Le Guin's Earthsea Cycle shows us that there is life beyond personal glory

As I am writing this, there’s a debate going on whether Joe Biden is still cognitively able to fulfill the office of President of the United States of America, given a disastrous performance in a debate with another person who does not seem cognitively able to fulfill this role, Trump.

Biden long indicated that he would not want to step aside. In a 2014 interview, we learn how Ted Kaufman sent Biden a quote from then soon Pope-to-be John XXIII (written 1945), “am definitely approaching old age. My mind resents this and almost rebels, for I still feel so young, eager, agile and alert. But one look in the mirror disillusions me.”

Biden’s reply to this was another quote, these lines from Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” It is a favorite poem of Biden’s, and it seems he still lives by it, as he has recently stated that only the Lord almighty could convince him to drop out of the race.

So there we are.

I was thinking back of Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle, a book series of high fantasy that is focused on a young wizard, Ged. It begins with teenage Ged, who comes from a modest background (living on the remote island of Gont, most famous for its goats). He goes to the magic school on Roke Island in book 1 (A Wizard of Earthsea). In book 2 (Tombs of Atuan) a mature Ged in his thirties undertakes a dangerous and difficult quest to recover the ring of Erreth-Akbe. He takes along the high priestess Tenar. In book 3 (The Farthest Shore), Ged is now Archmage. This is the highest office one can aspire to as a wizard, and a remarkable achievement for someone from such a backwater as Gont.

Even though he has this top position in the magic school, Ged still sets out on a very dangerous new quest that he feels he personally should undertake, namely to stop a rogue wizard who has upset the balance of the world.

And you would be up and doing." [asks the Doorkeeper]

"I would," said the Archmage.

Doing is significant here, given how Le Guin’s philosophy is influenced by Daoism, the Chinese philosophical school of thought which places a lot of weight on non-doing (wuwei).

While the quest is successful, Ged in the process loses his most precious good, his ability to perform magic. Here’s where the books get really interesting and go quite differently from what you would expect in high fantasy. In book 4 (Tehanu) Ged is very ill from his ordeals in book 3, and is nursed back to health by Tenar, the priestess of Atuan he convinced to help him in book 2. Ged suffers physically, but also psychologically. What should he do, who should he be, now his magical abilities are gone? He experiences despair, a loss of identity, and a loss of purpose.

However, we see throughout Tehanu and in the final two novels of Earthsea how there is a good life for Ged after all. I love how Le Guin did not kill him off but gives him this further life. Ged lost a great deal, but he also gains. He begins, very sweetly and endearingly, a sexual and romantic relationship with Tenar (he is in his fifties at this point). It’s his very first romantic relationship as mages are supposed to be celibate. With their adopted daughter Tehanu, he also has a family. You see him at the end of the Earthsea Cycle live on Gont, peacefully, happily, as a man in his seventies.

This is all central for Le Guin’s Daoist philosophy, where we are all part of a bigger whole. Realizing your own small place in the bigger whole is a key aspect of Daoism. Once you realize this you can get in a position where you don’t need to continuously strive, rage and fight but rather wuwei. Also, Daoism places a lot of emphasis on our mortality. Life will go on without you. It's bad to cling on and it's bad to try to rule beyond the grave.

You are a beautiful and unique being, but life does not begin and end with you. It explicitly goes against a solipsism where we must rage against the dying of the light, because life will continue anyway, and the raging is futile, eventually. Daoist philosophy does not deny our unique contributions, and how we can do great things. The cook and the bellstand maker in Zhuangzi, for instance, are both highly skilled individuals who are credited for their skill and ability. But eventually, the whole of nature keeps on evolving, also without us.

When I first read Tehanu and the other two final books of Earthsea (I read these a lot later than the first three books, because it took me a while to get to a point where I could understand them), I joked to a friend that these are books about the good of retirement.

This friend, also academic, agreed and we got into a discussion how difficult it is for academics to realize that you are not your position and prestige. You are your precious self, and that should be enough. It is hard, especially in professions like academia where our worth is measured in achievements, h-indices, positions, prestigious invitations etc, to realize this. We so often get tempted to equate our self-worth to our position.

We are more than that. The good of retirement is that it allows for a humane life beyond your job and your position. Unfortunately, retirement has become unaffordable for many. But when it is possible, it is a great good. It is great for people like my father, who worked as a bricklayer, which is a physically very demanding job that requires early retirement that he could fortunately take.

But it is also good for people who work in high-prestige positions such as politics and academia who could in principle go on until they die (given no mandatory retirement age). It is good because it points to a good life beyond that position and helps us to extricate ourselves from overtly identifying ourselves with our ambitions and our achievements. You don’t have to go out with a bang. Ged’s final decades of life, living in dignity, peace, and gentle companionship, demonstrate this.