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.

What Makes a Monster

Monsters are unique in that they are not meant to resemble the human qualities of reason, free will, and duality of good and evil. By contrast, monsters are the embodiments of a more vain and unrestrained evil. They serve as a medium for the qualities of evil that the hero must conquer in both their physical appearance and their nature. Monsters are not inherently bad; they do not choose evil over good. Rather, like wild animals, they are instinctual, reactive, and evil by nature. They do not use reason and choice to commit evil acts, but their irrationality and vain nature leads them in the direction of evil. Interestingly, in tales of good versus evil the monsters must reflect the evils present in humanity, but which are carried out in a beast-like manner. I view this as symbolic of the inherent dual nature of humanity, and its quest to rise above its animalistic inheritance. 

Let’s start by examining Tolkien’s creation of the dragon Smaug. Smaug is an isolated dragon that hoards riches in The Lonely Mountain. His appearance is a mixture of beasts present in the modern world such as the lion, the reptile, and the bat. This appearance, as an oversized mixture of wild animals represents his instinctual, irrational, and frightening nature. As it’s described in “The Monsters and Critics”: 

“Monsters became images of the evil spirit, or rather the evil spirits entered into the monsters and took visible shape in the hideous bodies of heathen imagination."

This appearance does two things in my view. It represents a lack of rationality, and it creates the necessity for immense courage in the hero. The appearance is both frightening and bestial. Smaug cannot be reasoned with; he is an embodiment of pure evil that must be overcome through pure courage and will. The victory of willpower and rationality over vain, bestial instincts is essential to the storyline of a human hero. 

Smaug’s irrationality is demonstrated through impulsive quick outbursts of destruction and terror that interrupt his typical sloth-like behavior in The Lonely Mountain. Despite his wit, he does not scheme and plan against humanity through rationality and logic. Rather, he is overconfident and acts through fits of rage rather than calculated attacks. An example of this is the destruction of Esgaroth that was caused by nothing more than indications from Bilbo regarding the theft of his precious cup. He is reactive and instinctual rather than proactive and deliberate. This overconfidence and irrationality are in the end the cause of his demise. 

Furthermore, his main instinct resembles one of the seven deadly sins. Specifically, this instinct is greed. His impulse is a great desire to hoard riches serves as his embodiment of evil by nature. Interestingly, this instinct does not resemble the typical survival instincts of hunger and reproduction that resemble the modern animals that constitute his appearance. Rather, it is a human instinct of evil identified by Christianity. This begs the question: if monsters are not meant to exemplify rationality and free will like humans, why are they given human qualities? In “The Monsters and Critics” Tolkien asks the reader to, “consider how and why monsters become ‘adversaries of God’, and so begin to symbolize the powers of evil.” Not only are monsters evil, but they represent evil through the lens of the Christian story of a battle between good and evil, or demons and gods, which are representative of the duality of human nature.

I must also acknowledge that aside from Smaug’s nature, he has the human qualities of wit and a proud upper-class dialect. Through his speech and specific instincts, he represents the evils of humanity rather than animals. He represents the greedy, lonely man of fortune I believe this is integral to the tale of humanity conquering the evil that is inherent within them. While monsters embody irrational evil, they also acknowledge that these evil instincts are present within humanity itself. The tale of good versus evil is not that of humans against lions, it is a battle that occurs within humanity. Our nature at its core is descendant from vain, irrational animals. The battle for humans to live together peacefully is a battle to overcome the evil instincts that will forever be a part of our nature. It is no coincidence that Christianity gained popularity and influence through Greek philosophy and its religious adaptation in The Roman Empire. This was a time when large groups of individuals were searching for methods of living united and together peacefully. 

One interpretation of religions such as Christianity is that they can serve the purpose of assisting humans in conquering their evil, selfish, and divisive nature. Serving the will of God rather than letting the devil influence us symbolizes the battle of human rationality and empathy with selfishness and vain sin. Monsters embody the evil in this battle. An evil that is irrational, instinctual, and selfish. Smaug is self-serving, vain, and beast-like in this manner. He is a representation of humanity that has fallen victim to sin. Humanity that lets impulses and desires drive their behavior rather than the logic and sympathy that can allow us to rise above our bestial inheritance. The victory of good over evil brings peace and unity to nations and peoples. In order to attain this victory, we must conquer the evil within ourselves through our higher qualities of courage, willpower, and rationality.

However, the embodiment of these evils inside of us is not visually represented by humans themselves. There is no duality in such an appearance. This is why monsters are grotesque, large, and frightening. They are a medium of representation purposed to represent evil instincts. Both by nature and appearance monsters symbolize the enemy of humanity that lies within. An impulse, selfish, and divisive enemy that has long attempted to prevent humanity from achieving unity and peace. 

- WS

The Immortality Paradox: Exploring Death and Purpose in The Lord of The Rings

The concepts of immortality and death shape the behaviors of Tolkien's characters in The Lord of The Rings. In this blog post, I will analyze the significance of death, particularly for hobbits, and how it provides them with a profound sense of purpose. By examining two poignant quotes from the trilogy, we'll explore the paradoxical nature of immortality within Tolkien's masterpiece.

In Middle-earth, death is not simply the cessation of life but a crucial element that bestows meaning upon it. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the lives of the hobbits. Unlike the Elves, who possess immortality who  hobbits are granted the unique perspective of mortality while living in a world where immortality is both admired and feared.

Hobbits, such as Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, emerge as heroes in the quest given to them by immortals. Surprisingly enough, it is their mortality that gives them their power. Their deep sense of purpose and resilience in the face of danger. As unimpressive individuals in a world of ancient powers, they recognize the fragility of their own existence and are driven by the urgency to protect and preserve the peace of their typical lives of sloth.

The first quote that underscores this theme can be found in The Two Towers, when Gandalf explains the value that he finds in hobbits: "You do not know your danger, Théoden,” interrupted Gandalf. “These hobbits will sit on the edge of ruin and discuss the pleasures of the table, or the small doings of their fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers, and remoter cousins to the ninth degree, if you encourage them with undue patience.” 

In these words, Gandalf explains just how courageous these hobbits can be in the face of death. Furthermore, he describes them as discussing the small-doings of those before them. By saying this he reveals just how much purpose mortality gives these hobbits. They must weave their role into the tale of Middle Earth before it is too late, so as to leave their mark in the plot of time. They must find purpose within the constraints of their mortality, and this sense of urgency and vitality allows them to bear burdens that others cannot. 

Often Samwise and Frodo describe that they remain on their journey without any sense of hope or reasoning. They simply know that they must see their journey through. Without the constraints of time, I am positive that they would not have been nearly as courageous in the face of evil and strife.

The second quote, from The Fellowship of The Ring, demonstrates the necessity of mortality in bearing the Ring. As Frodo asks Gandalf why he doesn't complete his quest himself Gandalf explanis: "With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly.’ His eyes flashed and his face was lit as by a fire within. ‘Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself." (61)

How could Gandalf the great possibly view himself as less capable of bearing the One Ring than Frodo? It is Frodo's mortality that is his great strength in this case. Death, in its inevitability, lends perspective and drives the hobbits to carry on, for they understand that their actions ripple beyond their own lives and have the power to shape the future.

While hobbits embrace the significance of death, the immortal races, such as the Elves, face a different dilemma. Though they are blessed with longevity and wisdom, immortality is not always sweet. The Elves often exhibit a sense of detachment from the world, for as time grows more abundant it becomes less and less precious. Their existence becomes an unchanging tapestry of memories, devoid of the urgency and vibrancy that mortality brings. They do not possess the capacity for an intense devotion to a greater purpose that the hobbits do. Therefore, the hobbits have the greater ability to combat the evil that lies within.

By contrasting the lives of hobbits and Elves, Tolkien explores the paradoxical nature of immortality. While immortality promises endless time, it also threatens to strip life of its purpose, as one can become detached from the struggles and joys of the mortal realm.

The Lord of the Rings serves as a powerful exploration of the themes of immortality and death. Through the lens of hobbits, Tolkien sheds light on the power behind mortality and how it imbues life with purpose. Death, rather than being feared or shunned, is the driving force for the hobbits. By contrasting the mortality of hobbits with the immortality of the Elves, Tolkien demonstrates paradoxical nature of living forever, highlighting the value and beauty of a finite existence. If one's supply of time is infinite, it loses all value. As we humans embark on our own journeys, we can draw inspiration from the hobbits' embrace of mortality and their unwavering commitment to preserve the world they love.

- WS

Hobbits, Destiny, and Free Will

When diving into the captivating universe of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, one is greeted with a myriad of themes and questions that profoundly echo the human condition. Undoubtedly, one of the most intriguing concepts weaving through this epic tale is the role of free will. Central to this discourse is the plight of the hobbits, the unlikely heroes who arguably bear the most significant burdens of the story. Do they genuinely possess free will, or are they merely pawns in a grand design?

Tolkien's narrative revolves around Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. These four hobbits embark on separate yet intertwined journeys of self-discovery and heroic duty, ultimately influencing the course of Middle-Earth’s history. And it's their choices and actions, made in the face of enormous adversity, that shape the saga.

One might argue that destiny plays a massive role in the story, perhaps overshadowing the concept of free will. After all, Frodo didn't exactly volunteer to be the Ring-Bearer; he was chosen by Gandalf, seemingly guided by forces beyond his understanding. As Gandalf pointedly remarks, "A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to." This quote, often overlooked for its apparent whimsy, could imply a predetermined order to the events in Middle-Earth.

But does this overshadow the exercise of free will? 

The choices made by our hobbit protagonists, regardless of their seemingly preordained destinies, offer compelling evidence of free will at work. Take Samwise Gamgee, for instance. Though initially dragged into Frodo's quest out of loyalty, he repeatedly makes the conscious decision to continue on the perilous journey. As Sam says, "I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise. ‘Don’t you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.’ And I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to." These lines are a testament to his conscious exercise of free will, rather than being a mere pawn of fate. 

Similarly, Merry and Pippin, despite being swept up in the grand narrative, continuously choose to act courageously, showing an intense determination. Pippin’s statement to Gandalf, "I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us!" is a strong reaffirmation of his autonomy and his will to partake in the fight against the dark forces.

However, destiny and free will are not mutually exclusive in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth. While the hobbits' journeys seem guided by a larger force, their choices ultimately decide the fate of the Ring and Middle-Earth. Free will, in this context, operates within the realm of destiny, subtly but profoundly influencing its course.

If we scrutinize Bilbo's ‘accidental’ discovery of the Ring, we can view it as an act of destiny. However, Bilbo's choice to spare Gollum’s life—paving the way for the Ring's ultimate destruction—was entirely his own, an instance of free will that had profound consequences. This dichotomy is what makes the narrative both complex and fascinating. 

This same complexity arises in Frodo’s struggle with the Ring. He may have been destined to bear the Ring, but his choices during the journey—and his ultimate failure at Mount Doom—stem from his individual will and internal conflict. Indeed, it was Gollum, propelled by his desire (and arguably, his free will), who completed the task, emphasizing how free will can alter destiny’s course. 

To the lesser-known quote from Gandalf, "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us," we see the clear embodiment of this philosophy. Free will exists within the framework of destiny. The larger picture might be preordained, but the decisions made within that framework—those are the responsibility of the individuals.

In conclusion, The Lord of the Rings is not merely a tale of good versus evil, or destiny against free will. It is a reflection of the intricacy of life itself, in which our chaotic existence is woven with threads of both destiny and free will. Our hobbit heroes, much like us, are swept into the currents of a larger narrative. Yet, they navigate these currents with choices that are uniquely their own—proof that, even in a world where destiny looms large, the power of free will remains a compelling, transformative force.

Tolkien's masterpiece thus tells us that, regardless of destiny's grand designs, it is our decisions that truly shape who we are. In this light, the hobbits of Middle-Earth do indeed possess free will, using it to change their world, and in doing so, teaching us valuable lessons about our own.

- WS

The Differences of Life and Death

One of the first things I noticed when rereading the books in preparation for this class was the importance of age and time. In the first couple chapters Tolkien heavily emphasizes the importance of certain ages and birthdays for hobbits, and makes sure to let the reader know the age of the hobbits that are going to be important in the story. In Letter 214 he goes on to discuss how important birthdays are to hobbits and many of their customs on what happens for their birthdays and the parties that they have. We also learn that the ring has powers that help prolong life as well, which I think is another interesting piece to the puzzle of the power of the ring. A huge question this brings up is why are birthdays so important to hobbits. 

On the opposite end of the spectrum we have the elves, who are not literally immortal, because they can be killed, but live for so long most of the time that relative to Hobbits they might as well be. They have something that many humans, and hobbits desire, but it does not necessarily seem like the best thing in the mind of Tolkien. In Letter 208 Tolkien warns us about “confusing true ‘immortality’ with limitless serial longevity. Freedom from Time, and clinging to Time” (267). It’s interesting because he brings this up when talking about death as a theme across the series, and I think it is interesting how Time is capitalized here and almost personified. It is almost as if it is something that chases both humans and hobbits, but elves are free from that burden. 

Tolkien also states in the same letter that “Death is not the Enemy” (267). He uses personification again by capitalizing Death. Even though he makes this claim, he is clearly not saying that Death is always a good thing, but instead that it is not always a bad thing, which is very important to note given how prevalent death throughout the stories. He goes on to say “the Elves call ‘death’ the Gift of God (to Men)”. It is almost as if each one wants what the other has. Calling death a gift is not the way many people would see death as, especially when it comes suddenly and without warning. But I do not think that is the type of death that Tolkien, or the elves are talking about when they call it a gift, because elves can experience death in this manner the same way that humans do. 

As previously stated, it is not like elves are immortal, it is more so aging at a far slower rate. When elves call death a gift, they are talking about not having the burden of a long life, and instead being able to live a life in a shorter time period, and die of old age at an age that elves would consider young. But we do see the importance of long life to the elves, as it is a big deal when Arwen gives up her long life in order to be with Aragorn. After reading what Tolkien said about elves at first it would not seem like a sacrifice, because elves seem to somewhat envy the short lives of men. But I think the difference is there is an actual choice here. It is easy to say I wish I grew older faster, or that my species had a shorter life span, because that leaves the decision out of your hands. It puts the decision in the hands of the creator and you are powerless to change it either way. But when you have the chance to change it yourself, and decide to either put  yourself in harm's way, or give up long life, the decision becomes a lot harder because you are making the choice to give up time yourself. Without knowing what the future holds, you do not even know everything you are sacrificing, which truly makes it a difficult decision.

-RL

Who wins in the end?

I first discovered Lord of the Rings when I was about 10 years old, and started with The Hobbit, then went on to the other books and movies. One of the things that I did not always consider important when I first read was the journey, I tended to focus on the end result, and not all of the things that happened to get there. Looking back at the books after I have gained some age, I see many of the different things about the journey in a different light. Frodo and Sam are much more interesting characters when looking at it as someone who is older. The first thing that stood out to me was the Sam and Frodo relationship. Sam supports Frodo in so many ways along the journey, but does not always seem to get the same back. As the journey goes along we clearly see the relationship grow from Frodo’s side but never at the same level as Sam. I think the reason for this is on both sides, they never quite get over the master/servant relationship. I think it is a hard barrier to cross over, and while they were closer than when they started, the remnants of that relationship was still there by the end. 

One thing that always confused me about the story was why was Frodo the one who could resist the ring and take it to be destroyed. I guess one could say it could be anyone, so why not Frodo, but I guess what I am trying to really ask is why not some of the other characters in the stories. It seems like someone like a Gandalf or an Aragorn would make a great pick to take the ring and resist its powers, or even someone like a Legolas or Gimli. So why not them? They are part of the fellowship and do help Frodo in the beginning of his journey, but from what we know about the ring it is pretty clear that they would have been more tempted by it than Frodo and would not have made it as far. At one point Aragorn comes to a crossroads and has trouble deciding on whether to follow Frodo and Sam, or to save Merry and Pippin, and decides to let Frodo handle destroying the ring alone, partially because it was what Frodo wanted, but also partially because he thought he could be tempted. It is very rare to see a character such as Aragorn unable to resist evil (or at least think he cannot resist), while someone like Frodo could, and honestly it baffled me. It was not until I reexamined the books that I realized how much of a toll the ring took on Frodo, and I realized that he failed in the end. 

The fact that he failed in the end is important and interesting for a couple of reasons. The first is that the story kind of follows the opposite trajectory of what we are used to in stories. In the beginning Frodo is stronger, and is able to avoid the temptation of the ring easier, but as the story progresses he ability to resist shrinks and he is left with a failure at the end. The story reminds me of the Thor Marvel movies. In Thor’s first movie we learn about his hammer, and that you have to be true of heart to wield it, in the beginning of the movie Thor loses his ability to pick up the hammer. And throughout the movie many attempt to pick up the hammer but cannot, basically like a modern day sword in the stone. But in the end Thor has the traditional hero’s journey and is able to pick up the hammer. Frodo is the exact opposite. While he may be the only one up for the task like Thor, when it comes to the moment where he needs his strength the most, and he needs to resist the evil of the ring, he is unable to do it. 

It is honestly quite distressing because if the best of us cannot resist evil at its height it begs the question of can anyone resist evil. As we have talked about in class I do not think Tolkien was attempting to show us through this that no one can resist evil, or even something like no one can resist evil without God, but I do find it interesting that at the end of the story, even though evil loses, it does not feel like the good wins. This is compelling because to most it may seem that because evil lost, and the goal of good here is to defeat evil, that by virtue of this good won. But I disagree with the notion that good is just the failure of evil. I think this is why at the end of the story it does not quite feel like success for Frodo. He set out to destroy the ring, and claimed to be the one that could do it, but he was wrong. When it came down to it at the end he was unable to do what he set out to do, and this does not quite leave the reader feeling hopeful in the end. At least to me, the fact that luck plays a factor in the defeat of evil does not sit well.

-RL (Bonus)

Final Project: The Fall of the Nine: The Lord of the Nazgûl

I don't know if we are supposed to post our final projects on the blog, but I have seen people do it in the past and would really love to share mine! Thank you to Professor Fulton Brown for teaching this wonderful course. I learned more than I ever could have hoped to. And with that, The Fall of the Nine!

Nine for Mortal Men Doomed to Die

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Of old there was Sauron the Maia, the Dark Lord. Before him was Melkor, whom the Elves named Morgoth, whom Sauron served in the beginning of Arda. In the days following Morgoth’s demise, there was peace in Middle-earth. But Sauron saw the desolation of Arda, and he was filled with hate. He sought to turn the Firstborn to evil, and went among them as Annatar, Lord of Gifts, for his hue was fair and wise; and he was received among them, and counseled them in many things.

In that age, the Elves made many rings of great power; but Sauron, in his treachery, made a ring above the others to rule them, so that he may dominate the will of those who wore them; and Sauron forged it in the Mountain of Fire in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. Much of his power passed into the One Ring, for to dominate the Elven-rings required a surpassing potency.

But when Sauron wore the Ring, the Elves knew him and his will, and removed their rings in anger and fear. And Sauron was filled with wrath, and demanded the rings should be returned to him under threat of war. But the Elves fled and hid the three great rings with them; Narya, Nenya, and Vilya, they were named. From that time forth war never ceased between Sauron and the Elves.

Sauron collected the remaining Rings of Power; and he distributed them to the peoples of Middle-earth, such that they would come under his domination. To Men he gave nine, for they were the easiest to sway; and those who used the Rings became mighty kings and sorcerers; but it brought their downfall. The gift of Ilúvatar they held no longer; yet life became unendurable. They could see beyond the world of Men; yet they beheld the wicked phantoms of Sauron’s devise. And they fell, according to their strength and heart, under the domination of the One, which Sauron held; and they entered the realm of shadows, becoming invisible to the world of Men saved to he who held the Ruling Ring. The Nazgûl they were named, ringwraiths in the Black Speech, and were the most terrible servants of the Dark Lord. Darkness went with them, and they cried with the voices of death; for their weapon was fear.

These are the tales of the Men who fell under the Shadow; to the service of the Dark Lord. This is

The Fall of the Nine

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Chapter 9: The Lord of the Nazgûl

In those days, the great city of Men, Númenor, reigned, and the Númenóreans were Kings among Men; for the Men of Middle-earth had fallen under the dominion of Morgoth and had turned to evil. Although the gift of Ilúvatar the Númenóreans still held, they were more akin to the Firstborn than any other Men who walked upon Middle-Earth. Mighty they were in crafts, especially ship-building and sea-craft, and were great mariners of legends long past, the likes of which will never return. On their voyages, they oft visited the Western shores of Middle-earth; with them they brought craft, and taught the Men of the east such that the shadow may be lifted. But they seldom dwelled there, for their hearts were set westward.

However, there was a Númenórean who came to dwell there; Imrazôr he was named in the Númenórian tongue. He was a great lord of Númenor, and skilled in sorcery. And though his heart was set west, as was the way of his kind, he traveled east, for he desired to create a great kingdom for the Men of Middle-earth, so that they could be free from evil. On the western shores he established this kingdom, called Azûl-Zimra. And the Men of Middle-earth welcomed him and many became his subjects; and the Númenóreans aided the kingdom in their travels, yet always returned westward.

Although the city was in infancy, word of it spread among the Men of Middle-earth, and word of it fell upon the ears of Sauron; and he was filled with hatred, for Sauron feared the great Men of Númenor. Having gathered the Rings of Power, and seeking the corruption of Men through them, Sauron traveled to Azûl-Zimra with dark machinations in his heart.

Clothed in the fair form of Annatar, he entered the city, where he quickly found himself an audience with the king, due to his sly tongue and the credulous men. Despite the quick spell the Men of Middle-earth had fallen under, the king, now called Ar-Imrazôr, remained wary of him. Once in the presence of Ar-Imrazôr, Sauron kneeled before him.

‘Great Lord of Númenor, King of Men, I humble myself before you,’ he spoke, with hatred brewing in his heart. ‘For word of your aim, to build a kingdom to rival the great Númenor, to be a light in the east akin to the west, has spread fast across the land. This is a worthy goal, for the Men of Middle-earth have often come under the shadow of the Enemy. Therefore I, lowly Annatar, come before you to offer a gift; a gift that may aid in your great ambition.’ With his head still bowed low, Sauron lifted up his hand, revealing a great Ring of Power, its gemstone sparkling brightly.

Ar-Imrazôr, still wary of the gift and its giver, asked, ‘How shall this gift aid me? And who are you, “lowly Annatar,” that you may offer such a gift? For none among the great craftsmen of Númenor craft in this way.’

Sauron responded, ‘“Lord of Gifts” is my name in the Elven tongue, and I am known among them for wise counsel. Through my counsel they made many rings, of great power like the one before you. Through its might, your kingdom shall grow powerful and renown, and will bring great wealth. Extraordinary skills of sorcery shall be known to you, known rarely among Men. And I offer it merely as a gift, to aid in your noble quest.’

As Sauron’s war against the Elves had not yet reached Azûl-Zimra, Ar-Imrazôr knew not of his treachery; likewise, the name of the Elves calmed many of his fears, though he was not yet deceived. Yet upon hearing of the great powers that it may grant, Ar-Imrazôr began to covet the ring, for it worked upon his heart; and he sensed that Sauron’s words rang true, for Sauron did not mislead in word, but deceived in deed. Blinded by his lust, he began to walk towards Sauron to receive the ring.

However, as he approached, Sauron gently closed his hand around the ring. 'Before I bestow this gift, great King of Men, I ask one small thing: that you declare that you chose the gift; for its power may not confer to you, should you not choose it in both word and deed.'

Though he found this request odd, his lust blinded him and his heart remained untroubled as the ring worked upon him. ‘I chose the great gift of Annatar; praised may his name be,’ declared Ar-Imrazôr.

Within his dark heart Sauron laughed, for he knew he had condemned the Númenórean Lord. Finally bestowing the ring, Sauron bid farewell, saying ‘May your kingdom prosper for years to come; and may the gift aid you in your great endeavors.’

As he traveled away from Azûl-Zimra, Sauron wore the Ruling Ring; the moment that Ar-Imrazôr first slipped on the Ring of Power, Sauron felt it and laughed. For though the Númenóreans were great among Men, their power paled compared to the High Elves; and Ar-Imrazôr did not yet know Sauron or his treachery.

In the years following, Azûl-Zimra grew in stature and renown, as Sauron had foretold; the city grew great in power and wealth, and it was known throughout the western shores of Middle-earth; and some came to call it Azûl-Númenor, meaning “Númenor of the East” in the Númenórean tongue; for it had begun act in the same way. And the Men of Middle-earth, who had grown in its light and knowledge, called Ar-Imrazôr a god-king, for his power in sorcery grew and oft he would walk the earth unseen by all except the eye of Sauron; for he was a powerful ring-lord, and learned to use it to great gain; and he reigned in majesty for 500 years.

However, as the years passed, Ar-Imrazôr ceased to age, though his descendants retained the gift of Ilúvatar. “Great the power of this ring is, that it should defer the mortal Man’s curse!” he thought; for though he dwelled in the east, his Númenórean heart still longed westward. And though he praised the ring, he had begun to suspect, within his heart, its treachery; for the gift of Ilúvatar was not a matter to be trifled with. But he ignored these warnings, for the fear of death gripped him so and the ring had a powerful influence.

In his latter days, Ar-Imrazôr began to become weary; his life appeared unending, and yet it had become unbearable to him. Despite this, he clung all the more strongly to it. Although he had not aged, his physical strength had begun to fail, and frail he had become. And he continued to use the ring, as his body and mind wore away. In the midst of this, his city slowly came into ruin in parallel; and the Men of the western shores fell out of the light. Unconcerned the Númenóreans remained, as they assumed it was the folly of the eastern Men that the city should fall; and their eyes laid westward.

As his body failed, Ar-Imrazôr began to have dark visions when he slipped into the world beyond the eyes of Men; for he witnessed the horrors of Morgoth’s making as phantoms, as they were devised under the will of Sauron. Though great his fear was, the king was able to resist these phantoms more than any Man before him, for he was the last to fall; and the eye of Sauron witnessed this, and he called the Nazgûl before him, commanding them, “go forth to Azûl-Zimra upon the western shores. There you will find a king, who shall be the mark of your fear. He holds the final ring; imminent is his fall.”

“Thy will be done,” they snarled with fell voices and venomous breath, and rode off into the night.

As they arrived, Ar-Imrazôr bore witness to them in the realm of shadow; for they were unseen to the world of Men, but could be seen with use of the ring. With them came a great fear, such that the Men of Azûl-Zimra knew that evil was among them without sight to understand. But their fear targeted Ar-Imrazôr, and drove him into the thraldom of the ring as he witnessed them with his eyes. Their faces were ghastly white with a merciless, piercing glare and dead, glittering eyes; their gray hair held crowns not unlike his own; and their haggard hands carried swords of shining steel. His fear was all the greater when he witnessed them; yet, he felt all the more compelled to wear the ring when he could feel their presence, with resistance becoming nigh unbearable; he began to find himself wearing it, unaware that he had even slipped it on. Stripped of his kingship in the ruined city, Imrazôr could feel them command him with voices like death; for he was their prey, but their hunt was also sport.

Although they had departed together, they arrived not at once, but each in his time, so the tortuous burden would become greater. The weakest was first to arrive, and the strongest, called Khamûl, was last. All the Men had fled, for their fear was intolerable; even the Númenóreans felt to avoid those regions, though they knew not why. In rare moments of slumber, the dark designs of Sauron afflicted Imrazôr’s nightmares; in prophetic visions, he saw himself as one of these plaguing phantoms, though he knew not that this was his fate.

During these finals days, the Nazgûl tormented Imrazôr as his will breathed its final breath; whispered horrors and screams like death afflicted every waking moment; they ran at him with and struck him with phantom blades; for Sauron had commanded that no physical blows were to come to slay or diminish him. Dominated by his will, they obeyed.

After an anguishing period of time, the length of which he could not tell, the once-great Imrazôr’s will broke and his strength failed him. He slipped the ring onto his finger, and finally faded into the shadow realm amidst the ruins of his kingdom. And Sauron laughed at the merciless fate of Imrazôr.

The instant he fell, Imrazôr’s will was dominated by Sauron, and he returned with the other Nazgûl to Sauron in the dark land of Mordor. Sauron cast off the guise of Annatar, and revealed himself to Imrazôr; and Imrazôr knew him and what he had done, though he had no thoughts to fight against it. Taking back his accursed gift, Sauron held the ring of Imrazôr such that he would wield and command him.

There Imrazôr, as he was once known, swore a dark oath in the Black Speech, and even the dark land quaked before the evil that was uttered there:

I, Imrazôr of Númenor, choose freely to swear this oath. I give myself and my will to the Dark Lord Sauron, that he shall command my will in all things, and I shall obey. Should I keep it not, I call the Everlasting Darkness upon me. I swear this oath by the cursed name of Ilúvatar and by the dark power of Morgoth.

Upon hearing this, Sauron was pleased, and delighted in his own evil. ‘And I crown you Lord of the Nazgûl,’ he proclaimed, ‘for your fall was the greatest of the Nine, and your power is supreme among them. And you shall serve me, as I served Morgoth, and none shall be greater save I.’ Upon his head Sauron placed a dark crown, and in his haggard hands a Morgul-knife and a long sword. As he stood, he found himself greater than his former tormentors in height; and he wielded the greatest fear among them, his evil only surpassed by Sauron himself.

Then Sauron commanded him to find those who knew of Azûl-Zimra, and to slay them; for the eye of Sauron saw far, and though it had been forgotten among the Númenóreans, there were Men of the east who still told tales of the fall city. Obeying his master, the Lord of the Nazgûl found and slayed them; and a great fear followed him, and many became aware of his evil presence.

When the final memory was extinguished, the Lord of the Nazgûl shuddered; for the great deeds of Imrazôr were purged from the history, and all that remained was the evil of the servant of Sauron. He had fallen.

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And so concludes the tales of the Fall of the Nine.

-CVB