J.R.R. Tolkien and Sub-Creation: The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien

In a re-read through The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, several interesting things come out…  The pressing business of actual publication in the letters from 1950.  Also, which character did Tolkien most identify with?  Just as people ask and answer that question for themselves, in Tolkien fandom podcasts, so Tolkien answered it for himself:  “I am not Gandalf.”  Tolkien saw himself as most like the character Faramir, who expressed Tolkien’s view of war and appreciating what the warriors defended, but not warriors and war itself.  To Faramir also, Tolkien bequeathed his own Atlantis-complex, the recurring dream Tolkien had experienced through the years of the Great Wave, towering up and coming in over the trees and green fields (see letter 163).

In letter 153, a draft to a reader in September 1954, Tolkien shares some of his ideas about art, as compared to what is technically correct (in our world) in terms of science and biology.  Elves and men are technically of the same race as humans, since they can mate and do so (though rarely).  After consideration of some technical matters on this point:  since some have held that the rate of longevity is a biological characteristic, within limits of variation, you could not have Elves in a sense ‘immortal’ … and men mortal… – and yet sufficiently akin.  I might answer that this ‘biology’ is only a theory, that modern ‘gerontology,’ or whatever they call it, finds ‘ageing’ more mysterious …. Tolkien then is more direct and blunt:  But I should actually answer:  I do not care.  This is a biological dictum in my imaginary world.

Tolkien’s thoughts came out in his responses to people with quite different ways of thinking, things that he would never have ventured to proactively mention in his own writings and speeches.  In this case, the writer came from a very different perspective that took Lord of the Rings rather too seriously, and in the wrong direction:  Peter Hastings, manager of a Catholic bookstore in Oxford.  This letter has since been referred to over the years, in discussions regarding Tom Bombadil, for it is this reader who supposed that Goldberry’s answer (who is Tom Bombadil?) “He is,” implied that Tom Bombadil was God.  As usual, Tolkien was gracious in his letter, noting the “compliment of taking me seriously; though I cannot avoid wondering whether it is not ‘too seriously’, or in the wrong directions.  From this letter we get additional thoughts on Tolkien’s understanding of sub-creation and its relation to this world primary Creation.

We differ entirely about the nature of the relation of sub-creation to Creation. I should have said that liberation ‘from the channels the creator is known to have used already’ is the fundamental function of ‘sub-creation’, a tribute to the infinity of His potential variety, one of the ways in which indeed it is exhibited, as indeed I said in the Essay. I am not a metaphysician; but I should have thought it a curious metaphysic – there is not one but many, indeed potentially innumerable ones – that declared the channels known (in such a finite corner as we have any inkling of) to have been used, are the only possible ones, or efficacious, or possibly acceptable to and by Him!

In the end, Tolkien found he could not actually even complete this letter — it ends with a note: “Not sent.  It seemed to be taking myself too importantly.”  Yet these 7 to 8 pages of an attempt to answer, are among the many insights we have into Tolkien’s views regarding Lord of the Rings.

Lord of the Rings: Time, Action and Choices

In Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, among the many fascinating areas for further thoughts and exploration is that of time, and the details of the action and the overall timeline. As noted in The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, this was something that Tolkien, ever the perfectionist, spent some amount of time on: going back and re-checking the dates and making corrections as needed, to correctly synchronize the action, especially in The Two Towers and Return of the King, with the multiple different storylines covered in alternating chapters as well as alternating books between Frodo and Sam and everyone else.

The official timeline of the action is found in the last part of Appendix B of Return of the King .  This website has a “Lord of the Rings Timeline,” similar to the Appendix B data but with a few date errors.  This page in a Reddit forum gives a suggested “chronological reading” of the chapters in The Two Towers and Return of the King, though it differs somewhat from the actual sequence in Appendix B.

One thing is very obvious, though, regarding the overall pace and action. So much is happening, and happening very quickly, in book 3 of The Two Towers. Yet, the first two chapters of book 4, with Frodo and Sam following Gollum through the marshes to the arrival of the Black Gate (the beginning of chapter 3) span the same amount of time as all 11 chapters of book 3. The entry for March 5, 3019 gives a crucial sync point:

Gandalf sets out with Peregrin for Minas Tirith. Frodo hides in sight of the Morannon, and leaves at dusk.

The winged Nazgul that Frodo, Sam and Gollum see and feel, heading to the west at the end of chapter 2 (The Passage of the Marshes), is heading west in response to Pippin looking into the Palantir.  Gandalf and Pippin are riding off at high speed on Shadowfax in the early morning hours just as the travelers are slowly approaching the Morannon.   The rest of the events in book 4 occur during the interim travel time of Gandalf and Pippin and then into the early chapters of Return of the King book 5.

Tolkien has given us illustrations of both kinds of life experience and how we perceive the time we live through: the fast-paced days when a lot is happening, and events of only a few days ago seem long past; and the slower days of plodding along, getting tasks done each day, and time for thought about what is happening, as Sam considers various facts regarding Gollum, his master, and their difficult physical circumstances. Life often happens thus, with these alternating patterns of busy activity and slowness. The Israelites had a few momentous, dramatic days in their flight from Egypt and crossing the Red Sea — followed by 40 years of wandering in the desert, punctuated by a few dramatic events but otherwise a lot of travel from place to place. The apostle Paul, in Acts 24:11, relates that “You can easily verify that no more than twelve days ago I went up to Jerusalem to worship,” regarding a series of events that started three chapters earlier.

Yet regardless of how we perceive the time, each day is given as it comes, and it is for us to be good stewards of our time. “Now is the time of God’s favor, now is the day of salvation,” (2 Cor. 6:2). We are to redeem the time, to make the most of the time, for the days are evil. (Ephesians 5:16)

Tolkien gives us such a picture of these important truths, in the choices and fate of Gollum. Gollum has lived hundreds of years, long beyond the normal lifespan of his kindred, and lived most of those years doing and thinking evil, and in possession of the One Ring and its destructiveness; most of that time literally cut off in the dark caves, shunning sunlight and air, all the while continuing with acts of murder to serve his immediate needs. Since the time of The Hobbit, almost 80 more years have elapsed. Yet Gollum actually shows up in the Lord of the Rings story for a mere matter of days.

The actual time that Gollum is with Frodo and under his charge, until the time that Gollum betrays Frodo in the tunnel of Shelob’s Lair, is a mere 14 days (Feb. 29-30 and March 1- 12) — days in which Gollum was sometimes separated from Frodo for many hours at a time, but still with Frodo at least some of each day. From that point, Gollum’s destruction is just 13 days away — March 25 at the fires of Mount Doom. On the one hand, given such a short time, it seems incredible that anything could happen in the life of Gollum during these two weeks. That one so hardened, and for so long, could actually begin to respond to Frodo’s kindness, is a marvel of its own; no doubt, it could be said, due to the unusual characteristics of hobbits, who again and again show their resistance to things that affect the big people more easily. Yet these 14 days were Gollum’s limited opportunity for salvation, the time of the treatment of “his cure” as Gandalf had referred to it: a time when kindness and mercy was shown to him in a way he had never experienced before. And during that short time, Frodo actually achieved a level of trust with Gollum, demonstrated when Gollum obediently came to Frodo at the forbidden pool. Yet the end result should not be considered all that surprising: 14 days of kindness and mercy, after several hundred years of meanness and cruelty, was not enough to really get through to Gollum. Throughout the 14 days, Gollum never really comes to the point of recognizing or appreciating the mercy shown to him, of acknowledging his own sins; everything is still cast in terms of himself and how people treat him; Gollum is incapable of any gratitude for the mercy shown to him by Faramir and his men for not killing him at the Forbidden Pool.

In the end, though, we are all accountable for the time and the opportunities given to us: opportunities to perceive God’s kindness, opportunities to repent (Romans 2:4) — or not to repent. “Whether short time or long,” the apostle Paul urged King Agrippa regarding salvation in Acts 26:29. So that everyone will be held accountable to God, and that man is without excuse before God. And God is pleased in many instances to grant salvation to people in their old age, after years of hardening. But many, like Gollum, have become too hardened, and waste the opportunities given them.

Yet there is hope, while life lasts, as we do not know the outcome for each person.  C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia provides us a positive example, an opposite of Gollum:  Eustace, for all the brattiness and meanness acquired in his short life (and in that respect a great advantage over the aged, wicked sinner Gollum), finally reached the place where he  recognized and appreciated the kindness that the others had shown him, and wanted to be restored to humanity.  His brokenness led to godly repentance, and Aslan finally came and un-dragoned Eustace.

Mount Doom: Responding to Despair with Truth (a Psalm 42:5 Moment)

On this Good Friday, with the chapter “Mount Doom” on the Lenten reading schedule for the Lord of the Rings, we see so many things that show Frodo as a type of Christ, bearing his cross and the cares of all of Middle Earth (the ring), complete with Sam in the role of Simon of Cyrene, carrying Frodo to the end, with the burden itself not falling on Sam.

One other intriguing thing from this chapter, though, particularly speaks to me in the reading this year: the conversation that Sam has with himself, his final answer to despair.  For here we see Sam actually talking to and responding to the despair in his heart, responding with firm answers grounded in truth – a vivid example of the truth behind Psalm 42:5, “Why, my soul, are you downcast?  Why so disturbed within me?  Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God.”

I first learned this precept several years ago, while dealing with depression, and reading Martyn Lloyd Jones’ work “Spiritual Depression,” which points out a valuable tool for good mental health:

Martin Lloyd Jones:  Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself?  Take those thoughts that come to you the moment you wake up in the morning.  You have not originated them, but they start talking to you, they bring back the problems of yesterday, etc.  Somebody is talking.  Who is talking to you?  Your self is talking to you.  Now this man’s treatment was this; instead of allowing this self to talk to him, he starts talking to himself, ‘Why art thou cast down, O my soul?’ he asks.  His soul had been depressing him, crushing him.  So he stands up and says, “Self, listen for a  moment.  I will speak to you.’

Sam Gamgee, the real hero of Lord of the Rings, shows here an application of this, how to combat the despair when events have finally, almost, reached the conclusion of the quest.  They have almost come to the fires of Mount Doom, to cast the cursed ring into the fires.

He could not sleep and he held a debate with himself. ‘Well, come now, we’ve done better than you hoped,’ he said sturdily. ‘Began well anyway. I reckon we crossed half the distance before we stopped. One more day will do it.’ And then he paused.

‘Don’t be a fool, Sam Gamgee,’ came an answer in his own voice. ‘He won’t go another day like that, if he moves at all. And you can’t go on much longer giving him all the water and most of the food.’

‘I can go on a good way though, and I will.’

‘Where to?’

‘To the Mountain, of course.’

‘But what then, Sam Gamgee, what then? When you get there, what are you going to do? He won’t be able to do anything for himself.’

To his dismay Sam realized that he had not got an answer to this. He had no clear idea at all. Frodo had not spoken much to him of his errand, and Sam only knew vaguely that the Ring had somehow to be put into the fire. ‘The Cracks of Doom,’ he muttered, the old name rising to his mind. ‘Well, if Master knows how to find them, I don’t.’

‘There you are!’ came the answer. ‘It’s all quite useless. He said so himself. You are the fool, going on hoping and toiling. You could have lain down and gone to sleep together days ago, if you hadn’t been so dogged. But you’ll die just the same, or worse. You might just as well lie down now and give it up. You’ll never get to the top anyway.’

‘I’ll get there, if I leave everything but my bones behind,’ said Sam. ‘And I’ll carry Mr. Frodo up myself, if it breaks my back and heart. So stop arguing!’

Sam keeps responding, trying to answer the voice of doom within himself, even when he doesn’t have the answer, or only has a partial answer.  When the next question comes, he then responds to it.  Finally he puts down the despair:  even to leaving “everything “but my bones behind,” and even to carrying Frodo up himself, though “it breaks my back and heart.  So stop arguing!”

It indeed is rather like the sayings of modern psychological advice, such as “just say no” campaign or “stop it!” (thinking of the comedic scene from Bob Newhart) — developed to the full.  Responding is not the easy thing to do, it is far easier to just listen to oneself.  Sam at this point is starved and thirsty, in a desert land without these basic physical comforts, in full ascetic mode that most of us will never experience, the dire physical conditions perhaps experienced by desert monks.  And yet the task must be done, the quest must be achieved.  It takes many replies from Sam, to many despairing thoughts, to finally conquer.  Yet  by doing this, by active effort and choice, Sam does overcome.  A few paragraphs later we read of Sam:

To his surprise he felt tired but lighter, and his head seemed clear again. No more debates disturbed his mind. He knew all the arguments of despair and would not listen to them. His will was set, and only death would break it. He felt no longer either desire or need of sleep, but rather of watchfulness.

Through Sam’s active choices, his determined will, he was given grace and his mind was set at ease.  We cannot continue solely on our own power.  The Psalmist’s answer to the “why so downcast” is to put your hope in God.  But we are not to be passive, merely listening to the voice of despair; responding to it with the truth must be done.  Sam has attained to the exhortation of 1 Peter 5:8: – “Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour — and of James 4:7 “Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.”

Here in Sam’s experience is an example, an illustration, for us all, and reminder to continue in the fight as soldiers in the cause of Christ, the very real spiritual warfare.  “For we are not ignorant of his (the enemy’s) devices.” (2 Cor. 2:11)

The ‘If Onlys’ and ‘What might have beens’ in Lord of the Rings

“If only,” “what might have been!”  Sometimes we make it into a game of speculation, like a time travel story where we can change the present.  At other times we’re overcome with regret at past choices, imagining that somehow life would have been better “if only.”  We even find examples and teaching in the Bible on such matters.  David asked and received an answer from God, as to what the men of Keilah would do, if they would give David up to Saul.  It was a contingent event that never happened, since David then acted on that possibility by fleeing from Keilah.  The book of Ecclesiastes (7:10) warns against the negative thoughts that come with regret about past choices:  Do not say, “Why were the old days better than these?” For it is not wise to ask such questions.

As noted at the Lenten Lord of the Rings, the first chapters of Return of the King bring us to a rather depressing point in the story:  Frodo has been captured by Orcs, Sam yet to rescue him; Pippin  and Merry have been separated, and each feels the loneliness of being away from their best friend.  When we reach the chapter on The Pyre of Denethor, this post from the Lenten LOTR looks at some of the “What ifs” in the story.

It is an amazing aspect of Tolkien’s work, the level of detail and consistency within the story, that we can find many such plot points at which choices are made, and we can think of “alternate realities,” such as this idea:  what if Pippin had not been taken with Gandalf to Minas Tirith?  Then Theoden would have dismissed the service of two halflings; Dernhelm/Eowyn could handle one hobbit on her horse, but not two.  Likely, both Merry and Pippin would have been left behind, together.  Yet, without Pippin in Minas Tirith, Denethor would still have gone mad with despair, but without a hobbit to speak up for Faramir; Pippin saved Faramir’s life.  Gandalf would not have known of Denethor’s madness, and would have gone out to the battle, to the slaying of the Lord of the Nazgul.  If Eowyn had gone alone with the company, then Merry would not have been there to assist, and Eowyn would have died there on the battlefield – unless of course, Gandalf (not knowing about Denethor’s doings) had intervened there and possibly saved both Eowyn and King Theoden.  In that alternate series of events, Theoden might have lived, though Faramir died.

Interestingly enough, “What ifs” are played out even within Lord of the Rings — by Denethor, which provides us a strong reminder about wisdom and folly, and the danger of dwelling too much on the past –on how things could have been different and turned out more to our liking.  For it is Denethor in particular who has this mental/emotional/spiritual malady.  Denethor would have preferred that Faramir would have gone up to Imladris (Rivendell) instead of Boromir; that Boromir would not have died.  He then wishes that Boromir had been in the place of Faramir; Boromir would have brought the ring to him.  Gandalf responds with the wisdom and foreknowledge of God, telling him what would have happened to Boromir.  Denethor insists that Boromir would have not changed but been dutiful to him.

‘Do you wish then,’ said Faramir, ‘that our places had been exchanged?’ ‘Yes, I wish that indeed,’ said Denethor. ‘For Boromir was loyal to me and no wizard’s pupil. He would have remembered his father’s need, and would not have squandered what fortune gave. He would have brought me a mighty gift.’ …

‘Stir not the bitterness in the cup that I mixed for myself,’ said Denethor. ‘Have I not tasted it now many nights upon my tongue, foreboding that worse yet lay in the dregs? As now indeed I find. Would it were not so! Would that this thing had come to me!’

‘Comfort yourself!’ said Gandalf. ‘In no case would Boromir have brought it to you. He is dead, and died well; may he sleep in peace! Yet you deceive yourself. He would have stretched out his hand to this thing, and taking it he would have fallen. He would have kept it for his own, and when he returned you would not have known your son.’

The face of Denethor set hard and cold. ‘You found Boromir less apt to your hand, did you not?’ he said softly. ‘But I who was his father say that he would have brought it to me.

What happened to Denethor, is a strong reminder to us, not to fall into such negative thinking, and playing what ifs, agonizing over past wrong choices and thinking how it could have been so much better.

But we can only live in the now, the present. We cannot undo the past, but must live with what we have now, which includes the consequences of past choices.   Above all, we must conform ourselves to God’s will, what it is now and for the future, trusting that – often in spite of ourselves – God in His Providence has brought us to this place, to this path (and not to some other).  Denethor finally despaired, answering to Gandalf what he really wanted (and could not have):

‘I would have things as they were in all the days of my life,’ answered Denethor, ‘and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard’s pupil.  But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated.’

As C.S. Lewis well said, “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, “Thy will be done,” and those to whom God says, in the end, “Thy will be done.”

 

 

Lord of the Rings: Frodo, Sam, and Modernist, “Scientism” Thinking

In my Lenten Lord of the Rings journey, I’ll be starting on book 5, the Return of the King, tomorrow (which is also Tolkien Reading Day), after finishing The Two Towers (The Choices of Master Samwise) today.  I’ve noted several interesting things during this read of Lord of the Rings, for upcoming blog posts.  For this time, some observations regarding Frodo – some modernist tendencies, and his understanding of men.

Frodo, in contrast to Sam, acts as a bridge to us modern readers and our modern way of thinking – of the rational, material, logical approach to life, looking (mainly) at secondary causes.  For example, after the hobbits (in The Taming of Smeagol), use the elven rope that Sam brought along to get down a steep cliff, Sam is dismayed at having to leave the rope behind.  When Sam says “farewell” to the rope with one last tug, it suddenly falls down, returning to him.  Frodo insists that either the rope tore from its knot at the top of the cliff, or that the knot came undone – the only two options, seemingly.  The other end is not frayed, so Frodo concludes that the knot itself wasn’t tight to begin with.  Sam objects, noting his own skill with ropes and knots (as in the family tradition), and reveals to us the third option:  the rope had “elven magic” in it and came to him at his bidding.

Later, in Frodo’s conversation with Faramir, Frodo questions the story Faramir tells of seeing the elven boat with Boromir laid in it in funeral state.  Frodo’s skepticism connects us to modern times and the modern tendency to focus on the secondary causes, neglecting the reality of the power of God, the God who is still present and who still performs miracles.

‘Yet how could such a thing have happened in truth?’ asked Frodo. ‘For no boat could have been carried over the stony hills from Tol Brandir; and Boromir purposed to go home across the Entwash and the fields of Rohan. And yet how could any vessel ride the foam of the great falls and not founder in the boiling pools, though laden with water?’

Faramir reminds him of this power, manifested in Middle Earth through the elves:

‘You passed through the Hidden Land,’ said Faramir, ‘but it seems that you little understood its power. If Men have dealings with the Mistress of Magic who dwells in the Golden Wood, then they may look for strange things to follow.

Somewhat related to this, we also see that the hobbits have less discernment (at least in their head knowledge) regarding men, than men of the halflings.  It was at Rivendell, after the adventures with Strider in the wilderness, and thinking about Strider, that Frodo admitted to Gandalf:

I didn’t know that any of the Big People were like that. I thought, well, that they were just big, and rather stupid: kind and stupid like Butterbur; or stupid and wicked like Bill Ferny.

‘You don’t know much even about them, if you think old Barliman is stupid,’ said Gandalf. … But there are few left in Middle-earth like Aragorn son of Arathorn. The race of the Kings from over the Sea is nearly at an end. It may be that this War of the Ring will be their last adventure.’

In later conversation with Faramir, as Sam began to trust Faramir he spoke more freely, and  slipped out the news about Boromir and the Enemy’s ring.  Again it is Frodo’s head knowledge thinking that objects, “Sam!”  As Faramir points out to them, you are less judges of Men than I of Halflings, and to Sam, your heart is shrewd as well as faithful, and saw clearer than your eyes.  For strange though it may seem, it was safe to declare this to me.

Throughout both The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, the hobbits generally are considered a “bridge” from the mythic past to the modern world and modern-thinking readers.  Even within that framework, Tolkien developed specific traits, such as Frodo the rationalist, materialist-influenced thinker as contrasted with Sam the heart and intuition type of person.

And tomorrow is March 25: Tolkien Reading Day (see this page at The Tolkien Society), and a significant date in Middle Earth, the day that the One Ring was destroyed.  That date is also significant within classical, liturgical Christianity, as the Annunciation, the day of the announcement to Mary that she would be the mother of Jesus Christ.  It is also the date, in classical Christianity, of Christ’s death on the cross.  (March 25 is 9 months before December 25, thus the importance of March 25.)  An online search shows many people observing March 25, Tolkien Reading Day.  As one special activity, I attended an online event yesterday, a scholarly lecture series with speakers from Europe and America, on “Values Tolkien Teaches.”  The recording of that event will be available at this Youtube link soon.

For all of you my readers, what Tolkien work do you have plans to read, for March 25 Tolkien Reading Day?

Evil Counsellors (Wormtongue, and the Queen of Underland in Narnia) and Restoration

Continuing in the Lenten Lord of the Rings journey, some thoughts from The Two Towers, chapter “The King of the Golden Hall.”  As I was reading the parts concerning Grima Wormtongue, I was reminded of another evil counsellor, who was likewise depicted as a serpent (in a literal form): in The Silver Chair, the serpent that killed Prince Rilian’s mother, and later ensnares the Prince himself, in bondage to the “Queen of Underland,” to finally reappear in its true form of a serpent.

Though Grima does not literally change into a snake, the reference comes out in several places in the dialogue:

“See, Theoden, here is a snake! With safety you cannot take it with you, nor can you leave it behind. To slay it would be just. But it was not always as it now is. Once it was a man, and did you service. …

‘Nay, Éomer, you do not fully understand the mind of Master Wormtongue,’ said Gandalf, turning his piercing glance upon him. ‘He is bold and cunning. Even now he plays a game with peril and wins a throw. Hours of my precious time he has wasted already. Down, snake!’ he said suddenly in a terrible voice. ‘Down on your belly!

The situations are somewhat different, but show some clear similarities.  King Theoden has been shut in his dark castle, the Golden Hall which is dark by contrast with the daylight outside, and shut up with fears — that he is an old man, that he should take extreme caution and not do anything that might endanger his health in his dying days, that he should stay in that dark place.  Rilian is still a prince, heir to the throne, and yet quite literally in a dark place, under the ground; and he too, similar to Theoden, only goes outside (to the world above) seldom, when the Queen of Underland allows it and takes him with her.

Of course, the depiction of the evil character is more developed in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.  Grima Wormtongue is servant to a greater demonic power, that of Saruman (who in turn has been in the service of the greater Dark Lord Sauron), whereas the Queen of Underland is understood to be representative of the devil or Satan himself, without any hierarchy of evil.  (C.S. Lewis, though, certainly understood and elsewhere taught such a concept of demonic hierarchy, as for instance in his classic work Screwtape Letters.  The simpler form is presented in the Narnia series, intended for children readers.)

The evil characters in both places seek domination over other wills, and do so in accordance with the measure of their demonic abilities.  While the Queen of Underland hoped to conquer and rule over all of Narnia, apparently Grima hoped for his reward from Saruman — the treasure, and Eowyn, as Gandalf described it:  you were to pick your share of the treasure, and take the woman you desire.

Yet in both cases their victim was under a spell:  not knowing their true, real self; in darkness, bondage, delusion and fear, trapped by the poison of a “toxic person” as described by the psychologists of our day.  Both Rilian and Theoden needed help from someone outside, as they were powerless to change their situation.  Rilian had his Silver Chair, that must be destroyed for the spell to be broken; he had tried once to break free, but the evil queen had been there and prevented his escape.  Theoden had friends who saw his situation and loved him, yet could do nothing for Theoden, whose will was in Wormtongue’s care.  “A man may love you and yet not love Wormtongue or his counsels,” said Gandalf.  For both of them, a healing was needed, and help must come from outside — messengers sent to them from God.

So in Aslan’s purpose, messengers from our world (rather like departed saints, or angels, from the Narnian perspective — people not living among them in Narnia) were sent — Eustace and Jill — to free the prisoner.  In Iluvatar’s will, Gandalf had been “sent back” — as Gandalf described it in the previous chapter to Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli: sent back from death, after the fall into the pit with the Balrog in Moria, to continue the work for Gandalf to do.  And that work included coming to Theoden’s hall, and breaking the spell that had been put on King Theoden.

The healing is completed, the spell broken, and the characters can take action and move forward with their lives.  In the words of Prince Rilian, upon destroying the silver chair:

“Lie there, vile engine of sorcery,” he said, “lest your mistress should ever use you for another victim.”  Then he turned and surveyed his rescuers; and the something wrong, whatever it was, had vanished from his face. …. “Had I forgotten it [Narnia] when I was under the spell?” asked the Knight. “Well, that and all other bedevilments are now over.”

The wise counsel that Gandalf brings to Theoden, is so applicable for us all. When Theoden asks about the counsel that Gandalf had mentioned, first comes encouragement: “You have yourself already taken it,” answered Gandalf.  The counsel: “To put your trust in Eomer, rather than in a man of crooked mind. To cast away fear and regret.  To do the deed at hand.” And herein lies an answer to difficulties for all of us. Listen to the right people, cease listening to the voice of the enemy (and negative thoughts contrary to goodness, beauty, and truth), to put the past behind, and move forward. As the apostle Paul said (Phil. 3:13-14): Forgetting what is behind and reaching forward to what is ahead, I pursue as my goal the prize promised by God’s heavenly call in Christ Jesus.

Theoden is roused to go to the battle. He still has strength in his body, his people have strength, and there is still hope. Prince Rilian joins the travellers to escape from the Underworld, to meet his dying father and then to take on his responsibilities as the next King of Narnia.