Ritual Participation, and a Lent Reading of Lord of the Rings

An interesting point brought up in an Amon Sul podcast (episode #24), in relation to myth and story:  in our modern world, people often focus on “how can I relate to this person?” and similar questions.  As for example, which character in Tolkien’s world am I most like, or which one do I want to be like?  Modern people often ask, how do I relate to such people who are not ordinary, who do not have “ordinary” lives such as mine?  So it is in our modern, very psychologized world.  This can be seen as a symptom of modernism with its stress on individualism and lack of community.  A key part of community life, in contrast with our age, is that of ritual participation: the repeated, common experiences of a group of people, such as in observances in the calendar each year.  Such was the experience in pre-modern societies, whether pagan or in the early and then medieval Church.

In our age, science fiction and fantasy fiction lend themselves to a type of ritual participation: dressing up in costume, going to Star Trek or other sci-fi or fantasy conventions, for instance.  I remember my early days attending such events every year.  Lord of the Rings is another entry into ritual participation:  Doxamoots and related convention gathering events, but also the simple pleasure of the repeated experience found in re-reading through Lord of the Rings every year or at set times of the year.

On this note, I have even come across a reading schedule for Lord of the Rings.  It’s like a yearly Bible reading schedule, but for all the days of Lent (about 2 months) – and with specific chapters for assigned reading each day.  The schedule is even adjusted each year, with the 2023 reading schedule available here.  Various blogs have followed the Lent schedule, with posts related to the reading in the Lent schedule, such as this post from a few years ago, and also this post from 2015.  There’s even a Lenten Lord of the Rings podcast that provides daily updates, brief “devotional” thoughts on each day’s reading.

It’s certainly an aggressive schedule, one that I’m not sure if I’d be able to complete every day, but I think I’ll give it a try.  I may include audio book reading, with the audio book version (unabridged) I have (read by Rob Inglis).  Of course, Lent season is still four months away, and I completed this year’s reading of Lord of the Rings a month or so ago, to start on The Silmarillion now.

What are some other ideas and reading schedules for Lord of the Rings reading, or for reading of Tolkien’s other works?

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The Power and ‘Place’ of Words Spoken: In Middle Earth and Ancient Civilization

One great thing I like about having an electronic edition of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, is the ability to do word-studies on various themes — similar to Bible word-studies; in this case to see Tolkien’s vast use of language and Middle Earth themes.  From my recent re-reading through Lord of the Rings, I am again struck by the importance of the spoken word, and the idea of words having power.  Numerous examples abound, including Saruman’s voice which has power to deceive, or the word “key lock” at the gates of Moria, and the general idea of vows and oaths taken, a topic I explored in this previous post.

As pointed out in podcast episode 16 of Amon Sul, one interesting aspect of the story is the many times that speaking is with reference to NOT speaking about a particular thing:  namely, the Black Riders / Ringwraiths.  We first see it with Gandalf in the second chapter of Fellowship of the Ring, where Gandalf is sitting by Frodo’s fireplace telling Frodo the history of the ring:

‘Last night you began to tell me strange things about my ring, Gandalf,’ he said.  ‘And then you stopped, because you said that such matters were best left until daylight.  Don’t you think you had better finish now?’  and then,when reading to Frodo the writing on the ring:  The letters are Elvish, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here.

and again in the very next chapter when Pippin asks the elves about the Black Riders: let us not discuss this here; then later Gildor speaks privately about the riders to Frodo.  Throughout Lord of the Rings, people are cautioned not to speak about certain things openly: Gandalf speaking the words of Mordor at the Council of Elrond, for instance.  After Sam questioned the amount of time they had spent in Lothlorien, Legolas talked about the slow passing of time in Lorien, and then this interesting dialogue where Frodo speaks too casually about the elven ring:

“But the wearing is slow in Lorien,” said Frodo.  “The power of the Lady is on it.  Rich are the hours, though short they seem, in Caras Galadhon, where Galadriel wields the Elven-ring.”

“That should not have been said outside Lorien, not even to me,” said Aragorn.  “Speak no more of it!”

Clearly, these great matters are so grave, as to require certain spaces or places where they can be talked about.  Words, and especially spoken words, seemingly have the power of blessing and cursing, and such power is more than just a mere wish or hopeful thought.  Similarly, in C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, the “deplorable word” in The Magician’s Nephew was what destroyed the world Charn.  We are never told the specific “word” but the idea again is of spoken words having power to destroy a world.

In our world, of course, it was the spoken word of God that created this world.  God spoke the world into existence.  And He later came in the flesh, the incarnate Word.  I think also of the ancient world, in which people who put great importance on spoken curses (as well as blessings).  The Old Testament especially is replete with references to spoken curses as well as blessings.  Jacob did not want a curse to fall on him, for deceiving Isaac and claiming to be Esau – Rebecca allowed the curse to fall on her instead.  Then in Judges 17 we see a son greatly concerned because of a curse his mother had spoken, regarding silver that had been taken from her.  We also have God’s promised blessings and curses put on the people of God (Leviticus and Deuteronomy), as part of their covenant with God, and again these blessings and curses were to be spoken publicly before the assembly.

As for Tolkien’s idea of words not being spoken in particular places, but sometimes allowed in other, more private and prepared places, I am also reminded of an interesting point from early church history.  The early church had the writings which became the New Testament canon, writings which were circulated among believers and available to unbelievers.  But they also had their own traditions, and particular practices, which were only dealt with orally, and only in their places of worship.  As application of Jesus’ words in Matthew 7 about not casting your pearls before swine, the early church leaders considered certain matters of such special, sacred importance, that these teachings were not to be written down and available to the unbelieving (swine and dogs) and were not for discussion (verbally) with unbelievers, but were only for the catechumens and the church congregations, as in this excerpt from St. Basil (4th century):

Of the dogmas and sermons preserved in the Church, certain ones we have from written instruction, and certain ones we have received from the Apostolic [oral] Tradition, handed down in secret [i.e., discreetly]. Both the one and the other have one and the same authority for piety, and no one who is even the least informed in the decrees of the Church will contradict this. … Is this not the silent and secret tradition? … Is it not from this unpublished and unspoken teaching which our Fathers have preserved in a silence inaccessible to curiosity and scrutiny, because they were thoroughly instructed to preserve in silence the sanctity of the Mysteries [i.e., Sacraments]? For what propriety would there be to proclaim in writing a teaching concerning that which it is not allowed for the unbaptized even to behold?

And summarized in a current-day look at this early church history  (Know the Faith, by Michael Shanbour):

Generally, however, dogma was neither preached to unbelievers nor written down for fear that it would be misunderstood, trivialized, and mocked, subjected to petty curiosity that is demeaning to holy things. As St. Basil the Great puts it, “Reverence for the mysteries is best encouraged by silence.” Although counterintuitive to our modern minds, the Church was very reticent to “throw pearls to swine” (Matt. 7:6), lest that which is holy be trampled upon. . . . Therefore the dogmas of the Church were purposely kept discreet and unwritten. Catechumens were instructed not to write down on paper what they were hearing and not to share dogma with unbelievers. The Church’s more intimate teachings and many of her practices were taught only by word of mouth or not spoken of at all until one had entered the Church and experienced her inner life. Even the Lord’s Prayer was not taught to catechumens (let alone unbelievers) until after or just prior to their baptism.

The parallels between the ancient world and ideas brought out in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings (and in C.S. Lewis’ Narnia series) continue to fascinate me.  So much of what made Tolkien’s writing so successful and well-received, comes from his expertise in the history and literature of the ancient, pre-modern world.

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The (Failed) Repentance of Gollum

One of Tolkien’s many themes in Lord of the Rings is that of repentance.  As Matthew Dickerson noted in Following Gandalf, Tolkien was not that direct in the use of “religious” terminology – so instead he used the word “cure.”  Tolkien actually used the word “cure” in many different contexts, to also refer to Frodo being cured of the wound received at Weathertop, and even in Gandalf’s impatience with Pippin’s inquisitiveness:  ‘If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend the rest of my days in answering you.’  Yet throughout, Gandalf specifically mentions a “cure” that is desired for Gollum, which we understand as a moral cure, to heal his soul of the malice and evil “that eats it like a canker” as Faramir described it, to bring Gollum back to the real world of interaction with the good characters of Middle Earth.  This cure is sought by many, including the elves and later Frodo, with reference back to Gandalf’s wish.  Consider:

Gandalf’s speech to Frodo in Fellowship of the Ring:

Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.  I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it.  …

Then from Legolas’ words at the Council of Elrond:

But Gandalf bade us hope still for his cure, and we had not the heart to keep him in dungeons under the earth, where he would fall back into his old black thoughts.

Frodo later referenced Gandalf’s wishes regarding Gollum, to Faramir:

‘The creatue is wretched and hungry,’ said Frodo, ‘and unaware of his danger.  And Gandalf, your Mithrandir, he would have bidden you not to slay him for that reason, and for others.  He forbade the Elves to do so.’

Throughout, we see that the means to this ‘cure’ is kindness and mercy, and in Gollum we see such a vivid picture of what it really means to ‘turn the other cheek’ and show mercy to an enemy, to show God’s loving-kindness to a wretched sinner, in remembrance of our own wretchedness and our own undeservedness.

Particularly interesting in the case of Gollum, is that the ‘treatment’ does start to work, with temporary results.  Consider that Gollum had possession of the Ring for many hundreds of years, and yet even he starts to respond to the kindness of Frodo, sometimes acting like a dog wanting to please his master.  This trait is especially striking in contrast to Saruman and Denethor, neither of whom actually possessed the Ring but desired to have it (for their own uses), and yet were thoroughly hardened, with consciences seared; both of them were similarly given opportunities to repent, but rejected it as not even a possibility.  Within the story, the difference we see with Gollum would at least partly be attributed to the particular hardiness, that quality of hobbits as superior to other types of beings.  In the Gollum story, we see – as noted, for instance, near the end of episode #3 of the Amon Sûl podcast (Exploring the Tolkien Legendarium with the Christian Faith) — that God’s mercy can be shown to the worst of sinners, in hopes of their repentance.

The precept for Gollum’s treatment is given us in Romans 2:4: Or do you think lightly of the riches of His kindness and tolerance and patience, not knowing that the kindness of God leads you to repentance?  

I also think of the Old Testament story of wicked King Ahab – as bad as he was (and we are often told of his great wickedness), yet we finally see a type of repentance, albeit a temporary one, in 1 Kings 21:27-29 – a conscience so severely hardened yet capable of enough of a response to the pronounced judgment, that God deferred the judgment, not on Ahab himself but to occur in his son’s days.  Like Gollum’s, this was not a saving repentance unto eternal life, but temporal only.

Then we have, in the New Testament, the well-known account of Judas Iscariot.  Our Lord Himself – of whom Frodo is recognized as a type, an illustration – extended kindness to Judas as one of the 12, kindness that continued to the very end.  Though Christ knew all along the true nature of Judas – “one of you is a devil!” – yet Judas received the same gifts as the other disciples when they went on their missionary trips, and Judas received the same common blessings in the company of the other eleven.  Even at the end, Jesus handed the sop to Judas – an appeal of friendship.

Tolkien himself, in The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, described the key scene that brought about the failure of Gollum’s cure:  that poignant moment when Gollum returned to the hobbits upon the stairs of Cirith Ungol, when he reached out a hand as a caress, to touch Frodo.  But then Sam woke up, and Sam as “the mean hobbit” who had not participated in the “kindness treatment,” in his insensitivity accused Gollum of pawing at his master – and the moment was lost, beyond recall.  Here, too, in Sam’s failure, we see such realism.  Isn’t that how it often is in our lives?  Sam is such a hero, and has such great moments, yet – like the saints of God throughout the ages, in the Bible as well as throughout church history – has his character flaws as well.

The character of Gollum and events surrounding him are fascinating, with such complexity that could be discussed in multiple podcast episodes (again, as noted by the hosts at the Amon Sûl podcast on Tolkien’s Middle Earth) as well as numerous blog posts.  But these are some thoughts on this topic, for further discussion and considerations.

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