Remembrance as Redemption

Recently in class we have been wrestling with the question of why evil exists. While I was pondering this, an idea came to me which did not completely satisfy this question, but at least gave me an interesting new angle from which to look: remembrance and forgetfulness. Does the desire to sin stem from a failure to remember what is true and good? Perhaps not; but although forgetfulness is not the ultimate cause and memory is not the ultimate solution, I do believe remembrance can play a part in the fight against evil.

To begin with, Sauron persuades the Numenoreans that the Valar are liars who are afraid of Men taking their power, hence the ban. The Men forget how Illuvatar (not the Valar!) made them: as mortal beings endowed with the “gift” of death, a nature that they cannot change. Sauron causes them to forget that it is not the land of the Valar or the Valar themselves that confer eternal life, but Illuvatar alone. They forget that death is not something Men can shirk by simply sailing West. If they had remembered these things and resisted the whisperings of Sauron, the story of Numenor might have ended differently. Memory can be a powerful weapon to deploy against propaganda like the words of Sauron; we will see the Ring’s battle with memory in a moment, but first let us examine how memory acts against evil when Frodo wakes up in the barrow:

  “But though his fear was so great that it seemed to be part of the very darkness that was round him, he found himself as he lay thinking of Bilbo Baggins and his stories, of their jogging along together in the lanes of the Shire and talking about roads and adventures. . . . He thought he had come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought hardened him. He found himself stiffening, as if for a final spring; he no longer felt limp like helpless prey” (Bk 1 Ch VIII).

Frodo’s memories of the Shire and the stories connected to it stir within him the potential for a renewed strength, even in the face of hopelessness and defeat. Something about his memories allow him to resist the power of evil– here, the power of the death-filled atmosphere of the barrow and the barrow-wights. This is also a strengthening of his own will, banishing the feeling of being “helpless prey” who is under the force of someone or something else.

Just like how Frodo’s remembrance of Bilbo gives him strength when hope seems lost in the barrow, it likewise strengthens Sam when, on the way to Mount Doom, he realizes that there will be not return journey: 

  “But I would dearly like to see Bywater again, and Rosie Cotton and her brothers, and the Gaffer and Marigold and all. . . . But even as hope died in Sam, or seemed to die, it was turned to a new strength” (Bk 6 Ch III).

In both of these examples, it is only after remembering good things that the characters are able to persevere in the fight against evil. In particularly hopeless moments– when Frodo thinks his journey will end in the barrow and when Sam realizes he will never go home– the only sanctuary is that of remembrance, and this remembrance has a real, physical power to embolden them to go on.

As a final example, we can see the workings of the Ring against memory in Frodo’s response to Sam when he last looks at his cooking gear before casting it away:

    “‘Do you remember that bit of rabbit, Mr. Frodo?’ he said. ‘And our place under the warm bank in Captain Faramir’s country, the day I saw an oliphaunt?’

    ‘No, I am afraid not, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘At least, I know that such things happened, but I cannot see them. No taste of food, no feel of water, no sound of wind, no memory of tree or glass or flower, no image of moon or star are left to me’” (Bk 6 Ch 3).

The Ring has taken away Frodo’s ability to remember, especially to remember good, pure things like trees and stars and food. In fact, the simplicity and ordinariness of these things is what makes this specific power of the Ring so frightening– everyone should be able to remember what a tree looks like. But the strength of the Ring is such that nothing Frodo knew can be relied upon anymore. The power of the propaganda is so strong that even the simplest truth may seem foreign or hostile.

 
I think a crucial part of remembrance is that it is more than just “recollection.” Frodo could “recall” the rabbit, Faramir, and the oliphaunt; but he couldn’t “see,” “feel,” “taste,” or hear any part of those moments. True remembrance requires making things present and real again in an embodied way, through the senses. There must be a reason Christ said “do this in remembrance of me,” and not just “remember me.” Remembering is doing. I think this is in part why Tolkien places such emphasis on passing down stories through songs and poetry– we need stories to be incarnate in order to remember them! Once a story is ingrained in us in a physical way, it is easier to remember and to be able to conform ourselves to them whenever we need to– when we are fighting against evil, for instance. I think this is demonstrated well by a comment from LeGuin about writing her chapter entitled “The Child and the Shadow.” As a child, she read the Andersen story about the man and his shadow, and she didn’t really like it and she certainly didn’t understand it. But now, as an adult, she is able to remember this story and apply it (even subconsciously) to greater things outside of a simple children’s fairytale.

-LJE