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?

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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.

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The Lord of the Rings Prologue: Table of Nations, Pipeweed, and Other Matters

Continuing from my last post, an introduction to the Lenten Lord of the Rings, for today, a look at the Prologue to The Lord of the Rings.   As noted at the Lenten Lord of the Rings site, we can relate to many general ideas brought out here: contentment versus difficulty, beginnings, calendars, and what things are important in defining a people-group (such as Hobbits in this case) such as their clans and the importance of family relationships.

The Hobbit origins are described in a way similar to our early history, even with three different branches of hobbits:  Harfoots, Stoors, and Fallohides, and how they spread out over a region.  The origins and descriptions have resemblance with our earliest history such as the Table of Nations in Genesis 10.  Here, the different groups of Hobbits described in terms of key characteristics: slight physical variations (the closest that Lord of the Rings gets to the idea of races of men), and which ones were friendly with Elves, which ones preferred to stay in one place, which ones preferred water, or were skilled in handicrafts.

An attentive reading of the Prologue tells us several things about what will happen to the characters.  For all the critics’ comments about Tolkien’s abundance of unmarried young men and under-representation of women and families, here we learn that Merry and Pippin did (later) have families, of which they are heads. A great-grandson of Pippin is mentioned, as are Sam’s descendants, and a grandson of Faramir.  Without giving out too many spoilers (for those who have yet to read the story, or who have never even seen any movie adaptations), Tolkien reveals that Elrond and Galadriel had since departed, with Celeborn remaining behind in Rivendell, but “there is no record of the day when at last he (Celeborn) sought the Grey Havens.”  By the absence of mention of Frodo in later years, we have implied what will later be revealed, that Frodo will not be around in those future years in Middle Earth.

The different characters and groups provide the variety of life and wonder, reflecting the great variety that Iluvatar has set into our own world as well.  Meriadoc is a historian, and Peregrin one with librarian tendencies, to collect manuscripts.  The people of Middle Earth, like our Medieval Age, have their scribes.  Unlike the history of the Elves (brought out in The Silmarillion), the Hobbits’ life circumstance has been overwhelmingly one of peace and leisure — the trials of plague and war have occurred, but long ago beyond their memory.  Yet for all the lack of challenge, a life most similar in our world to certain times of medieval Europe and especially of the relatively peaceful and prosperous 19th century Victorian England, “ease and peace had left this people still curiously tough.”  The Hobbits embody the ideal of Christendom and Christian people, showing us a quality not realized in human history, yet a key characteristic of a spiritual people, of those who are not in bondage merely to the cares of this world — and also the Lenten spirit of turning from the world and giving up the normal, comfortable things of life:  “they were, perhaps, so unwearyingly fond of good things not least because they could, when put to it, do without them, and could survive rough handling by grief, foe, or weather in a way that astonished those that did not know them well and looked no further than their bellies and their well-fed faces.”

I continue to marvel at the inner consistency of every detail within the story of Middle Earth.  Tobacco pipe-smoking is something associated with our early-modern world (including the early 20th century in England), yet a New World product from the West, native to North America.  Tolkien has an explanation even for this anomaly, in the words of Meriadoc:  “observations that I have made on my own many journeys south have convinced me that the weed itself is not native to our parts of the world, but came northward from the lower Anduin, whither it was, I suspect, originally brought over Sea by the men of Westernesse.”  The pleasure that men have enjoyed in their smokes is of course conveyed as a relaxing event for hobbits and even Gandalf the wizard.  My recent reading of a travel journal from a young British man who walked through Europe in the early 1930s (see this post)  also shows some of the enjoyment that Tolkien, also a British man of that time and place, experienced from “pipeweed,” as shown in a few excerpts from the traveler, then-19 year old Patrick Leigh Fermor:

The weather had changed so much, we could lie on the grass there, talking and smoking cigars and basking under a cloudless sky like the lizards, watching the water flow past on its way to the Danube.

I found a hollow lined with leaves among the willow-trunks about three yards from the water and after a supper of Kövecses-remains and a new loaf from my baker friend and watercress from a stream, I stuck a candle on a stone to fill in my diary. It burned without a tremor. Then I lay, gazing upwards and smoking with my rucksack for a pillow, wrapped in my greatcoat in case of cold later on.

The diary lays a lot of stress on cigar- and pipe-smoking; I had forgotten the latter. I think they were both slightly self-conscious symbols of emancipation and maturity. I always seem to be ‘puffing away thoughtfully’ or ‘enjoying a quiet pipe,’ in these pages.

As far as I know, Tolkien never wrote up such an origins explanation for another new world item in his pre-historic world: potatoes.  But potatoes get less mention in Lord of the Rings than the tobacco.

I had not read the Prologue to Lord of the Rings in a few years, so today’s read was a great refresher.  Up for tomorrow:  chapters 1 and 2 of Fellowship of the Ring.  I’ll be noting interesting thoughts as I continue reading, though I may not have the time for blog posts for each day in this Lenten reading journey.

 

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The Tolkien “Canon?”: J.R.R. Tolkien the Sub-Creator

The more I learn about the early Christian church, and the world of the ancients, the better I understand and appreciate J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, and his full legendarium.  One interesting aspect of Tolkien’s world, similar to that of Holy Scripture, is the question of “canon” and what it includes.  For Tolkien’s massive collection about Middle Earth has an interesting historical feature in common with the word of God and our Bibles, something that truly highlights the “sub-creation” aspect of Tolkien’s work and his role as a “sub-creator.”

As we know, the Bible is a collection of many books that were written at many different times and places, and for which exist numerous manuscript versions with some manuscript differences.  Similarly, Tolkien’s world actually consists of multiple writings, from numerous times during Tolkien’s life — starting around the time of World War I, up until shortly before his death; he continued revisions, creating different versions of stories.  In our real world, in ancient times Christians worked with many different books within the full collection of what would later be bound together as “The Bible,” forming an official “canon” after several hundred years; and in modern times, scholars have studied the variations in Bible manuscripts within this canon collection.  Again, within the Tolkien fandom world, many people have tried to come up with an official, definitive canon of Tolkien’s legendarium, examining the differences in the different manuscript versions of Tolkien’s stories.  After all, J.R.R. Tolkien’s massive writing collection — of which he never discarded old versions — became a lifetime work for his son Christopher, to sift through all of the writings and publish the various works such as Unfinished Tales, Lost Tales, and numerous volumes of the History of Middle Earth.  Note these web pages that talk about the Tolkien canon: Tolkien Gateway Canon and an Ask Middle Earth post.  Note this observation from the second link:

This is a question that every reader has to – or gets to, depending on your point of view – answer for themselves. Some readers believe that whichever version was published in one of the “main” works (The Hobbit, LotR, and The Silmarillion) is canon. Others believe that whichever version Tolkien wrote last is canon. Others go on a case-by-case basis, essentially choosing their favorite versions of each story to be canon. And of course there’s the Global Theory, which argues that they’re all canon. It’s entirely up to you, and (no matter what anybody might tell you) there really isn’t a wrong answer.

As mentioned on one of the older Amon Sul podcasts, when we look at Tolkien’s own words within the story, we see that even Tolkien himself did not have a final, definitive version of all the tales, in his own imagination — as though the world existed on its own, outside of Tolkien’s imagination.  Tolkien himself seemed to be content with some level of “mystery” and lack of conclusion regarding these legends within Middle Earth.  Here I recall also, from reading The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, places where Tolkien described certain characters coming onto the scene, and his own reaction to these new characters — such as Faramir, in letter 66:

A new character has come on the scene (I am sure I did not invent him, I did not even want him, though I like him, but there he came walking into the woods of Ithilien): Faramir, the brother of Boromir – and he is holding up the ‘catastrophe’ by a lot of stuff about the history of Gondor and Rohan (with some very sound reflections no doubt on martial glory and true glory): but if he goes on much more a lot of him will have to be removed to the appendices

Regarding the uncertainty, though, we note for instance in The Silmarillion, places where the writing simply says “Some say that…”  or “others say…” such as these excerpts:

Some say that it was Mandos himself, and no lesser herald of Manwë.

Aforetime it was held among the Elves in Middle-earth that dying the Dwarves returned to the earth and the stone of which they were made; yet that is not their own belief. For they say that Aulë the Maker, whom they call Mahal, cares for them, and gathers them to Mandos in halls set apart;

What may befall their spirits after death the Elves know not. Some say that they too go to the halls of Mandos; but their place of waiting there is not that of the Elves, and Mandos under Ilúvatar alone save Manwë knows whither they go after the time of recollection in those silent halls beside the Outer Sea.

Thus, we can know with certainty the vast majority of the story of Middle Earth, allowing for some variations and different versions on minor points.  But the idea of a “canon” (something that has great precision,100% defined and conclusive) may not be the best approach to Tolkien’s world.  As mentioned in my last post , there is instead a type of ritual participation within the community of Tolkien fandom, a ritual that we can return to with repeated readings of Lord of the Rings through the years, for instance.

In a similar way, the early Christian church had a number of various scrolls that were considered part of the sacred writings, which were circulated, yet would not be bound together into one volume until many centuries later.  This collection of writings — which included many books that are now considered Deuterocanonical, or as “apocrypha” (by Protestants)  — served along with apostolic tradition for the early Christians, as what they shared in their ritual participation, their Christian communal experience.

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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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Iluvatar’s Presence, and Signs and Visions (Lord of the Rings)

In Return of the King, chapter “The Land of Shadow,” Sam and Frodo are creeping slowly through Mordor, and everything around is gloom and dark, in every literal way imaginable, in a landscape comparable only to the horrors of war (with reference indeed to Tolkien’s experience of World War I). Suddenly Sam has a moment of experiencing the transcendent, a look beyond what is “under the sun.”

Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. His song in the Tower had been defiance rather than hope; for then he was thinking of himself. Now, for a moment, his own fate, and even his master’s, ceased to trouble him.

At a similar dark hour, when Sauron’s forces are coming against Minas Tirith, Pippin experiences that moment of hope and joy, in the face of Gandalf:

Pippin glanced in some wonder at the face now close beside his own, for the sound of that laugh had been gay and merry. Yet in the wizard’s face he saw at first only lines of care and sorrow; though as he looked more intently he perceived that under all there was a great joy: a fountain of mirth enough to set a kingdom laughing, were it to gush forth.

These scenes and many others reflect our moments of joy and hope (in the midst of trials), those experiences of God’s presence here in our fallen world: the beauty of a star, or the experience of a nice sunny day and recalling that feeling of a vacation trip and being at ease and at peace with God.  Just as in our world, throughout Lord of the Rings Iluvatar reveals Himself to the characters in various ways, such as in moments of beauty and calm, as well as in providential signs, or dreams and visions of future scenes.

Looking for a Sign

In another situation, Aragorn the new king of Gondor looks for a sign, and is dismayed because the expected answer still has not come. Iluvatar’s purpose unfolds in an unexpected way.  In our world too, we sometimes look for a particular sign, an indication of God’s direction and will for our lives – and the answer to the prayer, the request, does come, though often not as we expect.  From book six of Return of the King:

[Aragorn] ‘The Tree in the Court of the Fountain is still withered and barren. When shall I see a sign that it will ever be otherwise?’

‘Turn your face from the green world, and look where all seems barren and cold!’ said Gandalf.

Immediately, when Aragorn looked in that direction, there was the sign: the sapling tree.

as he looked he was aware that alone there in the waste a growing thing stood. …

I have found it!  Lo, here is a scion of the Eldest of Trees!  But how comes it here?

Dreams and Visions

Then there is Frodo’s dream of the green country, at the house of Tom Bombadil — and its fulfillment in the Grey Havens:

Either in his dreams or out of them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing running in his mind; a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise.  The vision melted into waking.

Like the apostle Paul, who could not tell if he was in or out of the body when he had a great vision (2 Corinthians 12:2-3), so Frodo knew what he saw, but could not tell if it occurred in dreams or “out of them.”  And Frodo similarly received many sufferings, as did the apostle Paul — as part of the package deal, for those who receive visions must also be kept humble.

Nothing more is said about this vision, until the very end.  But there at the end, Frodo finally arrives in the place of rest (heaven), the destination of those on the ship in The Grey Havens:

And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed on into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water.  And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.

In Lord of the Rings – and also in the rest of Tolkien’s legendarium – we have such abundance of literary material, and the many story incidents that we can relate to, noting the parallels to our world and life experience.  These events are just a sampling, of the seemingly endless supply for our analysis and enjoyment.

Readers, please share, some other examples of these types of things — Iluvatar’s presence, in special scenes, and signs and visions.

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