The Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991, 2007) pp. 734-744
Last week we thought about how when the Ents destroyed the fortress of Isengard it was if the action of tree roots over a hundred years were “all packed into a few moments.”
But the Tower of Orthanc was different. After Saruman was able to make a hasty retreat into it, only just managing to escape the pursuit of Quickbeam, he got his machinery of war into action and Beechbone was killed by a kind of flamethrower. This threw the Ents into a terrible fury and they launched themselves into an attack upon Orthanc.
“Round and round the rock of Orthanc the Ents were striding and storming like a howling gale, breaking pillars, hurling avalanches of boulders down the shafts, tossing up huge slabs of stone into the air like leaves. The tower was in the middle of a spinning whirlwind. I saw Iron posts and blocks of masonry go rocketing up hundreds of feet, and smash against the windows of Orthanc. But Treebeard kept his head. He had not had any burns, luckily. He did not want his folk to hurt themselves in their fury, and he did not want Saruman to escape out of some hole in the confusion. Many of the Ents were hurling themselves against the Orthanc-rock: but that defeated them. It is very smooth and hard. Some wizardry is in it, perhaps, older and stronger than Saruman”s.”
But Orthanc was not built by wizards but by the Dunedain at the end of the Second Age when Elendil and his people escaped the destruction of Númenor and established the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor in Middle-earth. As the power of these kingdoms began to wane it fell into the hands of the Dunlendings who were later allies of Saruman at the Battle of Helm’s Deep. Eventually Saruman offered to take possession of the fortress and his offer was gratefully received both by the King of Rohan and the Steward of Gondor and for years after he was a valuable ally to them both and Isengard was an important part of the defences of the West against the growing power that first began to arise in Dol Goldur.
Saruman inherited Orthanc but he built the fortress of Isengard; and it was this fortress that the Ents were able to destroy in a single night. But why did Orthanc remain impregnable? It was from a thought in the comments section following last week’s post that this question began to grow in my mind and I want to try to tackle it this week.
I think that there are two main themes in Tolkien’s thought at work here. One is that as a character begins to invest more and more of themselves, of their essence, into the things that they make, so that essence begins to waste away. A kind of entropy is at work. The greatest example of this is, of course, of Sauron and the Ring. Sauron puts so much of himself into the making of the Ring that when it is finally destroyed he falls with it. But the same principle is at work with Saruman and Isengard. When Merry and Pippin speak dismissively of the one who had them captured and who would have tortured them until he found out all they knew, Aragorn replies that “once he was as great as his fame made him. His knowledge was deep, his thought was subtle, and his hands marvellously skilled.”
The other principle is Tolkien’s sense that when we work in harmony with creation and not seeking mastery over it we are able to make something of real significance and of staying power. So we see the way in which Galadriel makes Lothlórien, a place that Sam Gamgee describes as like being inside a song. And we also listened to Gimli speak of the work that he would do in the glittering caves of Aglarond. Great sculptors speak of finding something within the material that they are working with; something that is essentially present. And in the city of Worcester in England near which I live we could contrast the difference between the gothic beauty of that city’s medieval cathedral and the modernist monstrosity that is the technical college next door to it. The conservative philosopher, Roger Scruton, was once asked to reflect on the unpopularity of new housing developments. His brilliant answer was that if a development were to have the quality of a city like Bath and its beautiful architecture then there would never be an objection to it.
The Royal Crescent in Bath. A beautiful example of Georgian architecture from the 18th century. And the interiors are just as beautiful as the facades.
Scruton, like Tolkien, makes beauty the centre of his thought on the things, and not functionality. When function is subordinate to beauty, in which something is made that is in harmony with the materials that are used and which has a transcendent purpose greater than the agrandisement of the maker then it will last. So Isengard is destroyed in a night and Orthanc is impregnable.
Wisdom from The Lord of the Rings 
I am intrigued by the possibility that old buildings look so much better than new buildings because architecture-critic Ents come by, once a century, and trash the ugly ones.
Do Ents make good architecture critics? They didn’t make much of a distinction between Orthanc and Isengard? They tried to trash both. Unless you mean that Ents would do a good clear out because only the good stuff would last their whirlwind.
Scruton made this point in a way. He said that good buildings could be repurposed but rubbish was only good for its original purpose and good for nothing if that purpose was no longer required.
I agree with two of the basic points you make: the idea that we pour our essence into what we create; and that good creation, such as buildings, beautifies rather than dominates its surroundings. In the first point there’s what you call entropy. John the Baptist says of Jesus that “I must diminish that he may increase.” That’s so in all labours of love: the life of faith, marriage and parenting- just some examples. Those examples illustrate the desire to create beauty through love; not to dominate and turn something into a mere function. Modernist architecture is often called “brutalist,” an appropriate word. David Watkin, as well as Roger Scruton, campaigned for a more humane architectural style. I hadn’t really worked out why the Ents were unable to damage Orthanc, other than it had some virtue associated with the Numenorians before their fall, so I’ve found your comments especially valuable.
Thank you so much for these thoughts, Chris. My own are not so much a finished argument as an exploration. I wanted to think about why Morgoth ended up in Angband, why Sauron ended up in Barad-dûr, why Saruman ended up in Isengard. And why Gandalf ended up having a long talk in the house of Tom Bombadil! I couldn’t resist that last one.
Even the fortresses of the good are not invulnerable. Gondolin, the greatest of them all, falls to treachery. Minas Tirith is not saved by the thickness of its walls but by the naked courage of two small hobbits.
But then there is Orthanc which shares in the virtue of the earth itself. And Gimli likes the rock of the Hornburg.
I share the dislike of brutalist architecture with its critics. But I am not sure if Orthanc is beautiful. Rivendell is beautiful and it is not really a fortress.
You see that my thoughts are not complete!
Your thoughts may not be complete (how could they be), but I find they invite further exploration, especially your question of why Gandalf went to Tom Bombadil’s house for a long talk. As he said, something to do with rolling stones and a moss gatherer. I suppose the evil tyrants of Middle- Earth live in fortresses because they are afraid of what they cannot control, rather like those in our world who lurk in Kremlins and only see people across exceptionally long tables. I risk straying into the primary world! Best wishes.
I agree completely with your example from the primsry world.
I do believe you may have meant the glittering caves of Aglarond instead of Angrenost. As Angrenost is merely another name for Isengard and the caves Gimli was so enamored of were in Helm’s Deep. A simple mistake I believe. Easily put to rights, quite so.
Thank you for your correction, Aldi! It is good to have sttentive readers. I will attend to it immediately.
Your thoughts may not be complete (how could they be), but they invite further exploration, especially your question as to why Gandalf went to Tom Bombadil’s house for a long talk. Perhaps it is to do with what Gandalf said about rolling stones and a moss gatherer. The evil tyrants of Middle-Earth hole themselves up in fortresses because they are afraid of what is outside their control, rather like those who dwell in Kremlins and only meet people across exceptionally long tables. But I’m straying into the primary world! Best wishes.
I don’t know the specifics of how Orthanc was created, but if it was built in harmony with its setting, then logically that should make it stronger. Working with the elements rather than bulldozing them to make room for your own structure makes sense, speaking generally (and as a non-architect). And maybe Saruman built Isengard with less of that architectural wisdom. Whatever the specifics, it seems clear from the text you quoted that Tolkien is setting Orthanc apart as stronger than Saruman’s works.
I agree completely with you about the importance of harmony. The tyrants are always impatient with reality. It moves too slowly for them.
This talk of architecture reminds me of a new endeavor in Wyoming USA, of all places! Carmelite monks are building a gothic monastery. You may be interested to read about it.
Thank you so much for telling me about this.
After reading the article on the construction of a Gothic church in Wyoming I realise that I need to think further about this. I still rage against housing developments that trash the countryside in order to solve a problem that currently exists but are designed to last only for a short time. thus leaving a future generation with the task of cleaning up the mess. And I delight in the beauty of an ancient cathedral in the evening light that causes its sandstone to glow in the gathering dark. But I also note that Orthanc, built in dreadful harmony with the earth is a place of menace. The beauty of Gothic architecture lies, not just in relation to the earth from which it comes but the vision of eternity to which it aspires.