“The Way is Shut… It Was Made by Those Who Are Dead, and The Dead Keep It, Until The Time Comes.” How Can We Know the Proper Time for Things?

/ stephencwinter / 2 Comments

The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 775-781

The words in the title for this piece were spoken long before the events described here. Brego, the second King of Rohan, went up the steep path out of the Harrowdale with Baldor his son, that had been cut from the rock in an age long before the arrival of the Rohirrim, the Eorlingas, to the lands where now they dwell. At the door in the mountain they met an ancient man who spoke the words to them before breathing his last.

As we have seen, Baldor decided to dare the door and was seen no more until Aragorn discovered his body within the mountain on the Paths of the Dead, and since that time no one had dared try the door until Aragorn does.

Éowyn tells the company of how Aragorn has passed through the door, “into the shadow from which none have returned”. Éomer’s heart falls as he hears his sister’s words.

“He is lost. We must ride without him, and our hope dwindles.”

But it is Théoden who reminds his companions of the story that we have read, the story of the words spoken to his forefathers, that the Dead keep the way, “until the time comes.”

Has that time come?

We know that Aragorn and the Grey Company have indeed passed through the Door, and that the Dead did not prevent him from doing so but heard his voice and followed him to the Stone of Erech where he called them to fulfil the oath that once they made to Isildur and then broke it. We know that the time has come, and Théoden himself says that Aragorn is “a kingly man of high destiny”, and one that might be able to do a deed that no-one else has dared. But Éomer is not persuaded. Perhaps such a man as Aragorn might be able to dare the Door but to what purpose? To him the way that Aragorn has gone is no more than a private quest, and maybe one that a great hero might endeavour, but surely there are other things to be done?

“Alas that a fey mood should fall on a man so greathearted in this hour of need! Are there not evil things enough abroad without seeking them under the earth? War is at hand.”

Éomer does not know the story that Aragorn does. Nor does he know that Aragorn made his choice because he believed that unless he did so he would not arrive at Minas Tirith in time, and that even if he did get there with the Rohirrim it would be fruitless because the Corsairs of Umbar would be able to sail up the Anduin unopposed and so the Rohirrim would come to a city that had already fallen.

But let us not think of such things now. The question I wish to consider here is the one posed in the title of this piece. How can we ever know the proper time to undertake a particular action? As Éomer says rightly, the only way to find out if the time has come to try the Door is to try it.

The whole of The Lord of the Rings is a story of grasping opportunities as they arise. At the heart of this, of course, is the One Ring itself. Suddenly, and entirely unexpectedly, the Ring that all had believed to be lost appears in the hands of a hobbit. Some, like Gandalf, were prepared for the reappearance of the Ring. No-one expected the Ring to appear in the manner that it did. Gandalf knows that the only thing to do with the Ring is to destroy it. What even he does not expect is that he will find a willing ally in the person of Frodo Baggins, and that this hobbit of the Shire is at first excited to make a journey out of the Shire, and then, against his own wishes but for the sake of his fellows, to offer his very self as Ringbearer.

Everyone at the heart of the story knows that the stakes are so high that everything must be risked in order to destroy the Ring and that every other ambition, however noble, must be set aside for that purpose. So, Aragorn risks everything for this ultimate purpose, while Éomer does not yet know of that purpose and so thinks in terms of important but lesser things, such as his fealty to his king and faithfulness to an ancient oath. Later he will be invited to the Final Debate and learn of higher things. For now, this is enough for him to act as he must do.

“Speak Not The Soft Words of Wormtongue in My Old Ears”. Théoden Thinks About Ageing and Death in Harrowdale.

/ stephencwinter / 4 Comments

The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) p. 775

As Merry turns his thoughts to Frodo and Sam at the end of the journey from the Hornburg to Harrowdale, Théoden makes ready for the great ride of the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith. Éomer is glad that this journey is over, but Théoden now thinks only of what lies ahead.

“This journey is over, maybe… but I have far yet to go. Last night the moon was full, and in the morning I shall ride to Edoras to the gathering of the Mark.”

Théoden may be thinking of the battle that lies ahead but Éomer has different thoughts in mind. What he sees in front of him is an old man. Perhaps the days when Théoden was confined to his chair in the golden hall of Meduseld have had a greater influence upon him than he realises.

“If you would take my counsel,” he says to the king, “you would then return hither, until the war is over, lost or won.”

In other words, though Éomer does not speak them out loud, you should take no part in the battle that lies ahead. It is time for you to rest, old man.

Théoden is seventy-one years old at the time of the events of The Lord of the Rings, and I am the same age as he was then. Would I listen to Éomer’s counsel and leave the battle to younger men? Or would I listen to Théoden who replies to his nephew, gently but firmly.

“Nay, my son, for so I will call you, speak not the soft words of Wormtongue in my old ears… Long years in the space of days it seems since I rode west; but never will I lean on a staff again. If the war is lost, what good will be my hiding in the hills? And if it is won, what grief will it be, even if I fall, spending my last strength?”

Théoden speaks more gently to Éomer than Jesus did to Peter when Peter tried to counsel him not to lay down his life in Jerusalem. Jesus told Peter to “get behind me, Satan!” But Théoden is just as firm in his intent and conviction as Jesus was. Do not try to prevent me from doing what I have to do, he says to his nephew. “The soft words of Wormtongue” were spoken in order to prevent Théoden from taking action against Saruman. They may have been cloaked in expressions of concern for an old man, offering kind advice to him not to overdo things, to conserve his strength, to look after himself, but Wormtongue’s true intention was to rob that old man of his capacity for any action at all.

And what of Théoden’s words to Éomer? What is the point in my hiding in the hills while my men go into battle? If we lose then death will come to me soon. If we win and I fall in the battle, what sadness will it be that I fell? My death in victory or defeat will be a good death, far better than any that might await me in the future if I only hide away in the hills.

And so it proves. The funeral of Théoden after the events of the War of the Ring is the most glorious of any King of Rohan. The memory in which he will be held thereafter will bring pride to the hearts of all his people.

And what do his words speak to all of us as we grow older? To those of us in our later years? Perhaps we should begin with caution. It is one thing in any of us to speak bold words, but it is another to fulfil them. If Théoden had, through weakness, delayed the ride of the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith, asking them to give him time to rest instead of riding on, his words would have no meaning at all. He must spend his strength with the best of his men, showing leadership at their head and not in the rear. If it is a feeble old man who leads the charge at the Pelennor Fields that might inspire pity but not courage. The leader that inspires others is one who lays down their life for the people. At the battle Théoden seizes a horn from his banner-bearer and blows such a blast upon it that it bursts asunder. He may be advanced in years but what strength he has he spends for those who follow him.

It may be given to few of us to lead a charge in battle in our later years but the call to pour out our lives and not to preserve them into decrepit senility as Wormtongue tried to persuade his master to do is a challenge to each one of us.

Soulstice

/ stephencwinter / 4 Comments

I will be speaking on The Lord of the Rings at a men’s retreat at a farm in the Chiltern Hills in England that will take place between the 19th and 21st June. I will be talking about the moment when the hobbits return to the Shire after all their adventures with a sense of foreboding about what lies ahead but with the comfort of knowing that Gandalf will be with them. Then comes the bombshell.

“I am not coming to the Shire. You must settle its affairs yourselves; that is what you have been trained for,”

So I will be thinking about the question of Initiation. How our life experience and all its adventures have prepared us for what lies ahead. And how we never quite feel ready for the next challenge until we get there.

The hobbits have everything they need to free the Shire from Saruman and his gang. We have everything we need to face the next challenge in our lives.

The retreat is run by a men’s fellowship called The Resonant Man that I have joined and which I value very much, It is convened by Matthew Green, formerly a foreign correspondent for The Financial Times, and Jacob Kishere, a young man living and working in Mexico who has become a good friend over the past year.

There are a few places still available so please scan the QR code on the link for more details.

There are around 2,000 readers each week on my blog and it would be so good to meet some of you in person.

“I Am Forgetting Them!” Merry Thinks of Frodo and Sam in The Midst of His Loneliness.

/ stephencwinter / 2 Comments

The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 774-775

It has been three days since Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, and the Grey Company, departed from the Hornburg and early in the day Aragorn begins his great ride across Gondor towards the port of Pelargir in order to come to the aid of its defenders who have been attacked by the Corsairs of Umbar. Following him are “shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night”. The Dead have come to fulfil the oath that once they made and then broke to Isildur.

And on that same day, at evening, Théoden arrives with his company at Harrowdale, a deep valley amidst mighty mountains. He will rest there that night; the last rest that he will take before he leads the Rohirrim on their great ride to Minas Tirith and the battle that will take before its walls on the Pelennor Fields. The thoughts of all have turned to what lies ahead and a silence has fallen upon the host. Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire has ridden that day just a few paces behind the king, and he too has ridden in silence.

Not that the whole journey from the Hornburg has taken place in silence. Merry has enjoyed the hospitable company of the king, sharing tales with him of the doings of the Shire and listening to tales of the deeds of Rohan. But despite Théoden’s gentle courtesy Merry has always felt lonely, aware of the “insupportable weight of Middle-earth” surrounding him, longing for the comforts of home, and thinking of his friends.

“He wondered where in all this strange world Pippin had got to; and what would become of Aragorn, and Legolas and Gimli.” They have been his company since their merry meeting amidst the wreck of Isengard and they are the first to come to his mind and to his heart.

But suddenly the thought of others comes to him “like a cold touch on his heart”. Merry has remembered Frodo and Sam, and he realises that it has been some time since he has done so. His thoughts have first been filled with his own plight and then with those who have been with him along the way. He is ashamed that he has not given the attention of his heart to those with whom he first left the Shire. “And yet they are more important than all the rest of us. And I came to help them.”

I do not think we should blame Merry for not thinking about Frodo and Sam. So much has happened to him since they parted company two weeks earlier at Parth Galen, violently sundered by the attack of the orcs who slew Boromir and who took both he and Pippin prisoner. Two weeks must feel like two years to him given the intensity of his experience, and the immensity of all that lies before him requires all the attention that he can give even though he has little idea of what the next days will bring. But that feeling, that “cold touch on his heart”, does the work that it was intended to do. It returns the attention of his heart to Frodo and Sam at just the moment it needed to do so. For it was early in the morning of that same say that Frodo and Sam left the stronghold of Henneth Annûn in the company of Gollum in order to begin the next stage of his journey to Mordor, bearing the Ring and the hopes of the world.

Perhaps Merry has needed the silence of that day’s ride down into Harrowdale in order to clear enough space in his heart to think of more than just of himself. This is one of the values of silence. Like the experience of most of us when we find ourselves in silence, Merry’s mind has been filled with himself, with thoughts and feelings. Most of the time, and for most of us, we are unaware of what we think and feel. Those thoughts and those feelings simply happen to us. But sometimes enough space is created for another level of awareness to be experienced. We become aware of what we are thinking and aware of what we are feeling. And then sometimes, in those quiet times, we may feel something like Merry’s cold touch, something that draws our attention away from ourselves and away from our usual patterns of thought. It is good that we stop to give such moments our full attention, to lean into the unexpected touches of our hearts. They enlarge our hearts and connect us to people and places who need our attention. We do not know what effect it had, for good, for Frodo and Sam. It isn’t given to us to know such things. There would be too much temptation to manipulate things if we did. But for those of us who try to pray, such moments call us consciously to place someone into the hands of God.

“I Summon You to The Stone of Erech!” On the Breaking of Oaths and The Authority of The Heir of Isildur.

/ stephencwinter / Leave a comment

The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 769-773

The Dead who follow Aragorn and the Grey Company along the Paths of the Dead clearly have power. We saw that in the last piece on this blog as we followed Gimli’s journey along that dark way and felt his fear, a fear that at last has him “crawling like a beast on the ground”. And it is this power that Aragorn will call upon to aid him in the cleaning of the land of Gondor from all the servants of Sauron.

When Isildur made this people swear loyalty to him as king and overlord, long ago, it was his authority and power that they feared. It was at the Stone of Erech, in a remote valley of Gondor, that the Oath was sworn at the ending of the Second Age, but that oath was broken because they feared and had worshipped Sauron for long years before the coming of Elendil and the Númenoreans to Middle-earth.

The keeping of oaths is a matter of great importance in Tolkien’s legendarium, as is their breaking also. So important is it that when Gimli speaks of swearing an oath to stay with Frodo until the end of his journey, Elrond replies:

“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” (Fellowship p. 274)

Gimli’s words are not a light affair. For a dwarf, the swearing of an oath is a matter of sacred importance; and perhaps that is why Elrond does not permit one on this occasion. He knows that none can foresee the nature of the journey that lies ahead. If Gimli had been bound by an oath to follow Frodo at the breaking of the Fellowship at Parth Galen, then he could not have followed Merry and Pippin across the plains of Rohan and his following of Frodo and Sam would have been to little or no purpose. Worse still it would almost certainly have been a hindrance to Frodo and Sam’s secret journey across Mordor. We might also note the irony in Elrond’s words about vows to walk in the dark after we thought about Gimli’s dark journey in the last piece. While Gimli is right to speak of how sworn words can “strengthen quaking heart”, Elrond is right too to aver that an oath rashly made can break a heart just as easily as it can strengthen it. It is best that he keeps Gimli from that trial. Best too, for the ultimate outcome of the Quest.

But what of the oath first made at the Stone of Erech to Isildur by the mountain people? That was not an oath made in friendship but through fear. There is no difference between them in their essence. Perhaps that is the reason why Jesus warns against the making of oaths in the Sermon of the Mount. Their spiritual power is such that we should fear it and never take it lightly. So, the oath to protect a constitution, or to speak the truth in a court of law, is not merely a form of words, a convenience to be observed merely as a matter of custom, but has a spiritual power that will be enforced in the court of heaven, and therefore should be feared.

The Dead who are summoned to the Stone of Erech know that power. They have endured it through long years without rest. Now, at last, comes the one who has the authority both to enforce their obedience to the oath and to declare the oath fulfilled at last.

“The hour has come at last. Now I go to Pelargir upon Anduin, and ye shall come after me. And when all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, I will hold the oath fulfilled, and ye shall have peace and depart for ever. For I am Elessar, Isildur’s heir of Gondor.”

The same power that has held that mountain people in a state of unrest through long years now has power to free them also. Aragorn speaks with authority, but that authority does not lie within himself but has been granted to him. He is a man under divine authority and it is with that authority that he now speaks.

“Here is a Thing Unheard of! An Elf Will Go Underground and a Dwarf Dare Not!” Gimli’s Secret and Very Personal Dark Journey.

/ stephencwinter / 8 Comments

The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 768-771

As Aragorn and his company arrive at the “evil door” to the Paths of the Dead, I am taking a little time to reflect on some of the Dark Journeys of The Lord of the Rings, journeys that as I wrote last time, have a rich literary and cultural history.

This week I want to write about the dark journey of Gimli, son of Glóin, of the Dwarf kingdom of Erebor. Of all the company that pass through the evil door with Aragorn, it is through Gimli that Tolkien chooses to tell this part of the story. He rarely makes this choice usually choosing one of the hobbits if possible. Indeed, the only other occasion that comes to mind in which Gimli is the chosen vehicle for the telling of the story is in his first interaction with Galadriel when he expected enmity but encountered love. That moment changed his life. Does this one?

We read of how Aragorn led the way through the door and of how both his men and their horses followed him. We read of how Arod, the horse from the plains of Rohan who has carried both Legolas and Gimli on their journeys through that land, is afraid to follow, but how Legolas, the elf from the Woodland Realm, is able to calm his fear and lead him into the dark; and then we read this.

“And there stood Gimli the Dwarf left all alone.”

Gimli is not left alone because no-one cared about him, but because everyone assumed that Gimli, the son of a people for whom caves and mines were his natural milieu, was all right, that Gimli would be following on behind. But Gimli is not all right.

“His knees shook, and he was wroth with himself. ‘Here is a thing unheard of!’ he said. ‘An Elf will go underground and a Dwarf dare not!’ With that he plunged in. But it seemed to him that he dragged his feet like lead over the threshold; and at once a blindness came upon him, even upon Gimli Glóin’s son who had walked unafraid in many deep places of the world.”

And indeed, we remember how it was Gimli, of all the members of the Fellowship, who welcomed and embraced the journey through Moria and whose enthusiasm comforted even Gandalf in that dark place. There he was a strength to his companions. Here he is the straggler in the rear.

And soon we learn what it is he fears. It is the company of the Dead who soon fall in behind him, and because he is at the rear it is Gimli who is most aware of them.

“Nothing assailed the company nor withstood their passage, and yet steadily fear grew on the Dwarf as he went on: most of all because he knew there could be no turning back; all the paths behind were thronged by an unseen host that followed in the dark.”

Tolkien tells us of Gimli’s fear but he never tells us why he was afraid. This is largely, I think, because he knows of his own experience that when we are gripped by fear our experience is exactly that. Something comes and takes hold of us, something for a while at least that is too great for us to resist. At such a time we are unable to engage in any kind of reflection. We are rendered incapable of asking ourself a question like:

“I wonder why I feel this way?”

Indeed, for all who have known the effect upon us of an overpowering feeling such as fear, the thought that we might be able to engage in reflection at such a time is almost laughable. And for Gimli this feeling is so overpowering precisely because it is so unexpected. He is used to going underground, even living there.

Of course, it is Gimli’s encounter with the Dead that is knew to him, and I wonder if we learn something of his character, and his fundamental response to both life and death that we learn later in the story at the wedding feast of Aragorn and Arwen in Minas Tirith. There, Gimli and Éomer engage in a little chivalrous disagreement about which of the ladies at the feast is the most beautiful. For Éomer the choice is Arwen, but for Gimli it is Galadriel. And Gimli ends the dispute with these words.

“You have chosen the Evening; but my love is given to the Morning. And my heart forebodes that soon it will pass away for ever.” (Return p.953)

Here we learn a fundamental disposition of Gimli’s heart. And here we learn why he might fear, perhaps in a manner of which he is largely unaware, of anything that speaks of the night, as does the army of the Dead. And before we judge him for such a fear, we might examine our own hearts to see the fears that lie within. Both those fears of which we are aware and which we might fight with all our strength; but also those fears of which we may be unaware, that might take us unawares as they do here with Gimli. Of course, we do not know what fears they might be but if we know that they lurk within us, we might be more gentle with ourselves when they appear, and more gentle with others who are overcome by their own fear.

“This is An Evil Door”. Some Thoughts on The Dark Journeys of The Lord of the Rings as Aragorn and his Company Enter The Paths of the Dead.

/ stephencwinter / 7 Comments

The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 768-773

“This is an evil door,” said Halbarad, “and my death lies beyond it. I will dare to pass it nonetheless; but no horse will enter.”

Aragorn and his company have arrived at the door to the Paths of the Dead and every heart, unless it be the heart of Aragorn himself, and Legolas perhaps, falls under a dread at this haunted place. Such is the strength of Aragorn’s will, something that we might call fey if it were not that he has been called to his destiny by a power that is both deeper and higher than the spirits of the earth, that at the last all the horses of the Dúnedain and even Arod of the Rohirrim are willing to follow their masters into the dark. For a time, Gimli stands rooted to the spot by his fear of the dead, but eventually he too is willing to follow.

The journeys into dark places, into tunnels, form a major theme in The Lord of the Rings. Gandalf is warned by Aragorn not to enter Moria, but when he does so he is confronted by the Balrog and in the deep places of the earth and then in a high place he fights the battle of his life, passing even into the place of the dead. Frodo and Sam go through Shelob’s Lair where the darkness has a tangible presence that can be touched, and there Frodo passes into a death-like state after suffering the sting of Shelob’s bite. Now Aragorn’s company follow their lord into the paths of the dead through a door that Halbarad, close kinsman and companion to Aragorn, knows that heralds his death. He will fall in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields a few days later.

I could go on to speak of other dark journeys that do not necessarily involve physical tunnels but share aspects of those. I could speak of the dark journey of Merry and Pippin across the plains of Rohan as captives of the orcs of Isengard; the dark journey that Faramir goes through in his relationship to his father that leads almost to his death; the journey that Frodo and Sam take across Mordor to the Cracks of Doom; Sam’s horror in seeing the destruction of the Shire by Saruman and his gang of thugs; and I could also speak of the dark journey that Éowyn takes that leads to her encounter with the Lord of the Nazgûl at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and the darkness that she enters and within she remains after the battle. In fact, we could say that every major character in the story has to take a dark journey.

Of course this is not original to Tolkien, nor did he intend it to be. The theme of the hero’s dark journey is an old one in the European mythology from which Tolkien drew so much of his inspiration, weaving those stories with his own dark journey, his experience of the trenches of the First World War and the Battle of the Somme of 1916, and the death of all but one of his closest friends in that terrible conflict. We could mention the journey of Lemminkäinen into the underworld in the Kalevala of Finland that Tolkien loved and read in its original language. And although Tolkien did not appreciate it so much, I do not think that we can leave out the journey of Odysseus into Hades on his journey home from Troy to his home in Ithaca.

That none of us can find life, can come at last to Paradise, without passing through death, is at the heart of all of these stories, and Tolkien’s story invites us to consider this for ourselves. Indeed, we could say that it is the refusal of characters to embrace loss and diminishment in The Lord of the Rings, characters like Sauron and Saruman and Denethor, that is their greatest tragedy. And at the heart of all this, the story to which all the stories ultimately point, is what Tolkien called the True Myth, the death and resurrection of Christ as recounted in the gospels.

“Then She Fell on Her Knees, Saying: ‘I Beg Thee!” Éowyn is So Desperate That She is Prepared to Humiliate Herself.

/ stephencwinter / 14 Comments

The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 767-768

It is a grievous thing to witness the humiliation of a proud woman as Legolas and Gimli do the humiliation of Éowyn before Aragorn. I do not know whether Tolkien deliberately draws our attention to this contrast, but shortly after the scene in which Éowyn falls to her knees before the man who has, to her mind at least, rejected her, we read of Arod, the horse who has borne both Legolas and Gimli, standing before the door that leads to the Paths of the Dead, “sweating and trembling in a fear that was grievous to see”. In both cases it is the witnesses that grieve. Legolas and Gimli, proud sons of lords of their people, grieve to see a daughter of the king’s brother, casting aside her dignity in a last and utterly desperate attempt to persuade Aragorn to take her with him to Gondor and the battle. It is a grievous thing for those who hold honour dear to see such a thing. And we see the Dúnedain of the North, for whom the bond between themselves and their horses is a precious thing, grieved to see a horse bereft of its dignity.

Dignity and honour are things precious to us. As we leave the innocence of our childhood behind and begin to enter our adulthood, we do the work of creating a persona. I still remember my first night in a dormitory in an English boarding school, a boy who was fourteen years old, lying in bed with the sleeping forms of four other boys in the beds round about me, making conscious choices about the person I felt I needed to be if I were to be accepted by my fellows. I was no longer going to be the child that had slept in my parents’ home among my younger brothers and sisters just the night before, I had begun the process, quite literally, of re-inventing myself, and presenting a person of dignity to the world, worthy of the world’s respect, was central to that project.

Wise people have said that no-one should give their Self away until they have a Self, strong enough, secure enough, to be able to give. Until that moment comes then it is right and proper that the primary task of each person is to build a strong Self. This is the task in which Éowyn is now engaged and until now she has undertaken this task in acts of service as has been expected of a woman of her status among her people. While for other women among the Rohirrim this has meant serving a household, for her it has meant serving a king. And while others may have regarded such a position as being worthy of honour, for her it has become merely another form of servitude. Later, when she lay near to death in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, Gandalf spoke truly of her in these words:

“Who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?”

So, as she kneels in desperation before the man she thinks of as her last hope of freedom from her shrinking existence, as she casts aside her dignity and merely asks for pity, we see a woman for whom the creation of a strong Self amidst the choices that seem to lie before her is an impossibility. She will make one more attempt to recover something of that dignity when she asks Théoden to allow her to ride to Minas Tirith among the Rohirrim, but when he refuses her request, she takes the matter into her own hands, going in the disguise of a man, knowing that her abilities as a horsewoman are such that she can match any one of them. And she will reach a place in the battle where she will perform a deed that no man could have done, a deed that will be one of the turning points of the battle.

All of this will be a part of her journey towards Selfhood. The words that she speaks in desperation into the darkness as her life shrinks about her, the words that she cries out to Aragorn in desperation before he takes the Paths of the Dead, her appeal to Théoden to let her ride with the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith, her action in going with the riders in the disguise of a man, her battle with the Witch-king of Angmar on the Pelennor Fields, her meeting with Faramir in the Houses of Healing, all of these are stages on her road to Freedom, her road to Selfhood. Such a road can never be a transition from one success after another. The authentic road will always be a road downwards before it can be an upward path.

“They Go Only Because They Would Not Be Parted From Thee- Because They Love Thee.” Some Thoughts on Éowyn’s Unrequited Love For Aragorn

/ stephencwinter / Leave a comment

The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 765-767

Éowyn has tried in every way that she can think to persuade Aragorn to take her with him on what she is convinced is little more than a suicide mission through the Paths of the Dead into Gondor, laying bare her soul to him, of her fear of remaining within a cage for the whole of her life, whether long or short. And at the last all she hears are these words:

“Stay! For you have no errand to the South.”

Aragorn has given up any attempt to be gentle. He knows that he is risking everything on this venture and that everything may well be lost. All his hopes and even his life itself and the lives of all who go with him. Nothing must stand between him and his effort to come to Minas Tirith in time before it falls to the forces of Mordor and this includes the desperate young woman who stands before him. She too must be swept aside and it must be done swiftly.

And so Éowyn is left with but one thing remaining that she can offer of herself. Her heart. She longs to be claimed by this hero and all she can hear and feel is his rejection. She heard him say that were his heart to be where it most desires to be it would “be wandering in the fair valley of Rivendell”. She did not hear Aragorn speak of Arwen but she fears that there might be someone else in his life. But she has come to believe that the only hope of the freedom for which she longs lies in his hands and that if he casts her aside then she is left with nothing. And at this moment it is this nothing that she fears above all.

So when Aragorn brutally commands her to stay in Rohan, that she has no errand to the South she speaks the words that she has kept hidden from him until now.

“Neither have those others who go with thee. They go only because they would not be parted from thee- because they love thee.”

Then, having given everything that she can give she turns away and vanishes from sight.

Does Éowyn really love Aragorn? Or does she only love what he represents for her? The possibility of achieving the freedom from captivity and degradation that she has come to hate and to fear? How many of us truly know our own hearts? Does this mean that none can really know whether they love another person or not? To fall in love is a glorious thing. Perhaps the most exalted state that any human being can ever achieve. But to go beyond this state that can become a thing desired in itself because it is so all consuming, so intoxicating, takes something greater than the action of falling into it. It requires a commitment to remain with another person through everything.

As a priest in the Church of England I have presided at many weddings over the years and time and time again I have felt a thrill run through my body when I have heard a couple promise to one another that they will love and cherish each other:

For better, for worse; for richer for poorer; in sickness and in health.

These are words of commitment that I know will be tested to the limit in the lives of everyone who speaks them aloud before many witnesses, and, I believe, before God. But perhaps one of the greatest gifts that someone can give to the world is a life that has been true to those promises, through all its tests and even through failure. Such a life, such a gift, can be a source of great strength to others who struggle through their own trials, that it is worth not giving up, that there remains something to hope for.

Later in the story Éowyn will respond to the declaration of love made by another man and we will read that “the heart of Éowyn changed, or else at last she understood it”. I would add to these words that she understood her heart as it appeared to her at that moment, but she would come to understand it even better after years together with the man that she chose. This is true for all of us and as with Éowyn, though not by the path that she will walk that is unique to her, we will go through many trials and through many joys to the day when we can truly understand our hearts.

“What Do You Fear, Lady?” Éowyn Knows What She Fears as She Seeks For What She Desires.

/ stephencwinter / 4 Comments

The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 765-767

In my last piece on this blog I touched on the words of Éowyn that I want to think more about this week.

“What do you fear, lady?” Aragorn asks her. And Éowyn replies:

“A cage,” she said. “To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”

It is worth remembering here that The Lord of the Rings was published in the early 1950s and largely written during the late 30s and the 1940s. In other words before the modern women’s movement of the 1960s and beyond. The ideal world of a certain form of conservatism is one in which women largely remain in the home caring for their men and their children. It is one in which my mother had to give up her nursing career in England when she married in 1953. The modern nursing profession in England was created by Florence Nightingale in the mid 19th century and modelled upon a monastic style vocation in which women would give their entire life to nursing without the distraction of home and family. I remember my mother saying when she was particularly cross with the behaviour of myself and my four younger brothers and sisters, “If it were not for you I would be a matron (the senior nurse in an English hospital and a very powerful figure) now!”

So it is worth noting these words that Éowyn speaks in that particular context, the context of Tolkien’s world before the 1960s. She wants to go with the soldiers into battle. She tires of her responsibility as keeper of the hearth for the men until they return. Aragorn speaks truly when he reminds her that a deed that no-one notices is no less noble than one that is seen and praised by all. But Éowyn is no less true when she makes this reply.

“All your words are to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.”

I do not want to think here about the question of whether the role of a women in either public affairs, (in Éowyn’s case, in the world of battle at a time of national crisis), or domestic affairs, (in Éowyn’s case, her responsibility to lead the women of her people as they watch over homes and families so that their men will have something to return to after battle is done), is more noble in one case than another. Clearly Aragorn is saying to her that her domestic role is just as honourable than any role that she might play in battle and in one sense that is true. The creation of an hospitable home is a wonderful thing as anyone who has experienced one will attest to and perhaps our deepest longing is to find rest within such a home after the trials of life. In Tolkien’s legendarium we might think of Rivendell as such a place, The Last Homely House, as Tolkien named it in The Hobbit. As Sam puts it when he and Frodo return there after their adventures for a brief stay, “We’ve been far and seen a deal, and yet I don’t think we’ve seen a better place than this.” (The Return of the King p. 964) There is a constant dialogue within The Lord of the Rings between deeds done beyond the domestic sphere and the places of shelter and hospitality within the story. Perhaps one comment that I might add is that the great places of hospitality are the shared responsibility of both women and men, of Arwen and Elrond, of Goldberry and Tom Bombadil, and at the end of the story of both Rosie Cotton and Sam Gamgee. And in the great battle of the Pelennor Fields great deeds are done, both by men and women, as we shall see.

But although Éowyn speaks bitterly about her feeling of being caged within one set of expectations and denied access to another, the most important thing she speaks of here is her own desire. And at this point in her story what she knows of herself is her fear. Her fear of living a caged life, and especially her fear of living within a degraded cage, “a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs”. (The Fellowship of the King p. 849)

Éowyn knows what she fears. She also thinks that she knows what might free her from those fears as we shall consider in the next piece, but I would say that at this point she does not know what she truly wants, what she desires more deeply than anything else. But then for each one of us that is one of the hardest journeys of all. The journey into our hearts in order to discover what we truly desire.