LOTR, Hope, and the Theory of Courage

[Ophelia]

Thanks Axordil - for a moment I did think I was drowning!

Eärendil is doomed to keep sailing across the sky until the end of Arda, though, isn't he, and never to see his sons again? I suppose Frodo's fate is slightly more merciful than that.

[Padme]

I think that Frodo being taken west was his release from his previous life. He had given up too much of himself, death did not come (as it often doesn't) and he was too spent to go forward. There is a line in Sophie's Choice that illustrates this in a way, where Sophie is says that others may think her life is a blessing and how she should be happy to have survived the concentration camps, but a real blessing to her would be death because she would be free of the pain. This is true of Frodo, and it is clear that he is in need of the release. He has been tempered and tested, far more than Sam, and can't just pick up and live the life he had before. This often happens in real life with people. Tolkien probably saw this first hand with his war experiences, and knew that hero's often don't want to be hero's and have a hard time dealing with the emotional and physiological pain that war/trauma causes.

I see it in the WWII vets, PSTD was not too much talked about after that war, but most of the WWII vets I know suffer from big PSTD, even though they are heroes. My ex-fil was stationed at Pearl Harbor, and fought in the battle of Mid-way, ended up with two purple hearts, and many other medals, he saved his CO and others. The man was in pain for the rest of his life and ended up committing suicide after his wife died.

I think the Elves ect., knew that if Frodo stayed in ME it would be too much pain for him to bear and instead of waiting for the release of death he was taken west. I think Sam could have suffered some of this but he did have a life waiting for him, but if I remember correctly even at the end of his life the pain started to bear down on him. And I also think, as I said before, Tolkien knew this first hand.

[Ophelia]

Wise and true words, Padme.

It's even a little like what happens to Padme herself, isn't it? (Or perhaps she's a little closer to Míriel).

I don't think Sam sails because the pain of his experiences is bearing down upon him, because he has carried on robustly for about sixty years. But I think once he is aged and the joys of life are no longer new, he does perhaps begin to understand by experience the weariness Frodo felt so prematurely, accompanied by the wish to see him again.

I don't know what a fil or an ex-fil is and feel a bit ignorant asking ...

[WampusCat]

I'm pretty sure it's father-in-law and ex-father-in-law. And there's no harm in asking. That's what kills ignorance!

[Athrabeth]

Eärendil is doomed to keep sailing across the sky until the end of Arda, though, isn't he, and never to see his sons again? I suppose Frodo's fate is slightly more merciful than that.

Ah, but Eärendil had Elwing, and although they were apart while he was "voyaging", they were never really sundered:

"And at times, when Eärendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him..... Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven."



And welcome to The Hall of Fire, Ophelia!

Pearly Di, in another thead wrote:

But so many things in Tolkien haunt me. They really haunt me.

Possibly, Frodo sailing West haunts me most of all

Haunting is such an apt description of those final passages. If Frodo had died on (or after) Mt. Doom, I am quite sure that I wouldn't have started reading the story again so soon after closing the book for the first time. But that ending.....it did haunt me. Even as a naive sixteen-year old, it made me know (or perhaps more aptly, feel) that this was a story about much, much more than the struggle between good and evil. I wanted to understand, at a far deeper personal level, a story that could have such an ending.

I'm still working on it.

I've been thinking recently of how different the endings are for Sam and Frodo compared to those for Arwen and Aragorn. In a way, the choice to leave, or at least the choice of how to leave, is given to both Frodo and Aragorn. I'd venture that Frodo , if gifted with the same ability to willfully give up his mortal life, would have gratefully embraced the opportunity. But doing so would be, I think, impossible without being in a state of estel, and this is what Frodo cannot attain within Middle-earth. He is Bronwe athan Harthad , "Endurance Beyond Hope": on one level that name obviously applies to his remarkable and unique ability to carry the Ring to the brink of its destruction, but I think it can also be interpreted as a subtle reference to what I believe must be Frodo's deepest wound - to have spent his hope, utterly and (seemingly) irretrievably, and then to endure without it, without this essential part of himself. After a lot of reflection, this is why I think I've always felt unsettled and muddled about "post Mordor" Frodo. He is, as Ax put it so well, an "emblem of grace", illuminated, wise, far-seeing..... but without hope -real hope - for himself, his healing, his redemption. For so long, I just couldn't get a grip on this feeling of emptiness that hovers about Frodo's character with increasing intensity as the story approaches its closing - he has truly lost this most precious of gifts, "the hope that sustains", and he carries this little death inside himself as surely as he embodies the light of Eru's grace. How can one be "enlightened" - one of "the Wise" - and yet know no peace, have no hope? He's not what one expects, this Frodo. There are depths here that still fascinate me, and probably always will.

This is why, I think, that it is so profoundly moving when Tolkien lifts the veil between the reader and Frodo that was so carefully put in place at Cirith Ungol. Suddenly, like the rain-curtain itself dissolving, we see clearly again through his eyes, and it is a vision, unexplained and yet unmistakable, of hope and renewal. It is a lovely gift, really, that Tolkien gives us, this fleeting glimpse of tangible holiness that is revealed to Frodo, because we still can’t read his heart. Strangely enough, what he might be feeling at this last moment he is with us becomes almost irrelevant – it is the image he sees (and we see through him) that stays with us, beautiful and mysterious and powerfully compelling - the white shores of a far green country under a swift sunrise. It wasn’t always so, but now, for me, it is enough to know that it awaits him.


And then we return to Sam; dear Sam, who has not seen what we have seen, and does not know what we now know, standing by the shore with such unwavering faithfulness to his friend and master that he won’t turn his eyes away from him until he’s claimed by the West.

What different stories, brief and yet brimming with meaning, Tolkien gives to Arwen and Sam after they are left behind. “And the light of her eyes was quenched, and it seemed to her people that she had become cold and grey as nightfall in winter that comes without a star.” There’s a darkness to Arwen’s end that is attributable to more than just the vague manner in which it is related to us. I see no hope revealed or regained on Cerin Amroth. All I know is that Arwen dies, and she dies alone, and while I think Tolkien wants us to feel the truth in Aragorn’s final words and find some hope that Arwen will do the same, he also wants us to feel the truth in Arwen’s utter desolation and to wonder what is really in her heart as she walks alone in Lórien for the last time. Thinking about it now, it seems to me that the characters of Arwen and Frodo actually share a similar thread woven into their fates – to lose hope, and yet endure……and neither can do so for long.

But Sam, Harthad Uluithia, “Hope Unquenchable”, allows the sigh and murmer of the waters of Middle-earth to enter his heart, and trusts in the truth of that ancient and eternal Music. His return to Rose and Elanor is so understandable and “right”, so ordinary – it’s the perfect counterbalance to the deep, shadowy mysteries of Death and Immortality.

Death and Immortality……I know that Tolkien said that this was the foundational theme of LOTR, but how interesting that in the end, we are with two hobbits, one seeking healing and the renewal of hope, and the other finding healing and the reaffirmation of hope.

[axordil]

one seeking healing and the renewal of hope, and the other finding healing and the reaffirmation of hope.

Very well put. This sundering of the ways--at least temporarily--illustrates nicely how Tolkien handles the tension between the working out of "fate" at a personal level and at a larger level. Sam is not set apart as Frodo is, certainly not by himself, and so can go home again--at least for a little while, a lifetime of men.

The discussion of endurance without hope calls to mind Túrin and Húrin again for me. One thing that the personifications of evil do repeatedly is to try to force their victims to abandon hope, to give in, to become dis-spirited. Compare Túrin and Frodo at their respective nadirs: Túrin dies and Frodo doesn't. Why? Well, Sam of course, but there is no "of course" about it. Túrin dies alone both by choice and as the culmination of a life lived alone, even when surrounded by others. All he really ever had, one can argue, is his own sense of self, and it's not enough to carry him through.

Frodo, in contrast, survives his annihilation of the self because he had both a strong sense of self AND of the value of the community he lives in, even if he wasn't quite a normal part of it. Sam is in a way a stand-in for the things Frodo is struggling to save, as well as his friend. He can't remember the Shire at the end, but he can see Sam, and Sam in a way IS the Shire, or everything that's worthwhile about it at least.

[MaidenOfTheShieldarm]

Driveby post because I should be studying for my bio exam, but I'm really looking forward to a good read of the new posts.

[Compare Túrin and Frodo at their respective nadirs: Túrin dies and Frodo doesn't. Why? Well, Sam of course, but there is no "of course" about it. Túrin dies alone both by choice and as the culmination of a life lived alone, even when surrounded by others. All he really ever had, one can argue, is his own sense of self, and it's not enough to carry him through.

Perhaps we're coming at the the same point from different angles, but I would say it's almost the opposite. Frodo's sense of self is what he must sacrifice in order to get through, while Túrin's sense of self is in some ways so strong that it ultimately destroys him. Túrin is alone because he doesn't need anyone else enough -- he ends up slaying both Beleg (directly) and Nienor (indirectly). Frodo loves others even if he can't remember them, while Túrin has only himself.

[Teremia]

I'm enjoying this discussion very much! It's a bit like a gathering around a lovely old fireplace. Don't mind me -- I'll just sit here and smile in a wistful, cozy way from time to time....

[Voronwë the Faithful]

Any conversation about the Theory of Courage has to include a discussion of little Bilbo Baggins. The brilliance of The Hobbit (are you reading this, Sassy) is that hidden underneath its trappings as a children's fairy tale is a mighty story of the contrast between the ancient and modern worlds. One thing that I really took away from reading The History of the Hobbit was just how much influence the early literature of the ancient North had on the writing of The Hobbit (not to mention how much more Tolkien borrowed from his own mythology in the original drafts than I ever realized, but that is another story). And strongly embedded in that ancient tradition - in Beowulf, the Elder Edda and similar old poems - is a celebration of a kind of fearless (and ferocious) heroism. We see that reflected in many of the characters of The Hobbit: the Dwarves on several occasions, even Gandalf when he is treed by the wargs seeks to kill as many of his enemies as possible before he is killed, and most representative of this archetype is Beorn.

And brought into this fierce world is soft, timid little Bilbo, with his modern mannerism appearing more than a little ridiculous to Thorin and the Dwarves. But Bilbo's courage is buried deep inside of him, and awakens when he is alone in the dark, first when he escapes from Gollum and spares his life out of pity, taking a "leap in the dark" rather than stabbing his defenceless enemy. It then solidifies when he faces the spider and kills it 'all alone by himself in the dark without the help of the wizard or the dwarves or of anyone else." Finally, it reaches a peak when he is creeping down the tunnel and hears Smaug snoring down ahead of him:

Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterwards were nothing compared to it. he fought the real battle in that tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait.

At this point, Bilbo's courage is fully wakened. What he possessed (and what Frodo possessed after him) was what Shippey called "moral courage". It was what allowed him to dare to take the Arkenstone and deliver it to Thorin's adversaries in order to try to break the deadlock between them.

As Shippey points out, that scene is a classic example of the clash between the ancient and the modern, with the proud, archaic speeches of Bard and Thorin coming straight out of Icelandic saga, contrasted with Bilbo's modernistic response, with his emphasis on the fact that his claim was a share of 'profits' and his attempts to find a compromise solution.

But what is really brilliant in all this is that Tolkien succeeds in elevating both forms of courage: the heroic, fearless sacrifice of Thorin (and Kili and Fili) is no less celebrated than Bilbo's 'moral courage' Both have their place. This concept is picked up and magnified in LOTR, where the heroic courage of Aragorn (and others) is balanced against the moral courage of Frodo, Bilbo's well chosen heir.

[Primula Baggins]

Moral courage is why I have always loved the hobbits best. And moral courage is what most people in their ordinary lives have to summon up. We don't get to fight monsters and win great treasures in battle. Instead, far too often, we have to make ourselves walk down a dark tunnel toward a dreadful unknown—because there is simply nothing else to be done.

[solicitr]

I think what Bilbo demonstrates is just an aspect of physical courage (knowingly putting one's self at risk of bodily harm or death). I wouldn't define moral courage that way

[Alatar]

I would disagree. Brokering the peace by using the Arkenstone at the risk of being seen a traitor, and yet returning to them, showed the very essence of Moral Courage.

[solicitr]

I would disagree. Brokering the peace by using the Arkenstone at the risk of being seen a traitor, and yet returning to them, showed the very essence of Moral Courage.

Now THERE you're absolutely right. I was responding (I thought) to Bilbo's going on down the tunnel to Smaug's lair.

[Primula Baggins]

Maybe what I'm thinking of for the hobbits would better be described as "mundane courage"—to just put one foot in front of the other because it's what you must do, because it's right, even if you have no real hope of winning through. Frodo embodies that, and so does Sam. And so does Bilbo, in that passageway. And, as I said, that's the kind of courage most people have to call on sooner or later. Yet not a lot of literature celebrates it as Tolkien does.