The Father Wound

“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.

Éowyn and Faramir Declare Their Love as Éowyn Understands her Heart at Last

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Éowyn receives her brother’s invitation to join the triumph at the Field of Cormallen after the fall of Sauron but she does not go. Once more the Warden of the Houses of Healing becomes anxious about her unhappiness and bids Faramir take time from his duties as Steward of Gondor to speak with her.

Faramir is a man of wise insight and he has learned much from the day he spent with Merry and so he says to her plainly:

“You do not go because only your brother called for you, and to look on the Lord Aragorn, Elendil’s heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy. Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them. Éowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?”

In March 1941 Tolkien wrote a remarkable letter to his son, Michael, on the subject of marriage and relations between men and women. It is remarkable partly because it displays a closeness between father and son that is sadly very rare. Also because of its depth of insight. I think that most men on reading this letter would would wish they had enjoyed this closeness with their own father or that they could achieve it with their sons. Richard Rohr describes the general poverty of relations between fathers and sons as “The Father Wound”. Faramir has known this wound deeply but Tolkien, who never knew his own father shows that it need not be passed on to the next generation .

In the letter Tolkien writes about the Western romantic idea of courtly love in which a great lady would enjoy the devotion and admiration of young men, often expressed through poetry or deeds that would prove their love. A physical expression of the love was considered unacceptable although the two great Arthurian love stories of Guinevere and Lancelot and of Tristan and Isolde show that such relationships could move disastrously from the idealised form to the physical form. In his letter Tolkien also notes that to idealise a woman, to grant her some kind of divinity, does her no good at all. Tolkien describes this as “false and at best make believe. The woman is another fallen human being with a soul in peril.”

I refer to this, partly because I believe it to be Éowyn’s temptation. She desired the adoration of the greatest knight of his age and, with it, the adoration of all men and women. I also wonder if Faramir was tempted to idealise Éowyn. “Were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you.” Perhaps not, perhaps Faramir simply feels that he has to declare his love with as much passion as he can to make Éowyn see it. Thankfully for his own sake he never has to know what it would be like to love the Queen of Gondor without hope! Éowyn sees reality at last or, as Tolkien puts it so beautifully, “the heart of Éowyn changed, or else at last she understood it”.

It is only possible to love flesh and blood although such love always points us beyond itself towards divine love which we glimpse in the temptation to idealise. Tolkien puts this powerfully in his letter. Every marriage, in a certain sense he writes, is a mistake. We could all find “more suitable mates”. It is possible to spend a whole lifetime either looking for the perfect mate or saying, “if only”. And we will never know. Even the best of marriages requires self-denial, perseverance and forgiveness. They require the decision to say the greatest, Yes, to reality, to the real person in front of us. I know that it has become popular to create our own wedding vows, as if by doing so we give the wedding ceremony more authenticity, but I become more deeply impressed by the vows of the old English Sarum Rite which is over five hundred years old and in which each person promises to “love and to cherish” for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death us do part”. Both Éowyn and Faramir have to renounce some kind of idealised form of romantic love and commit themselves to the real person in front of them.