-99.

______ Tales From Earthsea. New York: Berkeley Publishing Group, 2001.

______ Tehanu. New York: Aladdin Paperbacks, 1990.

______ The Farthest Shore. New York: Aladdin Paperbacks, 1972.

______ The Other Wind. New York: Berkeley Publishing Group, 2001.

______ The Tombs of Atuan. New York: Aladdin Paperbacks, 1970.

Lenz, Millicent. “Ursula Le Guin,” Alternative Worlds in Fantasy Fiction: Ursula

            LeGuin, Terry              Pratchett, Philip Pullman, and Others. Peter Hunt & Millicent

            Lenz. New York: Continuum, 2003, 42-85.

Lin, Yutang. The Wisdom of Laotze. Beijing: Foreign Language Teaching and Research

            Press,   2009.

Lovelock, James. Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford: Oxford UP,            2000.

Loy, David R. Goodhew, Linda. The Dharma of Dragons and Daemons: Buddhist

            Themes in Modern Fantasy. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2004.

Rochelle, Warren G. Communities of the Heart: The Rhetoric of Myth in the Fiction of        Ursula K. Le Guin. Liverpool: Liverpool UP, 2001.

Wilber, Ken. The Integral Vision: A Very Short Introduction to the Revolutionary

            Integral Approach to Life, God, and Everything. Boston: Shambhala Publications,

            2007.

Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past - Part I

In the introduction to his translation of the Daoist classic Dao De Jing, Lin Yutang writes “It is my conviction that the progress of contemporary science is forcing modern thought to develop in the direction of depth, and of a new synthesis of the mechanical and the spiritual, of matter and spirit.” (Wisdom of Laotze xiv).  Intimating a fusion of seemingly incompatible opposites, of foremost interest in this quote is Lin’s timing.  Written in 1948, the comment squarely addresses the point to which the academic mindset of the time had come: the wave of scientific rationality that began with Descartes and crested with modernism was washing out in the wake of another world war.  Lin, along with others, believed the beginnings of a reversion were occurring—a time for the wisdom and ideologies discredited by conventional science to once again occupy a functioning position in the building stratosphere of speculation and research. 

In the more than half-decade that has passed since Lin wrote these words, his predilection has come to ring true.  The variety of theories and practices that combine sources having less tangible proofs with more modern, verifiable knowledge are coming to fruition in a quantity unlike humanity has ever witnessed.  Syntheses of perennial philosophies, cultural wisdom, and traditional beliefs with the discoveries of modern science appear regularly, all in an attempt to answer the questions or solve the problems modernist science continues to research, albeit from a purely rational standpoint.  Granted, a great deal of this combinative theorizing leans hard in the direction of pure speculation and has warranted fair criticism.  However, as the promise of an initial idea slowly manifests itself into practical form, a number of these synthesized concepts have attracted academics from a variety of research communities and developed accordingly.  Though not exclusive, these modern theories have innately strong ties to the historical matters of the “spiritual” and “spirit” raised by Lin, and are the reason for the delivery of today’s paper. 

One such example of a concept which utilizes ideas both modern and historical is David Bohm’s theory of Implicate Order.  A physicist, writer and philosopher, Bohm attempts to define the causal structure of reality by combining ideas taken from Greek philosophy with the results of scientific discovery, the results of the most recent century’s research into physics, especially.  In particular, foundational elements of Implicate Order parallel Socrates’ Allegory of the Cave, which, as is known, avers that the world we see is but an illusory reality, true reality existing in a World of Forms.  Bohm’s theory posits much the same: the world we interact with externally is like unto Socrates’ illusory world inside the cave.  Though Bohm terms it the “explicate order,” the idea remains the same; it is the facet of reality whose aspects can be measured, exacted, tested, proved and disproved.  Within what he terms the “implicate order,” “space and time are no longer the dominant factors determining the relationships of dependence or independence of different elements.”  Thus, deeper than the microscopic level, “a more basic connection of elements is possible.”  It is this underlying fundamentalism—its primary causative nature—which defines the implicate order as “a harmoniously organized totality of order and measures” (Wholeness xviii).  Such a definition of implicate reality directly parallels Socrates’s World of Forms, which is defined by the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy as “eternal, changeless, and… paradigmatic for the structure and character of our world.”  By relating the intangible aspects of the physical world to the tangible formulations of modern research, Bohm has conceived of a new view of reality that has one foot in the past with the other in the present. 

Drawing instead upon animism and the relevant aspects thereof, James Lovelock is another modern academic using traditional ideas in support of scientific explanation to define a particularly important aspect of life.  Purporting that the earth itself is in fact a living organism, Lovelock names his theory Gaia Theory after Gaia, the primal earth goddess from Greek mythology.  Employing a “top-down” instead of a “bottom-up” perspective of life on earth, Lovelock’s Gaia Theory, rather than seeing earth as a collection of parts functioning independently, proposes that the whole of earth, its biosphere, and the systems therein are in fact a large “meta-organism,” (Gaia x).  Lovelock defines Gaia Theory as “a complex entity involving the Earth’s biosphere, atmosphere, oceans, and soil; the totality constituting a feedback or cybernetic system which seeks an optimal physical and chemical environment for life on this planet” (Gaia 10).  Such a perspective naturally carries direct parallels to animist beliefs regarding the spirituality and life-possessing qualities of non-sentient entities, up to and including the heavens and the earth.  Numerous belief systems—Native American to Australian Aboriginal, Amazonian Natives to the early Greeks—likewise purport such ideologies.  Having the more technical view, Lovelock nonetheless proposes that the interaction of systems we see on earth mimics the behavior of life to the point the earth itself can be deemed alive, thus connecting a modern explanation of the earth and its systems to a principle that has existed since the dawn of humanity.

Fully aware of the subtle nature of consciousness and mentality, Ken Wilber, a modern American psychologist and philosopher seeks to transcend both the ancient and modern perceptions of psyche and forge a new path towards understanding of the mind in all of its quantifiable and unquantifiable aspects.  In his 2007 The Integral Vision, Wilber surmises “for the first time, the sum total of human knowledge is available to us—the knowledge, experience, wisdom, and reflection of all major human civilizations—premodern, modern, postmodern—are open to study by anyone” (16).  From this standpoint, Wilber intertwines the knowledge made available by conventional science, recurrent teachings, the results of psychoanalytics, and the individual’s intuitive experience into one, all-encompassing theory of mind, a theory he calls Integral Psychology.  By blurring the lines of time with regards to the advent of psychological and philosophical theories, none seem to encapsulate Lin’s idea of synthesizing the past with the present as distinctly as Wilber has.

While this paper does not present scope for a more detailed examination of these theories and others averring similar notions, it can be established from the expanse of fields represented—physics, biology, chemistry and psychology—that a movement is afoot in the world of contemporary theory.  Fusing profound notions from history with knowledge continually unveiling itself to modern research, a new paradigm is being created which render Lin’s words prophetic. 

But it is not only in the world of science that such a model is taking shape.  Literature has likewise seen an infiltration of concepts and ideas—beyond contemporary culture—into its texts.  Mythology, perennial philosophy, traditional beliefs, as well as a variety of aspects regarding culture and history from seemingly all corners over the globe have begun making appearances in Western literature. One author employing philosophical concepts taken from non-Western historical sources as well as modern developments in the fields of sociology and psychology is Ursula Le Guin, her Earthsea Cycle a particularly pertinent example.  Firmly rooted in Daoist teachings (if Le Guin’s own translation of Dao De Jing is any indication), Earthsea parallels the Chinese philosophy’s regard for nature, inaction, and the acceptance of mortality.  Thus, today I would like to treat Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle as a literary example embodying Lin’s idea of synthesizing the historical with the modern.  However, prior to delving into Earthsea and unearthing in greater detail the specific manner in which Daoism manifests itself in the texts, it is important to outlay the basics of the Chinese philosophy such that the parallels might be seen with more clarity.  I emphasize basics because there is not enough time to define the philosophy in detail.

Due to its unique position in the precocity of China’s recorded word, the principles of Daoism seem simple on the surface yet remain ambiguous at depth—a paradox seeming to define the mystical nature of the philosophy.  Addressing this elusiveness, Lin, in the introduction to his aforementioned translation, defines the philosophy of Daoism as:

the rhythm of life, the unity of all word and human phenomena, the importance of keeping the original simplicity of human nature, the danger of over-government and interference with the simple life of the people, the doctrine of ‘wu-wei’ or ‘inaction,’… the pervading influence of the spirit, the lessons of humility, quietude and calm, and the folly of force, of pride, and of self-assertion (4)

Additional concepts Lin identifies as tantamount to the philosophy are: reversion (the futility of escaping the cycle of time), polarization (the relativity of point of view), and monism (the essential unity of all things).  Summing these building blocks into a whole, it can be seen that Daosim is universal, profound, and deeply rooted in observations of nature and life itself.  Though needing further exposition, this simple clarification of Daoism’s basic principles will be used for the analytical portion to follow (Wisdom of Laotze 6).

            (For the purposes of this paper, I will assume the reader’s familiarity with Earthsea and not summarize the various storylines, characters, or setting of the Cycle.  Instead I will move directly into the analysis, beginning with Earthsea and the manner in which Le Guin has woven the threads of Daoism into the fabric of the Cycle. 

I will start with a discussion of Earthsea’s connection to the Daoist conception of nature, particularly the idea that humanity is but one operative part of a larger whole, that is, rather than an isolated element functioning independent.  As such, one of the most prominent presences of nature in the Cycle is the Immanent Grove and the role it plays not only in individual narratives but in the overall story arc.  Mysteriously sentient yet silent, the supernatural forest finds itself mentioned in every book of the Cycle and playing a vital part in most.  Ged seeks the wisdom of the trees before setting out on his journey of Farthest; the name of the new Archmage is sought there in Tehanu; and it is the final, most sacred place Roke initiates are brought as part of their education in Wizard.  The voice of nature, the Master Patterner calls the Grove “the central and sacred place, the heart of peace” (Other 186), a place whose “roots are the roots of being” (Farthest 11), and “Where things are what they are” (“Dragonfly” 243).  Not a rational entity that is capable of expressing wisdom directly, the Grove works patterns in its interplay of shadow, leaf, and branch that must be interpreted.  When describing how to learn from the Immanent Grove, the Patterner states that: “My words are nothing.  Hear the leaves” (224).  It can thus be concluded that the Grove acts as a spokesperson for the will of nature in Earthsea. 

Events of the second trilogy, especially “Dragonfly” and The Other Wind, are more deeply informed by the Grove.  That these events are transformative for the archipelago as a whole speaks to the Grove’s innate importance to the lives of the people.  When asked: “Your leaves and shadows tell you nothing?”, the Master Patterner in “Dragonfly”—the story which immediately precedes Other—replies: “Change, change… Transformation” (241).  So when the Dragon Council learns from the dragon-woman Orm Irian that it is humanity who has upset the balance of the world, they immediately discuss returning to the Immanent Grove to seek its wisdom, hoping greater truths will be revealed that resolve the issues at hand.  “[We] need to go there [the Immanent Grove],” Tehanu suggests, “to the center of all things” (131).  That the entirety of the council is in agreement with this suggestion lends stresses the degree of trust the wise of Earthsea place in nature.  Justifying this trust is the outcome to which the Immanent Grove leads them, particularly the bringing together of two previously hostile cultures: the Hardic and the Kargish, the release of the souls haunting the dreams of those yet alive, as well as the opening of the doors of the school on Roke for all to learn the ways of magic, men and women alike.  Therefore, that the archipelago’s most wise defer to the Immanent Grove in making decisions of such portent, it is fair to say trusting to nature’s voice rather than man’s is an important theme of Earthsea. 

Another aspect of nature as manifested in Earthsea is the pastoral life—goats, trees, and herbs forever background motifs in the Cycle.  That the conclusions of what were and are the “last books of Earthsea,” Tehanu, and The Other Wind respectively, are identical would seem Le Guin is hinting at something.  At the end of both books, Ged and Tenar are found resting at their countryside home on Gont, preparing for a bucolic life involving farming, homesteading, and walks in the woods—the same life their mentor, Ogion, led.  And if any character in Western literature can be said to exemplify the characteristics of the proverbial Daoist Chinese hermit at one with nature, it is Ogion.  Living in seclusion, daily communing with woods and waters, and gleaning wisdom from the pastoral, likewise are the characteristics of famous Chinese Daoists Tao Yuanming, Li Bai, and Du Fu.  The only aspect Ogion lacks is that of being a master poet, but one can always read into the metaphorical usage of magic spells as such.  By leading such a life, Ogion embodies the Daoist principle of trying to live within the rhythm and flow of all of nature as much as is humanly possible.  By disconnecting himself from quests for social and political power—Roke and Havnor—Ogion is able to get at the marrow of life and its meaning, nature his guide.  That the heroes of the story, Ged and Tenar, step into his shoes at both “ends” of the Cycle indicates the importance Le Guin places on a lifestyle so firmly rooted in rather than apart from nature. 

            The second aspect of Daoist teaching Le Guin employs in Earthsea is the idea of inaction: the non-use of power.  She does this at several levels, one of which I will discuss today: magical power.  From the first novel onwards, the manner in which characters do or do not take action plays a strong role in the thematic development of the Cycle.  In Wizard, Ged, through youthful hubris, thoughtlessly makes uses his wizardry to the detriment of others.  Uncaring as to the corollary of his action, the shadow he releases sets itself upon Earthsea and disturbs the overall balance of the archipelago in the process.  Ged did not heed the warning of the school’s Master Hand when he spoke of the wizard’s ability to alter reality:

you must not change one thing, one pebble, one grain of sand until you know what good and evil will follow on that act.  The world is in balance, in Equilibrium.  A wizard’s power of  Changing and Summoning can shake the balance of the world.  It is dangerous, that power.  It is most perilous.  It must follow knowledge, and serve need.  To light a candle is to cast a shadow… (48)

However, it takes painful trial and error for Ged to come to the same conclusion: for every action there is a consequence—the responsibility of using power.  Ogion, who had tried to teach him the same lesson, is then seen in a new light by Ged, and the mentor’s habit of acting only when necessary becomes something Ged emulates throughout the remainder of the Cycle.  The analogy from the novels is as follows: In Wizard, Ged, throughout the trip to Ogion’s home to begin his apprenticeship, complains about the rain, knowing it is within the wizard’s power to divert it.  However, Ogion chooses not to, much to Ged’s chagrin.  Later in the novel, upon learning the lessons of power and responsibility, Ged sees the wisdom in Ogion’s inaction.  Thus, history repeats itself in Farthest when Ged, on a sailing quest to discover the reason the magic of Earthsea was disappearing, refrains from using his wizard’s wind to power the sailboat, choosing instead to use the world’s wind.  Like Ged when he was young, Lebannen questions Ged regarding this but receives the same lesson Ogion once gave to Ged.  Even when freeing Lebannen from the slave ship Ged does not take vengeance on the slave masters, freeing all to decide their own fate, slave alongside slavers.  When Lebannen questions why Ged has not punished the slavers, Ged underlines his subjective position within the equilibrium, replying rhetorically: “Who am I—though I have the power to do it—to punish and reward, playing with men’s destinies?” (87). Continuing the discussion, Ged completes the thought in “butterfly-effect” fashion by adding:

Don’t you see [Lebannen] how an act is not, as young men think, like a rock that one picks up and throws, and it hits or misses, and that’s the end of it.  When the rock is lifted the earth is lighter; the hand that bears it heavier.  When it is thrown the circuits of the stars respond, and where it strikes or falls the universe is changed.  On every act the balance of the whole depends…  From the hurricane and the great whale’s sounding to the fall of a dry leaf and the gnat’s flight, all they do is done within the balance of the whole. (87)

By not using the magical power that is at their command at all opportunites, Ged Ogion, and the other wizards become a channel through which the Daoist notion of inaction manifests itself.

End of Part I

Review of "A Wizard of Earthsea" by Ursula Le Guin

Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea is one of fantasy fiction’s most unique and endearing series.  The world she has created is vivid with culture, magic and mythos, the first installment of which is A Wizard of Earthsea.  The novel tells the coming-of-age story of Ged who must solve a riddle to find the hero in himself.  Throughout his transformation, Le Guin avoids most cliché fantasy tropes and renders a very refreshing human story written in simple, flowing prose.   

Set in a southeast Asian style archipelago, magic, ancient wisdom and dragons decorate the pages as Ged chases a shadow he's foolishly unleashed around the world.  But it is his wits that he must depend on the most to absorb the lessons he learns along the way and develop into a man in the process.  Filled with profound dialogue and touching characters, the story is geared towards young people, but undoubtedly adults can find something novel and worthy of note as well.  Eschewing Tolkien-esque fantasy, the fundamental ideology of the novel is Daoist in nature, with a dose of Jungian psychoanalysis thrown in for good measure.  

This book is highly recommended for those who are interested in knowing what a fantasy world influenced by the teachings of Daoism may be like, or, in a much simpler fashion, as a great way of introducing one’s children to the world of fantasy literature with a warm message at its heart.

(For those who have read the book and the Earthsea Cycle as a whole, you may be interested in reading a paper I wrote on its Daoist tenets and angles on contemporary theory called "Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past".  Part I is here and Part II, here.)