The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 806-807

As the Morgul host draws nearer to the defences of Minas Tirith and the siege engines draw ever closer to its walls we find two distinctly contrasting stories taking place. For as Gandalf and the Prince of Dol Amroth stride about the walls lifting the hearts of its defenders for a time at least, so we find the Steward of Gondor withdrawing to a private chamber in preparation for his suicide and for the ritual killing of his son.

Some of his men plead with Denethor to give guidance to the defence of the city, telling him that not all will follow Gandalf who they do not know, but need the Lord of the City to lead and direct them. We are reminded of the defenders of Helm’s Deep when Éomer rides up to them in order to announce that their king has come to aid them.

“That is good tidings beyond hope,” declares the sentinel. It is only when the one recognised as the true king (and Denethor is a king even though he does not bear the title) comes that his people find strength once again. So we are reminded once more of the words of the 16th century Anglican divine, Richard Hooker, “How are the people to know they are faithful unless their captains tell them?”

Denethor has nothing to say to his people anymore except for the word that he has for himself.

Burn.

“Better to burn sooner than late, for burn we must.”

Denethor has given in to despair. “We will burn like heathen kings before ever a ship sailed hither from the West. The West has failed. Go back and burn!”

And so the work of Sauron is complete in the Steward of Gondor, the work that Sauron has been doing through the Palantir, the Stone of Osgiliath. Sauron is the serpent, the accuser of the brethren, whose work is to lead us to despair through his whispering in the ears of those who have sought to stand against him. Saruman was lured into his snare at first through his study of the Rings of Power and so came to believe that it would only be through the achievement of power, of total power, that victory could be won. So, through the Palantir, the Stone of Orthanc, Sauron displayed his power to Saruman and so convinced him that his victory was inevitable. Saruman came to believe that only by becoming an ally to that power could he survive, and just possibly become the lord of the West himself, if only he were to gain the power of the Ring himself. And Denethor, through the Stone of Osgiliath, saw also the overwhelming power of his enemy and the inevitable victory of darkness. Denethor too saw hope only through the possession of power, through possession of the Ring, and in his loss of that possibility and the loss of the son who he had loved lost all hope.

We might want to be reminded here that Denethor’s words about the failure of the West have also been spoken by Faramir in his meeting with Frodo. “For the Enemy increases and we decrease. We are a failing people, a springless autumn.”

A failing people. A springless autumn.

Faramir can see all that his father can. The growing strength of his enemy and the decline of his own people, but he does not give way to despair. He does not give way to despair because he has a faith that goes deeper than a belief in power. He makes it clear to Frodo that he has no desire to possess power if that were to mean the power of darkness, that if he were to find the weapon of the Enemy, the Ring, lying by the roadside, that he would not wish to make it his own, not even for the good of Gondor or for his personal glory. Faramir’s longing is for goodness, for beauty and for truth, and so his roots go deeper by far than they do for Saruman or for Denethor. It is his sadness that this longing only wins for him the scorn of his father, the accusation that he is a “wizard’s pupil” and that he only wishes to appear lordly, that his longing is merely performance; but his roots go deeper even than a natural longing for his father’s approval.

That Faramir’s kingly nature is both recognised and loved by the people of Gondor surely tells us that in all of us, if we think of ourselves as being the ordinary folk as are those people, is a desire for the same goodness, beauty and truth as Faramir has. Faramir does not need to make speeches in order to tell his people that they are faithful. He only needs to live out that faithfulness himself.