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

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

“May I Not Now Spend My Life as I Will?” The Lady Éowyn Longs to Break Free From Her Cage.

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

The journey that Aragorn takes with his friends and with the Dúnedain takes him from Edoras to Dunharrow where the Lady Éowyn greets them. She has taken the women and children of Edoras to the comparative safety of the stronghold high in the mountain valleys and there she has been fulfilling the task to which Théoden assigned her, to command the people in the absence of her uncle, the King, and her brother, Éomer.

Her first reaction on seeing the coming of the Dúnedain and the sons of Elrond is one of awe for never before in her life had she laid her eyes on “mightier men” than these. She wonders why they have arrived before the rest of the Rohirrim and when Aragorn tells her that he must depart after breaking his fast in the early morning she assumes that it was to see her that he has come in haste.

“It was kindly done, lord, to ride so many miles out of your way to bring tidings to Éowyn, and to speak with her in her exile.”

But it is not for this reason that Aragorn has come to Dunharrow although he courteously replies that such an errand would not be regarded as wasted by anyone. Aragorn has come to Dunharrow because the entrance to the Paths of the Dead lies close by.

Éowyn’s first reaction on hearing of Aragorn’s intent is one of horror. She has been raised on stories of the Paths of the Dead and of what lies beyond the door near Dunharrow that were intended to prevent any from attempting to pass them. She knows the story of Baldor, the son of Brego, the second king of Rohan, who stood at the feast that consecrated the Golden Hall of Meduseld and vowed that he would tread the Paths of the Dead; and she knows that Baldor never returned from that journey. All her people know the story and all hold the door that Baldor opened with dread.

But Éowyn has a desire that goes deeper than her fear of that path. She fears being left behind. And most of all she fears being left behind by a man who has captured her heart. For much of her life she has stood but a few feet away from the malicious whisperings of Wormtongue as he spoke them into Théoden’s ears and she had to watch her lord and her people as they declined into a pale shadow of what they had once been. I once wrote of how Théoden had to look upon the image of Eorl the Young, his mighty forefather and founder of the kingdom of Rohan, as he rode from the north to rescue Gondor at a time of need. We know that Théoden felt deep shame as he thought of the might of his ancestor and how at the moment of his death the thought uppermost in his mind was that because of the manner of his death in battle, doing what Eorl had done, riding to the aid of Gondor in their time of need, that he would be able to face him without shame. And Éowyn has looked upon Eorl herself and felt the same shame and she has felt the shame of her position, to be a servant to an old man, a decrepit king of a degraded people.

And now into her life has come this man. A son of kings surrounded by knights of whom she could only dream. Indeed she probably has dreamt of men like this, men so unlike those among whom she has grown up. Can we blame her for nursing a fantasy within her heart that this man might lift her high above all other women and might set her free.

“What do you fear, lady?” Aragorn asked her.

“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 and desire.”

Éowyn longs to break free from her cage, to spend her life, not as others command her, but as she will.

“May I not now spend my life as I will?”

We will be thinking about Éowyn and the story of her life over the next few pieces on this blog and we will think about Aragorn’s answer to her question in the next week, but perhaps we might want to begin with compassion. Compassion for the life that she has been forced to live behind the bars of her cage. And that is a good place to begin.

“To The Stone of Erech! I Seek The Paths of The Dead. Come With Me Who Will.” Aragorn Acts Swiftly as Time Runs Out.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) 762-765

It is in the very nature of things of great importance that however long we spend in thinking about them or in making preparation for them there will always come a point when action has to be taken and that when that time comes it will feel as if there is not sufficient time to do what we need to do. Nor are there sufficient resources. As my friends in North America put it, we will always feel like we are a dollar short and a minute late.

As to the questions of time and resources Gimli puts it well. When Aragorn, the Heir of Isildur, succeeds in taking control of the Stone of Orthanc from Sauron’s control, he learns that a great peril is approaching Minas Tirith from the south. These are the Corsairs of Umbar, ancient enemies of Gondor who have allied themselves with Sauron to put a final end to their foes. Aragorn knows that if help does not come then Minas Tirith will fall in ten days time.

“Then lost it must be,” said Gimli. “For what help is there to send thither, and how could it come in time?”

There is no help and there is no time.

But messages have come to Aragorn from Elrond and now he knows that perhaps there is help and there is time. But the way is dark and full of doubt. Perhaps that too is the way with decisions that we must take that are of great importance. We can never be entirely sure that what we are doing is the right thing. For Aragorn the message bids him remember the words of the Seer, spoken long ago in the days of his ancestor, the last king of the northern kingdom who fell in battle against the Witch-king of Angmar.

From the North shall he come, need shall drive him:
he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead.

But how can Aragorn know that he is the one of whom the Seer spoke long ago. Have there not been many times since those days in which there has been great need? The answer is that Aragorn cannot be certain, not completely certain. It may be that this is not the final climax even though everything seems to point to the fact that it is.

And what of the help?

Aragorn tells the story of a people who lived long before the days of Malbeth the Seer, a people who lived in the mountains that divide Rohan and Gondor. He tells of how in the days of the Last Alliance when Elves and Men fought together against Sauron Isildur called upon this people to fulfil their oaths to serve him and his heirs in time of need, but how they refused to come because they had once worshipped Sauron and they feared him. And Aragorn spoke of how Isildur had cursed them, telling them that they would “rest never until your oath is fulfilled.” And how they lived still as unquiet spirits, the “Sleepless Dead”, around the hill of Erech in Gondor, waiting until they might receive the call from the Heir of Isildur to fulfil their oath to him.

“I hope that the forgotten people will not have forgotten how to fight,” said Gimli; “for otherwise I see not why we should trouble them.”

They cannot know whether the help of the oath-breakers will be enough. They cannot know if they will obey the Heir of Isildur even though his need is great, and even if they go with him to face the threat from the south, whether their help will mean anything. All they can do is to take the Paths of the Dead, to go to the Stone of Erech, to call the Dead to fulfil their oaths to Isildur and his heirs, and then to go with them into battle. It is only then that they will find out what power the oath-breakers possess. It is only then that they will know that they have the resources needed to do what is required.

A dollar short and a minute late. That is how it always is with the big things; with those decisions that truly shape our lives. We must take action, and only then will we learn whether we are too late and do not have enough. Or perhaps, that we arrived in time and have enough to do what we need to do.

“You Forget to Whom You Speak.” Aragorn Declares Himself to Sauron in The Stone of Orthanc.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 760-765

“You forget to whom you speak” might just be a grander way of saying. “Do you know who are talking to?”, the words that an irritated parent might say to a child who has spoken too boldly. But for a brief moment when Aragorn speaks these stern words to Gimli it is the High King of Gondor and of Arnor who speaks in anger to a vassal who has spoken out of turn.

The title given to the final volume of The Lord of the Rings was not one that pleased Tolkien very much. It was always his wish that his story should have been published as a single volume, but his publishers were understandably a little nervous about expending too much money on a single project that might make little or no money. Tolkien felt that The Return of the King as a title was rather a plot-spoiler. We might add to his concern that it completely ignores the adventures of Frodo and Sam, adventures that lie at the very heart of The Lord of the Rings. But if we choose to focus upon his publishers’ chosen title we can see that the King’s return is an event that has a much wider scope than the single event that was Aragorn’s coronation in Minas Tirith at the end of the War of the Ring. From the moment when Frodo and his companions first meet the dishevelled traveller who calls himself, Strider, at The Prancing Pony in Bree, to the moment of triumph that is his coronation, we might say that the King is returning. Aragorn has been forced to lead a hidden life, a life in disguise, ever since Elrond first revealed to him his true identity as the heir of Isildur and Elendil. As Captain of the Rangers of the North he is forced to be as much Strider as he is Aragorn son of Arathorn. Others, like Bilbo, might see the true gold in his nature, but all agree that this gold does not glitter, and to many this great wanderer is simply a man who is lost.

We will think more in other places about the long journey of nearly seventy years that Aragorn has taken, often alone, from that day in Rivendell with Elrond to the moment when he reveals himself to Sauron at the Hornburg. We will think about the difference between the inflated self-confidence of the young man who walks in the woods of Rivendell, “and his heart was high within him; and he sang, for he was full of hope and the world was fair”. (Appendix A p. 1033 The Return of the King), to the grim faced, battle and travel hardened man who wrests control of the Stone of Orthanc from Sauron through mental fight.

There will be much to say about Aragorn’s journey to the throne of Gondor and Arnor but here we will note that it has taken place over so many years, and fellow travellers along the path have become so used to walking alongside the man in disguise that when he suddenly declares to Gimli that Gimli has not realised to whom he has been speaking when he cries out in dismay, “You have looked in that accursed stone of wizardry!.. Even Gandalf feared that encounter”, we are all taken aback. Like Gimli we all think that Aragorn is no Gandalf. Perhaps we may have forgotten the moment when Gandalf gave the Stone of Orthanc to Aragorn and the words that he spoke as he did so. “Receive it, lord!” he said: “in earnest of other things that shall be given back.” (The Two Towers, Harper Collins, 1991, 2007, p. 776)

Gandalf knows that Aragorn is the true keeper of the palantíri and not Saruman, or Denethor, or even Sauron, for he is the true heir of Elendil who first brought them from Númenor to Middle-earth. He even bows to Aragorn as he gives the Stone to him, acknowledging that he is the servant and that Aragorn is his lord. But even Gandalf counsels Aragorn not to be too hasty in using the Stone. Even Gandalf is not sure that the right moment has come for Aragorn to emerge from his disguise. So why does Aragorn reveal himself to Sauron in the Hornburg? We will think about this in the next post on this blog.

“He Knows Not to What End He Rides; Yet if he Knew , He Still Would Go On.” Merry Begins His Ride to War.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 760-762

The last few posts on this blog have been a kind of mini-series on Meriadoc Brandybuck, known to all as Merry. I didn’t intend to do this. I wanted to move on, as soon as possible, to think about Aragorn’s ride to war beginning with his challenge to Sauron through the Stone of Orthanc but each time I tried to do so I found myself being interrupted by the young hobbit. Merry did not want to be “left behind” and I found that I could not do that myself.

Poor Merry. At all times in this part of the story he is unsure about what part he might be able to play, if any part at all. He fears being left behind and yet when he rides with Théoden and the Rohirrim from Helm’s Deep to Dunharrow he finds that it is he who leaves behind Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and the Dúnedain of the North. For Aragorn emerges from the Hornburg and makes a startling announcement.

“We must ride our own road, and no longer in secret. For the time of stealth has passed. I will ride east by the swiftest way, and I will take the Paths of the Dead.”

We know that the sons of Elrond accompanied the Dúnedain on their journey south in search of Aragorn and that they brought with them word from their father:

“If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead.“

But only Aragorn heard these words and no other and he did not wish to discuss them further at that time, so when he does announce his intention to take that road it comes as a complete surprise to all who hear him. And poor Merry suddenly finds himself placed in Théoden’s hands as Aragorn makes his plans without him. A short while before Merry was grateful to have Théoden’s company but now he feels unhappy and abandoned by a companion with whom he has journeyed since Rivendell and has come to love.

Like Sam Gamgee, Merry often feels “torn in two”. He would dearly love to ride with Aragorn wherever he goes; he would have loved to have ridden with Pippin and Gandalf to Minas Tirith; and he has come to love Théoden as a father, but unlike Sam he does not have a lode-star that will enable him to overcome all doubt. Sam will walk with Frodo wherever he goes and this will always be his guiding principle. Merry was denied the option of going with Frodo when he and Pippin were taken by the orcs of Isengard and since that time he has been carried first by his enemies to Fangorn, then by Treebeard to Isengard, and lastly by the Rohirrim to Helm’s Deep. At no time has he any choice in where he goes and now he is being carried to Dunharrow.

Bilbo’s words on the night of the Long-expected Party come to mind.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

We remember that Merry began with “eager feet” at Crickhollow. He was the main organiser of the conspiracy that had been planned to prevent Frodo from leaving the Shire alone. We remember how he was ready to leave the Shire with ponies packed and how with confidence he led the hobbits into the Old Forest in order to avoid the Black Riders. But then he became the prisoner of Old Man Willow, of the Barrow Wight, and at last of the orcs of Isengard, “like baggage to be called for when all is over” and that is how he feels now.

I say, that is how Merry feels, but this does not determine what he does. He is deeply unhappy and yet on he rides. He cannot see it for himself but Aragorn sees. He watches Théoden, Éomer and Merry ride away then turns to his companions and says:

“There go three that I love, and the smallest not the least… He knows not to what end; yet if he knew, he still would go on.”

Merry’s heart may be torn in two but on he goes. Bilbo’s words may have been written for him.

“And whither then? I cannot say.”

For Bilbo himself was carried on and on to the Lonely Mountain through many adventures, none of which were chosen by himself, and last of all he entered the deadly presence of Smaug himself. The question of whether he felt inclined to engage in any of the adventures of his journey was never asked of him after Gandalf invited him to join the Dwarf company. It was a complete irrelevance. So too it is for Merry. He does not know what he is doing. He has not known for a very long time. But still he goes on. He goes on to a glory that no-one, most especially himself, could ever have imagined.

“As a Father You Shall Be to Me.” Thoughts on Fathers and Sons as Merry Lays His Sword on Théoden’s Lap.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 758-760

Tolkien never knew his own father. He died in South Africa in 1896 soon after his wife, Mabel, had returned to England with her children on a family visit and was buried there in Bloemfontein. Mabel settled with her children in the Warwickshire village of Hall Green, now a suburb of the city of Birmingham. It was there that she converted to Roman Catholicism and eventually connected her family to the Birmingham Oratory, a church of the Oratorian community founded by John Henry Newman in the mid 19th century. Mabel developed Type 1 Diabetes, a condition at that time little understood and died in 1904 when only 34 years old. Ronald (J.R.R) Tolkien was just 12 years old and bereft of both his parents. Before she died Mabel had made arrangements with the priests at the Birmingham Oratory that they would become guardians to her sons and so it was that Father Francis Xavier Morgan, a man who possessed both kindness and wealth in equal and substantial measure, took on the responsibility for the raising of the two boys.

Readers of The Lord of the Rings have noted an absence of fathers, in a biological sense, in the story. Frodo is an orphan who is raised by his kindly (and wealthy) relative, Bilbo Baggins. Aragorn is an orphan who is raised by Elrond of Rivendell, and to a large degree by Gandalf also. Éomer and Éowyn are raised by their uncle, Théoden, after the death of their father, Éomund. Against this, of course, we must think of the importance of the relationship of Denethor to his two sons, Boromir and Faramir, and the relationship between Sam Gamgee and his father, the Gaffer, and it is worth noting that those relationships have many problems. Indeed, the best models of good fathers that we find in The Lord of the Rings seem to be those father figures, Bilbo, Gandalf and Théoden, who become guardians but not possessors of children.

There is a formal definition of that word, guardian, and Father Morgan had that formal relationship to the young Ronald Tolkien, but perhaps at its best it is a word that denotes a willingness to guard a charge against a world that might damage or even destroy a vulnerable young person before they are ready to face that world as an adult.

In a recent post on this blog I spoke about that moment in our lives when we realise that the grown ups are not going to turn up and we are going to have to face whatever challenge is facing us alone. We watched Merry face this as Aragorn wrestled with his own choices and we felt his vulnerability. Now, as Théoden and his company arrive at Helm’s Deep on their journey back towards Dunharrow and Edoras, we see Legolas and Gimli deepen their growing friendship, and we do not even know where Aragorn has gone. Once again, Merry feels like an item of unnecessary baggage as everyone else makes preparation for war. And then…

“The king was already there, and as soon as they entered he called for Merry and had a seat set for him at his side. ‘It is not as I would have it,’ said Théoden; ‘for this is little like my fair house in Edoras. And your friend is gone, who should also be here. But it may be long ere we sit, you and I, at the high table in Meduseld; there will be no time for feasting when I return thither. But come now! Eat and drink, and let us speak together while we may.”

It is a moment of the deepest tenderness as war is prepared and Merry is deeply moved. He offers his sword in service to the king just as Pippin did to Denethor and the king receives it graciously. Pippin offered his service to Denethor out of a sense of obligation, an attempt to pay the debt he felt he owed for the sacrifice of Boromir. Merry offers his service out of love for Théoden.

“As a father you shall be to me,” he says.

As I have written this piece a memory has come back to me and a name come to mind that I would like to honour in this blog. In 1980 I was a young teacher at a boys’ school in Zambia, Central Africa. I made a number of mistakes, not malicious ones, but the mistakes of inexperience and foolishness, and my students lost confidence in me and demanded my dismissal. Word of this even reached the office of the President of Zambia. Zambia was like a big village in those days and officials in that office told the school to get rid of me. Later I was to learn that the acting principal was going to carry out that instruction but was prevented from doing so by his deputy, Mr Tennyson Sikakwa. One evening as I sat miserably in my house at the school, Tennyson came to sit with me. “You will learn much more from how you deal with your failures than from your successes,” he said. It was a turning point in my life and I owe the profoundest debt of gratitude to him for standing with me at my lowest point. As a father he was to me and I wish to honour him here.

“I Have Not Been of Much Use Yet, But I Don’t Want to be Laid Aside, Like Baggage to be Called For When All is Over.” Merry Speaks of His Self-Doubt to Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) p.756

From the very moment when Elrond chose the nine walkers to stand against the nine riders of Mordor there have been doubts about the suitability of the young hobbits, Merry and Pippin, to be members of that company. When at the last Elrond gave way to Gandalf and named them as members of the Fellowship he did so unwillingly and with a sigh.

And for all the brave words that Pippin spoke then about his determination to follow the Fellowship or to be tied up in a sack to prevent him from doing so both he and Merry have struggled with self-doubt about their being of any use upon the journey, and both of them have found themselves comparing their value to the others as being like a useless piece of baggage.

The first to do so was Pippin as he struggled back into consciousness after being captured by the orcs at Parth Galen.

“What good have I been? Just a nuisance, a passenger, a piece of luggage.” (The Two Towers, Harper Collins 1991, 2007, p. 579)

And later in the story it is Merry who makes very much the same complaint as he tries to stay secret, sitting in front of Éowyn whose own secret identity is Dernhelm as they ride towards Minas Tirith. Merry feels useless feeling that “he might just have been another bag Dernhelm was carrying.” Indeed when one of the riders trips over him in the dark Merry complains of being treated like a tree-root or a bag and the rider seems to join in with the joke saying to Merry, “Pack yourself up, Master Bag”. (The Return of the King, 1991, pp.812-813)

We have just left Pippin struggling with a different metaphor although a very similar sentiment. Pippin has likened himself to a pawn in a game of chess but on the wrong chessboard and now we join Merry in company with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli as they prepare to ride with Théoden to Edoras and then on by some unknown way to Minas Tirith. As Aragorn ponders his journey Merry gives out a plaintive cry:

“Don’t leave me behind!”

Poor Merry. This is not the cry of a warrior before battle as are the cries of Legolas and Gimli as they promise their support to Aragorn, it is the cry of a little child who simply does not want to be left out. The child knows that the grown ups don’t really need them for the important task that lies ahead but they fear to be left alone, and they fear to be thought a mere nuisance by those whose opinion they value so much.

Are we of any use?

Poor Merry; if he had hoped to get an answer from Aragorn he received none. Aragorn might have recalled the words that Gandalf spoke about the young hobbits when he and Gandalf met once again in the forest of Fangorn, that the coming of Merry and Pippin to Fangorn “was like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains” (The Two Towers p.647). He could use those words to give some kind of reassurance to Merry; but he does not. Perhaps he is too busy thinking about his own road to Minas Tirith, something that we will think about in the next post, but he does not.

There comes a moment in every life when we realise that the grown ups are not going to turn up and whatever happens next we are going to have to face it alone. For some people that moment will come far too soon but whenever it does come it will always feel that it has come when we are not prepared for it. At that moment we will feel utterly inadequate for what we are about to face and like Pippin in Minas Tirith we will want Gandalf to make us feel better or like Merry on the road to Edoras we will plead with Aragorn not to leave us behind but we will receive nothing. Like Pippin we will feel like a pawn in the wrong game or like Merry we will feel like a useless piece of baggage. But like both of them we will be carried to a place where there is no-one else to act and we will either run away or do what we can. As we shall see Merry and Pippin will do what they can.

“The Darkness Has Begun. There Will Be No Dawn.” Pippin Has Nothing to Do But Wait for the Beginning of War.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 750-755

I have always found these pages in The Return of the King difficult to read. Like everyone else in the story I am waiting for the battle to begin. Not that I love stories of battle. Actually the older I get the less I like them. It’s just that waiting is so very difficult. What do you do as you wait for something that is too big to put out of your mind but you know that it is going to happen whether you want it to or not.

Even Gandalf seems to be distracted and unable to concentrate his considerable mind. At the end of the chapter that we have been reading and thinking about Pippin very much does not want to be alone. He wants to see Gandalf again, a figure from the familiar world of the Fellowship that set out from Rivendell and which has shared so much together. But when Gandalf arrives in the dead of night and Pippin tells him that he is glad to see him back Gandalf’s grumpy response is to say: “I have come back here, for I must have a little peace, alone. You should sleep in a bed while you still may.” In other words, leave me alone, Pippin!

Poor Pippin. There is so much difference between a bed that is a place of profound rest after great struggle, as is the bed on the Field of Cormallen for Frodo and Sam after their terrible trials, and a bed, however comfortable, that is but a brief pause before a time of trial. As Gandalf puts it with brutal succinctness, “the night will be too short.”

For Pippin, indeed for Gandalf too, there is no escape from this time of waiting except to pass through it. Pippin may want some kind of company in order to distract himself from himself but so too does Gandalf.

“When will Faramir return?” he asks himself, searching in the darkness for some piece that is missing in the vain hope that it will make sense of everything. Gandalf might just have asked, when will Théoden, or Aragorn, arrive? He might even ask, when will Frodo and Sam complete their task? And for poor Pippin there is the nagging ache that lies deep within his soul that is the unanswered question, where is Merry?

And that is the problem when all is said and done. I might be able to ask the question, but that does not mean that my question can be answered. Or, at the very least, it does not mean that I have any power within myself to answer that question. Gandalf cannot make anything happen that can quieten his troubled mind. All that he can do is to wait.

Some well meaning guides might suggest a mindfulness technique at this point. If only Gandalf or Pippin could focus on a mantra of some kind or a sacred word, then all will be well. But all would not be well. The forces of Mordor would still be about to arrive and that can never be good whatever we might do to prepare to meet it. And Faramir, Théoden and Aragorn would still be somewhere unknown.

Pippin is going through an initiation. He has been ever since he passed his first uncomfortable night in the fields of the Shire after setting out with Frodo and Sam from Bag End. How that night, the night before the hobbits encountered the Nazgûl for the very first time, must seem like paradise as Pippin waits through a night after which there will be no dawn. But that is the point in an initiation. Its whole purpose is to teach you how to die before you die. It teaches you to live light to everything except for the things that really matter. It teaches you what those things really are. They aren’t the accumulation of wealth, not even of power. As Gildor Inglorien said to Frodo on the second night of the journey across the Shire, take those who you can trust. In other words, friendship matters far more than power.

On the night before the outbreak of war Pippin feels very much alone and afraid. He is forced to endure it by himself. But he will emerge from this experience as one who can be a source of great strength to others. Later, Faramir will have reason to be grateful for his friendship, so too will Merry who will not be left to die alone on the battlefield, and Aragorn who will not be killed by the troll on the field before the Black Gate of Mordor. This night may be desperately hard to endure but, along with all the other things that Pippin has to pass through, it will make him the “very valiant man” as he was introduced to Ingold and his men at the beginning of The Return of the King.