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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Lord of the Rings: What is the One Ring’s Power?

In Following Gandalf, Matthew Dickerson considers various references to the One Ring, to determine that its key power is domination, and specifically, the power to subdue and dominate other wills.  After all, Galadriel explicitly states this, that in order to use the Ring’s power, Frodo would need to train his will to the domination of others.  Continuing from that statement, Dickerson explores the powers of Sauron versus Gandalf, and the idea of each person’s free will and freedom to make choices.

Obviously at a surface level, the Ring also has the power to make a person invisible, as Bilbo discovered to his delight in The Hobbit.  Gandalf describes the One Ring as able to dominate and control the other rings, as the ‘master’ or ‘controlling’ ring, and so we see that the One Ring has the power over the other rings, of which only the three elven rings are still in existence at the end of the Third Age.

Then Galadriel tells Frodo — when he asks why he cannot see the others [rings] and know the thoughts of those that wear them — that before he could use that power he would need to become far stronger, and to train your will to the domination of others.

This description certainly indicates that dominating other wills is involved in using the power of the Ring – but as I see it, that is not the same as saying that the actual power of the Ring is the domination of others’ wills.  Galadriel instead implies that, after first having this ability to dominate others, then the ring bearer would have other powers.

Dickerson does include Tolkien’s own words on this topic, from The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien:

The chief power (of all the rings alike) was the prevention or slowing of decay (i.e. “change” viewed as a regrettable thing), the preservation of what is desired or loved, or its semblance—this is more or less an Elvish motive.  But also they enhanced the natural powers of a possessor—thus approaching “magic,” a motive easily corruptible into evil, a lust for domination.

Following Gandalf then focuses on that last characteristic, a lust for domination, as being the trait of the One Ring.  Again, though that is part of it, Galadriel gives other details, a section not quoted by Matthew Dickerson.  Galadriel next explained that Frodo’s sight had already increased, as a result of wearing the Ring:  as one that has borne it on finger and seen that which is hidden, your sight is grown keener.  You saw the Eye of him that holds the Seven and the Nine.  And did you not see and recognize the ring upon my finger?  She then asks Sam, standing nearby – he had not seen the ring, nor even understood what Frodo and Galadriel were talking about.

Returning to the quote from Tolkien’s letters, though, the evidence indicates that the Ring’s power was expressed in the front end of that sentence:  enhanced the natural powers of a possessor.  Thus indeed, on several occasions we see Frodo’s enhanced observation and perception of events, such as what he saw of world events while standing on top of Amon Hen at the end of Fellowship of the Ring, and what Galadriel had observed, that Frodo saw the elven ring on her hand.  Also of note here, soon after Sam takes possession of the Ring, he experiences a great vision of temptation:

Wild fantasies arose in his mind; and he saw Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age, striding with a flaming sword across the darkened land, and armies flocking to his call he marched to the overthrow of Barad-dur.  And then all the clouds rolled away, and the white sun shone, and at his command the vale of Gorgoroth became a garden of flowers and trees and brought forth fruit.  He had only to put on the Ring and claim it for his own, and all this could be.

Certainly this scene reveals the initial power of the Ring, on a new Ringbearer:  strong temptation, ideas that enhanced the natural powers of the possessor:  for Sam’s heart desired to be seen as a hero, and as a hero to turn desert wastelands into gardens, a temptation described in biblical terms reminiscent of the Old Testament prophecies about streams in the desert, about wastelands becoming forests, and so on.  The power for Sam, or at least the tempted power, would be to actually be able to accomplish those things—not the “motive easily corruptible into evil, a lust for domination” at the end of Tolkien’s sentence.

I further note that even without the Ring, Sauron dominated the wills of others.  Even without his Ring, in fact, he had already achieved that, as described in book six and what happened when Frodo put on the Ring at Mount Doom and claimed it for his own:

The Dark Lord was suddenly aware of him, and his Eye piercing all shadows looked across the plain to the door that he had made; …

From all his policies and webs of fear and treachery, from all his stratagems and wars his mind shook free; and throughout his realm a tremor ran, his slaves quailed, and his armies halted, and his captains suddenly steerless, bereft of will, wavered and despaired.  For they were forgotten.

Tolkien again emphasizes this last point about Sauron’s slaves, a few pages later early in the next chapter, just after Gollum and the Ring have fallen into the fire:

and even at that moment all the hosts of Mordor trembled, doubt clutched their hearts, their laughter failed, their hands shook and their limbs were loosed.  The Power that drove them on and filled them with hate and fury was wavering, its will was removed from them;

The point I observe here, is that both just before the Ring was destroyed – when it still existed and was claimed by Frodo – and again just after the Ring was destroyed, Sauron’s slaves and armies suddenly lost the will that had been controlling them.  Up until that point, Sauron’s will had firmly dominated their wills, such that they were a formidable foe to the armies under Aragorn at the Black Gate.  All of that time, before Sauron’s attention was diverted, these evil creatures did not have any free will but were acting under that strong domination of will, that had been exercised by the power of the Dark Lord – and this was the Dark Lord himself and his power, even though the Dark Lord himself did not have possession of his Ring.

Following Gandalf has some good insights into the nature of Sauron, the contrasting nature of Gandalf, and what Tolkien himself viewed regarding the importance of individual free will as contrasted with automaton domination by another’s will.  However, looking at other scenes in Lord of the Rings as well as Tolkien’s letters, it seems clear at least to me, that the power of the One Ring is not specifically the ability to dominate others’ wills (though such is required in order to more effectively use it), but that the Ring enhances the possessor’s natural abilities, giving them power like “magic,” a power that then can be corrupted “into evil, a lust for domination.”

Any thoughts from readers here?  What are some additional aspects of the Ring’s powers and effects, that come to mind for you, from your readings of Lord of the Rings?

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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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Following Gandalf: Middle-Earth Battles

A friend had recommended some Tolkien resources, including Matthew Dickerson’s books such as Following Gandalf and A Hobbit Journey.  So, I’ve purchased and am now reading through Following Gandalf; since then I’ve realized that the second book, A Hobbit Journey, is similar content, with most of the same chapters, an updated version of Following Gandalf.

Dickerson’s writing is interesting, with a lot of good details, and so I’ll start with the content in chapter 1: Epic Battles.  Here, Dickerson looks at Tolkien’s view of battle and war, by noting the four battles (one in The Hobbit, and three in Lord of the Rings) plus the skirmish that Sam witnesses (where he sees an Oliphaunt)  and how they are described, to show that — contrary to a colleague’s perception — Tolkien does not glorify violence and war.  The battles of course are mostly told from the hobbits’ perspectives:  Bilbo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin — with one exception, Helms Deep, that the hobbits are absent from.  Each narration from the seemingly most unimportant character (a hobbit), one that is not a participant in the battle, along with descriptions about misery and being uncomfortable, and sad and sorrowful (especially in Merry’s experience at the “Battle of the Pelennor Fields”), shows Tolkien’s view of the unpleasantness of war.  For instance, the words of Sam after the fight between Faramir’s men and the Southrons:

It was Sam’s first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man’s name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace.

Dickerson brings out interesting details regarding the Rohirrim as like the Anglo-Saxons (with the addition of a love of horses not known of Anglo-Saxons).  Certainly the general impression of the people of Rohan is that of northern Europe, such as the Vikings.  But a literary reference to Beowulf makes the connection to the Anglo Saxons.  The “welcome” from the guard to Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli in book three of The Two Towers, follows the pattern of the welcome given to Beowulf and his warriors by the beach guards, a scene where they visit Hrothgar.  Dickerson shows us the wording of the two speeches, with the same basic wording, sentence structure and sequence, with just a few words changed, in relation to the specific plot points.

We also have good analysis of the complex character of Eowyn — Tolkien’s Eowyn, not the Peter Jackson movie “dumbed-down” young woman who just has a crush on Aragorn.  Keeping to the battle theme, Dickerson points out more specifically that her desire for death in battle was an Anglo Saxon ideal.

In sparing her from death, Tolkien gives his reader the opportunity to see the healing she later finds.   It is by the author’s grace that Eowyn does not die but is able to learn that the type of glory she sought earlier is not the answer.”  Eowyn’s “illness” is a desire for glory.

Tolkien, in his caring, thoughtful portrayal of Eowyn and her later healing, also makes it clear that it not “solely a womanly virtue to abandon the glories of the battlefield, and turn instead to the house and garden and the pursuit of peace, but as a manly virtue as well.”  The later chapter in book 6 of Return of the King, “The Steward and the King,” is a great conclusion to the healing of both Faramir and Eowyn.

Dickerson’s commentary on the “Contest” at Helm’s Deep between Legolas and Gimli is also worth reading, for any who might still think that Tolkien glorified war.  It is interesting that the Helm’s Deep chapter is where we see several friendships developed and/or strengthened: Aragorn and Eomer, Gimli and Eomer, and especially the strengthening of the friendship between Gimli and Legolas, as we see their real concern for each other.

I’m now nearing the end of Following Gandalf, with lots of additional thoughts on many more topics in Tolkien’s Middle Earth.

 

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Light that Grows and Increases: The Phial of Galadriel

A year-long weekly devotional I’m reading this year, features selected writings from the Early Church Fathers.  In Ancient Christian Devotional: A Year of Weekly Readings, Lectionary Cycle A (at Amazon, and also at Abe Books here), week 22 has this interesting quote from Bede (known as the Venerable Bede, from early medieval England), in his commentary on 1 Peter:  “He [Jesus] comes to us daily to visit the light which he has given us, in order to tend it and to help it grow. This is why he is called not only the shepherd but also the guardian of our souls.”

Light is one of the Bible’s metaphors, directly referenced by Christ:  I am the light of the world  (John 8:12).  We often think of light as a metaphor for illumination, the light bulb going off in our head “Aha!” moments.  The Bible describes light similarly, referring to Holy Spirit illumination.  And yes, we all know by experience, the small flicker of a candle, and the light that increases and spreads, dispelling darkness.  The sun at its rising just begins to light up the darkness, but soon the dark of night passes, and the sun blazes up at mid-day as it continues its path across the sky.  Psalm 19:4-6   gives such a wonderful description:

In the heavens he has pitched a tent for the sun.
It is like a bridegroom coming from his home; it rejoices like an athlete running a course.
It rises from one end of the heavens and circles to their other end;

Returning to Bede, and the idea of light that God gives us and that He tends it to help it (the light) grow:  I cannot help but be reminded here, of the scene that J.R.R. Tolkien depicts for us near the end of The Two Towers, of Frodo and Sam in Shelob’s Lair.  This gift (among many) of Galadriel — symbolic of grace and special gifts given us by God — mentioned previously in Fellowship of the Ring, takes on great prominence in the tunnel, when the hobbits remember this gift and start to use it in that desperate hour.  For this chapter gives us a taste, a powerful picture in the mind, of the power of God and His workings, how He gives us light and tends it and helps it to grow in our lives.  For Frodo and Sam, like us, have the spiritual gift given, along with the Holy Spirit power (symbolized in the elves of ancient days).  Note that along with the phial itself, both Frodo and Sam are also found here to be speaking in tongues:  words in the elvish language, words they do not know or understand, come from their mouths, along with the power of the light itself.

Similar to sunlight, the phial of Galadriel starts small, then growing to greater light, when Frodo first reaches for it.  Also interesting, in this first scene and later in the chapter, the light’s power and effectiveness varies, either increasing or decreasing in intensity based on the bearer’s experience of hope and strength of will/spirit:

Slowly his hand went to his bosom, and slowly he held aloft the Phial of Galadriel.  For a moment it glimmered, faint as a rising star struggling in heavy earthward mists, and then as its power waxed, and hope grew in Frodo’s mind, it began to burn, and kindled to a silver flame, a minute heart of dazzling light….  The darkness receded from it until it seemed to shine in the centre of a globe of airy crystal, and the hand that held it sparkled with white fire.

As we soon learn, the monster was not immediately deterred.  Soon, Frodo and Sam, horror-stricken, began slowly to back away … Frodo’s hand wavered, and slowly the Phial drooped.  Frodo and Sam momentarily escape, and then the phial serves as a basic light, at the level that we might consider a lantern or flashlight, as they run down the tunnel and then, while Sam holds the phial (rather like a lantern), Frodo has enough light to cut the cords of Shelob’s web for their next escape.

Then in the climactic scene, where Sam the hero shines forth, we observe:   

As if his indomitable spirit had set its potency in motion, the glass blazed suddenly like a white torch in his hand. It flamed like a star that leaping from the firmament sears the dark air with intolerable light.  No such terror out of heaven had ever burned in Shelob’s face before.  The beams of it entered into her wounded head and scored it with unbearable pain, and the dreadful infection of light spread from eye to eye.

These great descriptions, of light, and hope, and beauty abound in Tolkien’s Middle Earth, among the many reasons we so love to visit — and then to return to our world, strengthened and renewed in hope.

 

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