Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo

Welcome! The posts on this blog were written by the students in Prof. Rachel Fulton Brown's “Tolkien: Medieval and Modern” at the University of Chicago in Spring 2011, Spring 2014, Spring 2017, Spring 2020, and Spring 2023. The posts were assigned as reflections on the discussions that we had over the course of each quarter in class, but the posts themselves regularly took on a depth and rigor far beyond that which we had been able to explore in class. The assigned readings for our discussions are listed in the syllabi on the page tabs; the blog posts themselves are labeled according to the theme of the discussion in response to which they were written. We hope very much that you will enjoy reading our reflections.

Theoden and Denethor: Lessons on Fatherhood and Leadership in the Face of Despair

 Gondor and Rohan, the primary human kingdoms in The Lord of the Rings, are distinguished by the contrasting leadership styles of Theoden, King of Rohan, and Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Their respective responses to their loss of a son frame their approach to leadership, duty, and fatherhood, while revealing a stark divergence in their character trajectories.

Theoden is first introduced as a despairing ruler, enfeebled by age and the manipulations of the deceitful Grima Wormtongue. The death of his son, Theodred, intensifies his sorrow, yet, paradoxically, also becomes a source of strength, spurred by Gandalf's counsel. Theoden's sense of duty remains undiminished despite the encircling threats of Sauron. Once liberated from Wormtongue's clutches, he re-emerges as a resilient leader, fulfilling his responsibilities to his kingdom. The depth of his transformation is revealed in a rallying cry: "Arise now, arise, Riders of Theoden! Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward. Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded! Forth Eorlingas!!" (Book 3, Chapter 6). Theoden galvanizes his men by acknowledging the severity of the threat they face; he does not downplay the magnitude of the imminent battle against Sauron’s forces, but builds trust and respect by confronting it head on. This call to arms encapsulates a king reclaiming his role with grace and courage, even amidst personal and national calamities.

Conversely, Denethor, who wields power akin to a king's, crumbles under the weight of his son Boromir's demise. His grief poisons his already strained relationship with his surviving son, Faramir. Denethor's obsession with lineage and legacy blinds him to his paternal obligations, leading to a tragic downfall. His fractured mindset is exposed when he bemoans to Faramir, "I would have things as they were in all the days of my life, and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard’s pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated.” (Book 5, Chapter 7). Consequently, he perceives his sons as instruments of power, neglecting to provide them with the love and care they deserve. Faced with the prospect of losing his power, Denethor contemplates giving up everything. This reveals a dramatic abdication of responsibility, both as a leader and a father. Instead of standing firm in adversity like Theoden, he considers abandoning his post and, by extension, his people and family.

Denethor's sense of duty becomes the cause of his grief, spiraling into a maelstrom of despair, ultimately resulting in his suicide. He forgoes his roles as steward and father, culminating in a destructive sequence of events. His despairing words to Gandalf depict his resignation from duty: “Didst thou think that the eyes of the White Tower were blind? Nay, I have seen more than thou knowest, Grey Fool. For thy hope is but ignorance. Go then and labour in healing! Go forth and fight! Vanity. For a little space you may triumph on the field, for a day. But against the Power that now arises there is no victory. To this City only the first finger of its hand has yet been stretched. All the East is moving. And even now the wind of thy hope cheats thee and wafts up Anduin a fleet with black sails. The West has failed. It is time for all to depart who would not be slaves..” (Book 5, Chapter 7). Here, duty has degenerated into a mere pawn in his power play. Unable to protect and rally his people, he suggests they flee, a clear deviation from his role as Steward. His sense of duty is overwhelmed by his fear and his fixation on the inevitability of defeat, unlike Theoden, who leads the Rohirrim against Sauron’s forces time and time again.

One of my favorite quotes of the entire series is Theoden’s final words to Merry: “Farewell, Master Holbytla!’ he said. ‘My body is broken. I go to my fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed. I felled the black serpent. A grim morn, and a glad day, and a golden sunset! … Grieve not! It is forgiven. Great heart will not be denied. Live now in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me! For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herb-lore.” (Book 5, Chapter 6) It is hard for a tear to not come to my eye when I read this passage at the end of Theoden’s long journey from a poisoned invalid, but it perfectly illustrates his deep-seated sense of duty, compassion, humility, and an unyielding commitment to his people, even in the face of death. Theoden meets his fate contended as he fulfilled his duty as king by protecting his people, and with his dying breaths, instead of drawing attention to himself or his legacy, wishes Merry peace and happiness, reflecting his deep care for those around him.

Theoden and Denethor embody contrasting responses to leadership, duty, and fatherhood in the face of personal tragedy. Theoden, despite his initial despair, transitions to a place of acceptance, courage, and love for his people, demonstrating the virtues of a king prepared to make personal sacrifices. On the other hand, Denethor personifies the pitfalls of power, where the quest for lineage and control obscures the essence of leadership and fatherhood. His unchecked grief and resulting madness push him to forsake his responsibilities and familial love, ending in a tragic implosion. Ultimately, Theoden and Denethor present a dual narrative on the potency of fatherhood and duty within the broader context of power and loss. Their stories offer valuable insights into the human capacity for resilience or despair, and though neither is perfect, through their comparison, Tolkien reveals important truths concerning fatherhood and leadership, particularly in the face of adversity.

- ACLL (Wildcard)

Invocation and Worship: Reverence for Elbereth

 Though Tolkien is a devout Catholic and clear in his personal letters that the Lord of the Rings is fundamentally a Catholic and religious work, the theme of worship appears very subtly; however, it repeats itself consistently, particularly with invocations to the celestial being Elbereth. Elbereth, also known as Varda Elentári in the High-Elven tongue or Gilthoniel in Sindarin, is one of the Valar – divine beings akin to gods in the pantheon of Middle-earth. Her name is a beacon of hope, an invocation for divine intervention, and a symbol of reverence in times of despair.

Elbereth: A Celestial Beacon

Known as the Star-Kindler, Elbereth's primary role involves the creation of stars, celestial bodies that often symbolize hope and guidance in the universe. She is a symbol of light against darkness, a theme deeply embedded in the trilogy. Through her worship, we see how divine reverence is subtly interwoven into the narrative, often connected with hope, salvation, and the ultimate triumph of good over evil.

The Elves, more than any other race in Middle-earth, venerate Elbereth, and her name is called out in song and in dire moments of need. In "The Fellowship of the Ring," when Frodo and his companions first meet the High Elves in the Shire, their leader, Gildor Inglorion, refers to Elbereth in a hymn: "Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear! O Queen beyond the Western Seas! O Light to us that wander here Amid the world of woven trees!" (Book 1, Chapter 3) This song is a testament to the Elves' devotion and their perception of Elbereth as a source of inspiration and guidance. The invocation of Elbereth's name is a plea for protection and a reminder of the light she kindles in the starlit sky, offering solace to those "wandering amid the world of woven trees." This call for divine assistance echoes Tolkien’s perspective on God in his letters, where he writes, “God is (so to speak) also behind us, supporting, nourishing us (as being creatures).” (Letter 54) The concepts of God and worship are not at the forefront of Tolkien’s work; they are behind, ever so slightly pushing the narrative and nudging characters along when they need help, showing readers that in this story, just as in life, God does not lay everything out clearly in front of you – He appears ever so momentarily to guide you, just long enough to remind you that He is there.

The Hobbits, primarily Frodo Baggins, also invoke Elbereth's name, even though Hobbits are not traditionally a religious folk in the conventional sense. In the face of imminent danger, when confronting the Black Riders, Frodo often calls upon Elbereth on Weathertop, yelling, "O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" (Book 1, Chapter 11) This cry symbolizes his resistance against the impending darkness and his faith in the existence of a higher power. Even though Frodo might not fully understand the divine stature of Elbereth, his invocation is a desperate plea for assistance, which indirectly weaves the concept of worship into the narrative.

Worship: Not in Temples, But in Hearts and Deeds

Tolkien's subtle approach to the theme of worship is worth noting. There are no temples, no direct rituals of worship; instead, worship is shown through the characters' words, songs, and deeds. The reverence for Elbereth reflects the innate desire embedded within us for hope, light, and salvation.  Touching on the subtle nature of religion and worship, Tolkien writes, “The Lord of the Rings is a fundamentally religious and Catholic work… that is why I have not put in, or cut out, practically all references to anything like ‘religion’, to cults or practices, in the imaginary world. For the religious element is absorbed into the story and the symbolism.” (Letter 142) I don’t think Tolkien wants to push his Catholicism on his audience – he intends his books to be read by those of all faiths (or no faith at all), which is why worship is such a veiled theme – his readers must come to know it by themselves. For example, consider Gandalf, whose sacrifice allows the Fellowship to escape from Moria, and who later returns in a transformed state, perhaps representing the resurrection of Christ. Or Frodo's self-sacrifice – he bears the burden of the Ring and suffers to save Middle-earth, which reflects Christ's sacrificial love. Similarly, the world of Middle-earth reflects a monotheistic worldview, with Ilúvatar or Eru representing a single, all-powerful creator. The Valar serve as powerful, angelic beings rather than competing gods, suggesting a celestial hierarchy that aligns with Christian cosmology.

The worship of Elbereth in "The Lord of the Rings" provides an exploration of faith and reverence in Tolkien's universe. Her celestial persona and the invocation of her name illustrate how worship in Middle-earth extends beyond ritualistic practices – Elbereth serves as a beacon of hope, a plea for assistance, and a courageous act of resistance against the overwhelming forces of darkness – just as Tolkien intended. Worship presents itself in this all-encompassing form, as he writes, “Those who believe in a personal God, Creator, do not think the Universe is in itself worshipful, though devoted study of it may be one of the ways honoring Him… our ideas of God and ways of expressing them will be largely derived from contemplating the world around us.” (Letter 310) Another compelling example of Elbereth’s worship is Samwise Gamgee's invocation during his encounter with Shelob, the giant spider. With a final plea of "Gilthoniel A Elbereth!" he smites Shelob. (Book 4, Chapter 10) Sam’s decisive cry coupled with his strike ties his faith and reverence to a tangible act of resistance against darkness, echoing Tolkien's embodiment of worship as something active and alive, intertwined with deeds and courage.

Despite the grim and desperate situations, the characters' reverence for Elbereth is a testament to their enduring faith in the triumph of light, embodying a central theme of Tolkien — that even in the darkest times, faith, like the stars kindled by Elbereth, overcomes evil. 

- ACLL

The Rule of Samwise Gamgee

Samwise Gamgee stands perhaps above all characters in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy as the supreme example of steadfast loyalty and humble service. Frodo, as the Ring-bearer, sometimes supersedes Sam in popular culture, but it is Sam, Frodo's humble gardener and companion, whose unwavering loyalty, love, and resilience are the greatest. His devotion to Frodo is the force that keeps the Ring out of the hands of Sauron, devotion which draws parallels to the dedication of a monk. Just as Saint Benedict had a rule to guide his action and compel him to virtue, Sam has a deep-seated sense of dedication, humility, and duty which allows him to serve Frodo, even when the night is darkest and his own life is in grave peril.

Unlike Frodo, Gandalf, or Aragorn, and like most monks, Sam is not of noble birth or blessed with magical abilities. He's a simple gardener, thrown into a terrifying quest by circumstance. Yet, despite his humble origins, Sam's faithfulness, courage, and capacity to love demonstrate that he is far from ordinary. He understands his role as an instrument in a far bigger quest, an ideal echoed by Tolkien in his letters: “The greatness I meant was that of a great instrument in God’s hands – a mover, a doer, even an achiever of great things, a beginner at the very least of large things… for the greatness I meant and tremblingly hoped for as ours is valueless unless steeped with the same holiness of courage, suffering, and sacrifice – but is of a different kind.” (Letter 5) The kind of courage, suffering, and sacrifice that Tolkien speaks of is the kind Samwise carries with him – the same kind that monks carry with them – that of a suffering servant.

Sam’s undying loyalty to Frodo is shown at Mount Doom when he says, “I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you." (Book 6, Chapter 3) Frodo, exhausted and demoralized from their arduous journey across Middle Earth, can no longer walk due to the weight of the Ring, yet despite being in the same, or worse (Sam is a tad plump) physical condition, Sam volunteers to carry Frodo.  Physical feeling does not matter to Sam – his rule guides him.  The Ring represents Frodo's burden, his duty, his pain - which Sam cannot relieve him of; however, Sam can offer support and suffer physical hardship instead. Sam’s readiness to bear his master’s physical weight underlines his unyielding commitment to Frodo’s mission and to Frodo himself.

Sam’s struggle with the concept of love is also evident throughout the story. His love for Frodo transcends the master-servant relationship, forging an enduring bond of friendship. He is also a lover of the Shire’s peace and normality, which becomes a central motivation in his journey. His romantic love for Rosie Cotton is another manifestation of his capacity for affection.

One of the most moving scenes in the trilogy encapsulates Sam's understanding of love in the face of dire circumstances. As he and Frodo approach Minas Morgul, Sam ponders on the stories of old. “Folk seem to have been just landed in them [stories], usually — their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten.” (Book 4, Chapter 8) Here, Sam’s comprehension of duty and love extends beyond individuals, embracing the whole world and the very essence of life.  Facing death is a frequent struggle for Sam.  And although he fears death, as it constantly follows him, he is willing to face it for the sake of Frodo and the quest.  His frequent run-ins with death bring him closer to Frodo, and as a result, one can imagine Sam uttering the words written by Tolkien in one of his letters: “I became aware of the dominance of the theme of death… but certainly Death is not an Enemy!” (Letter 208) Sam’s courage in the face of death is epitomized soon after the scene above Minas Morgul when he single-handedly infiltrates the orc stronghold of Cirith Ungol to rescue Frodo. Despite the near-certain prospect of death, Sam charges forth, driven by love and loyalty. 

Yet, Sam also wrestles with the concept of death in a metaphorical sense. He witnesses Frodo metaphorically dying, losing his essence and vitality due to the burden of the Ring. Sam must grapple with this gradual loss, demonstrating a nuanced understanding of death beyond its physical manifestation. He stands by Frodo, despite his master’s transformation, reinforcing his unwavering loyalty. One of Sam's most poignant quotes exemplifies his wisdom on the inevitability of death: "It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end… because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing… this shadow. Even darkness must pass." (Book 4, Chapter 8) Sam is not merely talking about stories here - he's referring to the full cycle of life, the battle between good and evil, despair and hope, and the human (or hobbit) capacity to weather adversity.  Sam, like a wise monk, is honest about his current circumstances, genuinely acknowledging his feelings of dread and despair.  It can be hard to envision a happy ending or even a return to normalcy when one is deeply entrenched in hardship, but despite recognizing the difficulty of their situation, Sam concludes with a note of profound hope. He believes that their current predicament, the “shadow,' is transitory, much like the darkness in the great stories. Just as night gives way to day, Sam believes that the darkness they are experiencing will eventually pass. This is his enduring optimism, asserting that no matter how challenging or impossible the situation may seem, it is not permanent. The dawn always follows the darkest hour.

Strength and power do not always manifest themselves physically through slaying dragons or wielding magical powers. There is such a thing as spiritual strength, a power that is honed by constant adversity and strict adherence to a set of principles – a strength known by many monks. It is found in the act of selfless service, in the capacity to love, and in the bravery to face death. Sam’s journey also underscores the concept of hope in the face of despair. Though Frodo may be known to some as the primary hero of the story, we ought to remember that behind the success of the Ring-bearer stands a devoted gardener, steadfast in his duty, who quietly carried the weight of the world.

- ACLL

 

Understanding Monsters With Sin and Familiarity

What are monsters? An element essential for fantasy fiction, supernatural beings that partly resemble animals, or a “sacrifice” in the making of heroes? Perhaps all of the above, with one necessary feature warranted — an evil creature.

In the poem, Beowulf kills three monsters: Grendel, Grendel’s mother, and the dragon. Grendel’s lineage was inherently evil, as it was the decedent of Cain, the biblical character that killed his brother Abel out of jealousy.

On the other hand, the dragon was called “fell” in Tolkien’s translation of Beowulf, but it doesn’t provide much context in understanding the inherent evil in dragons. However, Tolkien discussed the underlying meaning of dragons in his work Beowulf: the Monsters and the Critics, claiming that the dragons in Beowulf “[is] a personification of malice, greed, destruction, and the discriminating cruelty of fortune that distinguishes not good nor bad.” (Beowulf: the Monsters and the Critics, 17.)

Similarly, Shelob was described as the utter manifestation of greed: “she served none but herself, drinking the blood of Elves and Men, bloated and grown fat with endless brooding on her feasts, weaving webs of shadow; for all living things were her food, and her vomit darkness.” (LotR, Book IV, Chapter 9)

It seems that monsters are not just creatures created for entertainment purposes. They actually represent something much deeper - a physical manifestation of a particular form of sin. These sins seem to explain the monsters’ primary motives, and can also shed light on how we can better understand these imaginary creatures that transmit along fantasy stories. It is fascinating to see how the creators of these monsters were able to take something as abstract as a sin, and turn it into a tangible and often terrifying being.

From another perspective, although most monsters borrow some aspects from natural animals (e.g. dragons with lizard bodies, bat wings, and snake eyes), are ethically different from animals. Monsters are described as “fell”, yet we do not usually use the term “good” or “evil” in describing animals, since it is pretty hard to judge animal instincts using ethics. How, then, are we able to judge the monsters from an ethical standpoint? When depicting monsters, Tolkien purposefully made them somewhat intelligible, such that their own will and their agency can be obscurely inferred. Shelob was a great example. If we study only the description of Shelob’s movement, we find that it is precisely the same as any other predatory spider. It is only by adding narratives such as “There agelong she had dwelt, an evil thing in spider-form, even such as once of old had lived in the Land of the Elves in the West that is now under the Sea, such as Beren fought in the Mountains of Terror in Doriath, and so to Luthien upon the green sward amid the hemlocks in the moonlight long ago.” can the readers be convinced that Shelob is, indeed, fell. (LotR, Book IV, Chapter 9)

However, not all of the “monsters” are evil. Tolkien mentions that there are very few good dragons in the stories while creating one himself — Chrysophylax, the dragon in Farmer Giles’ story. The dragon, still fire-breathing and greedy, is no longer intimidating because of its continued bargaining with Farmer Giles. It seems hard for me to consider Chrysophylax as a “monster,” mainly because Chrysophylax seems to be easily understood and easy to communicate. 

One of the key aspects of creating a successful monster character is to find a balance between familiarity and mystique. If a monster is too similar to a human being, it loses its intimidating presence and becomes less effective in its role. On the other hand, if a monster is too unfamiliar, it risks becoming completely unintelligible to the audience, which can lead to a loss of interest.

Therefore, it is crucial for a monster to retain some level of familiarity while still being otherworldly and inspiring fear. Its actions should be partly intelligible and interpretable by a certain kind of sin, but not wholly understood. This creates a sense of mystery and intrigue, which in turn, helps to solidify the monster's position as a powerful and terrifying entity. However, it is important to note that if a monster were to become too understandable, it would lose its need to be killed, which is a core element of the monster trope.

In Beowulf, the hero's act of killing monsters is depicted as a judicial dual, where the side favored by God emerges victorious. This narrative transforms a mere competition of strength into a duel that takes place on the moral ground. By doing so, the hero is not only justified physically, but also proves his "moral superiority" by claiming divine favor. This theme of divine intervention is seen throughout the epic poem and serves to elevate the hero's actions to a higher level of significance. Additionally, the act of slaying a fictional monster not only demonstrates the hero's physical prowess, but also serves as a metaphor for overcoming one's inner demons and fears. Furthermore, the hero's victory over the monster can be seen as a reflection of the triumph of good over evil, and serves as a reminder of the importance of staying true to one's moral convictions, even in the face of great adversity.

-- S.T.