Should we teach aliens to play Monopoly? -On metaphors in the world of Tolkien

Imagine a scenario where we are visited by extraterrestrial life whose civilization is unknown to us. This raises the question of how we can introduce our civilization to them. Two potential options come to mind: firstly, we could teach them to play Monopoly; secondly, we could introduce them to the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. The question remains: which option should we choose? At first glance, these two options may seem equally absurd, but upon closer analysis, their viability becomes apparent. 

Although some may initially doubt Monopoly's ability to represent our civilization, those familiar with the history of the Cold War may find the answer to this question rather straightforward. The USSR banned Monopoly in the 1980s, as it was believed that the board game, along with Coca-Cola, played a significant role in helping people in the East understand Western culture and evoking their longing for it. Given its potential impact, could Monopoly be used as an icebreaker during our initial interaction with extraterrestrial beings? Nevertheless, are there any potential risks associated with this approach? 

Another example may aid in analyzing this issue. In 2016, a film called Arrival, directed by Villeneuve, depicted humanity's attempt to establish communication with an extraterrestrial species possessing a completely distinct language system. While the protagonist, Louise Banks, worked to decipher their language, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) used a simpler yet seemingly effective method to communicate: playing Mahjong, a competitive board game. However, this approach led the CCP to interpret the aliens' intentions as hostile, in contrast to the message Louise had directly translated from the aliens' writing. Why did the CCP's approach distort the message of benevolence conveyed by the aliens? One explanation is rooted in the theories presented in our lecture: our language and cognition systems rely heavily on metaphors, and competitive games such as chess and Mahjong typically embody war-related metaphors. Consequently, these metaphors have established perilous "unspoken lines" between humans and aliens, which may contribute to misunderstandings and complications in inter-species communication. 

Now, let's consider the message we would convey to aliens if we introduced our civilization by teaching them to play Monopoly. The central objective of the game is to compete for resources and thwart the other players, driven by greed and an intense desire to win. While this may be a sad reality for many people in our flawed world, the question remains: are we ready to acknowledge and accept this fact? Are we willing to plummet into places, deep and dark, without hoping to hold on to the thing we could climb to? Rung after rung, don’t we pray for pulling ourselves out of ourselves, reaching for something greater? We are flawed, but we can convey to aliens that we possess the courage to confront our flaws and take steps to better ourselves. Can Tolkien's literary works effectively convey this message to aliens? To determine the answer, we must delve into the metaphors that Tolkien aimed to express through his writing.

The first metaphor in Tolkien's work pertains to the Truth of Creation, which distinguishes it from craftship. Our lectures have taught us that in Tolkien's world, true creation originates in the mind of Eru. The thoughts, or themes, are then brought to life by the incarnated Valars after they enter the material world where time flows. Finally, the Children of Eru show their gratitude and appreciation for the creation, which is conveyed back to Eru through the Valars. As Professor Brown pointed out, we can see from Sayers' book "The Mind of the Maker" that this three-stage procedure aligns with the general creation process of artists. For example, in the case of a writer, everything starts with an idea, which is non-being. Then, through hard work, we bring the idea to life and create a book. Finally, we receive feedback from readers, including ourselves, which completes the creative cycle.

Craftsmanship, in contrast to creation, involves the transformation of raw materials into finished products, as exemplified by the works of Celebrimbor, Fëanor, Sauron, and even Morgoth in Middle-earth. This process operates within the realm of the material world, dealing with objects that already exist, from being to being. Furthermore, in the tales of Middle-earth, the most magnificent crafts, such as the Silmarillion and the Rings of Power, often bring with them a series of tragic events, serving as a poignant reminder of the catastrophic consequences that followed the rapid advancement of human technology during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, including devastating wars. 

Through a deep understanding of this metaphor and a constant remembrance of the Truth of Creation, we can endeavor to create with good intentions, just as our Creator did in the beginning. Even if our work entails crafting, we must not forget the cautionary tale of Celebrimbor's tragedy, which serves as a stark reminder of the peril that comes with blindly pursuing advanced craftsmanship. It highlights the potential risk of corrupting our initial good intentions, leading to the inadvertent perversion of our work into something malevolent.

The second metaphor concerns the nature of evil, with the One Ring serving as a perfect representation of the obsession with possessions in the material world. This obsession is often considered to be the root of all evil, as it drives individuals to engage in unethical and immoral behavior in pursuit of their desires. Whether it was Isildur, Gollum, Boromir, or even Frodo, their gaze upon the One Ring revealed a similar obsession to that of Morgoth's desire to conquer Arda and make it his own kingdom. In contrast to other works that may exploit such obsession to attract readers or even subtly encourage it, Tolkien's writings demonstrate a deep sympathy for those caught in its grasp. He endeavored to guide readers towards a path of escape. In the third chapter of The Children of Húrin, Tolkien used the voice of Húrin to convey a message:

“Do you forget to whom you speak? Such things you spoke long ago to our fathers; but we escaped from your shadow. And now we have knowledge of you, for we have looked on the faces that have seen the Light, and heard the voices that have spoken with Manwe. Before Arda you were, but others also; and you did not make it. Neither are you the most mighty; for you have spent your strength upon yourself and wasted it in your own emptiness. No more are you now than an escaped thrall of the Valar, and their chain still awaits you.”

With the power of the Light and the Words from the One, we can see through the pathetic nature of evil and break free from the downward spiral of obsession and destruction. Hold onto this faith, and the darkness shall not conquer us.

In the third metaphor, the focus is on the connection between sorrow and compassion. According to the Valaquenta, Nienna, the Lady of Sorrows, “is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered in the marring of Melkor.” “So great was her sorrow, as the Music unfolded, that her song turned to lamentation long before its end, and the sound of mourning was woven into the themes of the World before it began.” I would like to share a poem by Rilke,

Pietà

Jetzt wird mein Elend voll, und namenlos

erfüllt es mich. Ich starre wie des Steins

Inneres starrt.

Hart wie ich bin, weiß ich nur Eins:

Du wurdest groß -

... und wurdest groß,

um als zu großer Schmerz

ganz über meines Herzens Fassung

hinauszustehn.

Jetzt liegst du quer durch meinen Schooß,

jetzt kann ich dich nicht mehr

gebären.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Yet, “those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope.” 

-Y.P.L.