A Dark Ending

Like most second parts in a trilogy, The Two Towers tells a dark story.  Helm's Deep is a squeaker of a victory.  Many lives were lost in the defense of Helm's Deep, and defeating Saruman gets them little closer to Sauron.  The only thing they really gain is the palintir, which so far has caused only trouble.

On the other side of the Anduin, Frodo and Sam find in Gollum a guide to Mordor whom they know they cannot fully trust.  We meet Faramir, who fights what he considers a hopeless war.  The book ends with Gollum finally betraying Frodo and Sam in the darkest of places.

The final chapter of this book is called "The Choices of Master Samwise".  Assuming Frodo is dead, Sam realizes the duty falls to him to take the Ring to Mount Doom.  He takes the Ring and starts to leave Frodo behind.  But then he hears orcs come to take Frodo's body, and Sam cannot help but return to Frodo.

Realizing there are too many orcs to fight, Sam listens.  Frodo is not dead, as Sam had thought.  Shelob's poison merely knocked him out.  The orcs take Frodo's body, and Sam secretly follows behind.   Finally the orcs leave the tunnel and go into a tower, the door of which shuts behind them before Sam can get in.  The chapter ends like this:

The gate was shut. Sam hurled himself against the bolted brazen

plates and fell senseless to the ground. He was out in the darkness.

Frodo was alive but taken by the Enemy.

Frodo has been captured.  Sam has the Ring but has given up the Quest to find Frodo, and then he ran into a door so hard he knocked himself out.  Eat your heart out, Empire Strikes Back.

Uncertainty over Frodo's fate will hang over the first half of our next book.  Though the other characters will do what they can against Sauron, Frodo is the key to victory.  Truly, all they can do is hope.

We're living through dark times.  Women's rights are being subverted by the 'rights' of fetuses.  The Executive Branch is refusing to comply with the Legislative Branch's attempts at oversight.  Climate Change is coming - or maybe it's already here.  It's hard to keep track of it all and also hard to keep it from feeling personal.

A good thing to recall is that we are not the Frodo of this story.  Not everything depends on us.  We can worry and provide support but we don't have to surrender our whole life to the cause.  We can also have our own lives.  We should do what we can, but we should also find time to enjoy life.

We may be in darkness now.  We may be living through an extended period of political and humanitarian darkness.  Such may be our fate.  Here's a quote from much earlier in our text - Chapter 2 of Fellowship:

“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. "So do I," said Gandalf,

"and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide.

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” 

It may be our doom to endure this darkness, but let's look at it this way: The burden is ours. If we can overcome it, future generations will be spared.   Not that a martyr complex is good - such a view of self-sacrifice can cause one to be ready to give up everything.  But if we are willing to live hard lives, if we are able to find sustaining pleasures in those lives, we may have the grit to give those who come after us better lives.  And maybe they will remember our sacrifices, maybe they won't.

I feel as if I am stumbling again over the same theme that caused me difficulty a few weeks back.  The issue boils down to "What are the ethics of hopelessness."  One cannot counsel hope.  Recommending that one pretends everything is fine is also impractical.  But dwelling on one's hopelessness is also a bad recommendation - it saps one of all motivation.  What do we do with such a dangerous state of mind?

A reorientation is in order.  For the next book, in addition to finding a theme or lesson in each chapter, I will also excerpt a passage related to hopelessness to see what the text says.  Maybe the Creative Wizard has left us clues that way.  Maybe not.  We'll see - I really don't know what I'll find.  The future is uncertain.

And that's where we'll end.  The future may not be hopeful, but it is uncertain.  We should remain vigilant and look for new opportunities as the situation changes.  Whether large opportunities like victory at the supreme court and at the border, or smaller opportunities like providing a safe space for someone when they are overwhelmed, we should act when we can.  We're in dark times now, but unlike our text, this is not the end for us.

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To Guide or to Ensnare

This week we read "Shelob's Lair."  Gollum's plot comes to fruition as he brings Sam and Frodo to the lair of Shelob, an ancient evil in the form of a spider.  Though Shelob lives on the border of Mordor, she is not a creature of Sauron.  The text says, "How Shelob came there, flying from ruin, no tale tells, for out of the Dark Years few tales have come. But still she was there, who was there before Sauron, and before the first stone of Barad-dûr; and 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."  Shelob evokes the dark side of the Elder days for which the Elves are so nostalgic.  Not all had been well.

That the text tells us Shelob vomits darkness is curious, to say the least.  How can darkness be vomited?  What is the difference between darkness vomited by an ancient evil and, you know, regular darkness.  Well, as luck may have it, the text tells us.  When Sam and Frodo enter her lair...

In a few steps they were in utter and impenetrable dark. Not since

the lightless passages of Moria had Frodo or Sam known such

darkness, and if possible here it was deeper and denser.

There, there were airs moving, and echoes, and a sense of space.

Here the air was still, stagnant, heavy, and sound fell dead.

This darkness is more intense. Moria was created for whole clans of Dwarves to live and work in. Shelob's lair was created for her alone. It is unwelcoming and it's selfishness fills the space. Perhaps that is why she and Gollum get along so well. The text flashes back to some old muttering of Gollum after he had come up with his plan: "O yes, it may well be that when She throws away the bones and the empty garments, we shall find it, we shall get it, the Precious, a reward for poor Sméagol who brings nice food." They both have selfish reasons for wanting Sam and Frodo dead. Shelob vomits darkness precisely because she wants her lair to be uninviting. She's only concerned with her own sustenance.

This leads us to another distinction between the darkness of Shelob's lair and the darkness of Moria.  In Moria, they had guides, both Gandalf and Gimli.  Gandalf, by far the wisest of all the Fellowship, had brought them into Moria with the intention to get them out.  Gimli, meanwhile, is able to act like tour guide.  Gandalf will see them through Moria and Gimli will ensure their stay is informed.

But in Shelob's lair, the only other two are Gollum and Shelob, herself.  Gollum brought them into her lair, but with the intention of trapping them.  Shelob, meanwhile, will use her knowledge of the space to ensnare, not inform.

In our world, there is a lot of darkness.  But I think the one best compared to underground caves is the self.  There are many parts of ourselves we are unfamiliar with, or that we keep hidden.  When we explore them, we must be prepared - otherwise, we will be overwhelmed.

Exploring ourselves with a therapists is like entering Moria.  The purpose is to go in and then out, and notice things along the way.  Then you take what knowledge you found and apply it to the rest of your life.

But there are ways to enter yourself like it's Shelob's lair, a place meant to entrap you.  Instead of a wizardlike therapist, you'd have a gollumlike trickster.  They will lead you down into yourself and use your tendencies and habits against you to get what they want, without considering the cost to you.

"Know thyself" is a very old adage, and one I think is very good (Though here is an opposing opinion I came across).  You should know your strengths and your preferences and seek out a life that complements those.  You should also know your weaknesses and what you dislike, and attempt to minimize their intrusion into your life, or at least learn coping mechanisms for them.  There's more to oneself than likes/dislikes and strengths/weaknesses, but let's leave it there for now.

Knowing yourself is a way to defend yourself from becoming trapped in your own Shelob's lair.  It allows you to see the patterns in your behavior, and will help you break those patterns when someone is using them against you.  Had Gollum led Sam and Frodo into Moria, they would not have been ensnared so easily.

I play a board game called Diplomacy pretty competitively.  The game calls for strategic thinking.  However, I sometimes get distracted by interesting ideas that, long-term, are not actually good.  This would get used against me in games - people would point out interesting ideas and let my excitement do the rest in pulling me off course.  Over the years, with effort, I've learned to curtail that tendency.  On particular occasions, I can even feign excitement so they think they got m" but really I maintain the upper hand.  In this way I have taken what had been a Shelob's lair for me and turned it into a Moria - a place I am quite familiar with.

I recently heard a Buddhist teaching that one should increase the space between a stimulus and your reaction.  There's nothing wrong with getting mad at someone, but if you can feel mad, stew it over in your mind for even a few seconds, and then express your anger, you're far more in control than if you respond immediately.  An immediate response is more likely to lead you into Shelob's lair.  If someone knows you are easily provoked, your anger can be used against you.  But if you can maintain control, you will not be so easily ensnared.

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Holding to a Purpose

When does worry turn to pessimism turn to despair?  There's so much in the world to fret over, it is essentially never-ending.  Not matter who you are, you will struggle regularly in life.  Whether you're poor and struggle to find your next meal, or you're not-as-poor and live paycheck to paycheck from a job you don't like for that meal, or you're wealthy and thought money would bring you peace but you still feel restless and unfulfilled.  Whether you're in a collapsing relationship, a collapsing house, or on a collapsing planet, there's plenty to be anxious about.  What does our text say about this?

This week we have another double portion -  "Journey to the crossroads" and "The Stairs of Cirith Ungol."  Frodo and Sam and Gollum leave Faramir's rangers and enter Mordor.  The darkest part of their journey begins, and there's little hope of success.  Frodo worries they've delayed too long and that while they may complete the Quest the others from their fellowship may already be dead.  What good is victory then?

Amidst this gloomy atmosphere, we get an interesting scene of hope.  The text says:

The Sun was sinking, finding at last the hem of the great slow-rolling pall of cloud, and falling in an ominous fire towards the yet unsullied Sea. The brief glow fell upon a huge sitting figure, still and solemn as the great stone kings of Argonath. The years had gnawed it, and violent hands had maimed it. Its head was gone, and in its place was set in mockery a round rough-hewn stone, rudely painted by savage hands in the likeness of a grinning face with one large red eye in the midst of
its forehead. Upon its knees and mighty chair, and all about the pedestal, were idle scrawls mixed with the foul symbols
that the maggot-folk of Mordor used.

Suddenly, caught by the level beams, Frodo saw the old king's head: it was lying rolled away by the
roadside. `Look, Sam!' he cried, startled into speech. `Look! The king has got a crown again!'

The eyes were hollow and the carven beard was broken, but about the high stern forehead there was a coronal of
silver and gold. A trailing plant with flowers like small white stars had bound itself across the brows as if in reverence
for the fallen king, and in the crevices of his stony hair yellow stonecrop gleamed.

'They cannot conquer for ever!' said Frodo. And then suddenly the brief glimpse was gone. The Sun dipped
and vanished, and as if at the shuttering of a lamp, black night fell.

Though I usually try to avoid referencing the movies, in typical "A picture is worth a thousand words" fashion, here's how they showed this moment in the movies.

'They cannot conquer for ever' Frodo says.  This is comforting in an abstract, kind of martyrdom way.  Frodo, who was regarded his mission as suicidal since the Fellowship dissolved, finds relief in it.  His Quest may fail, or it may be futile  for those he knows, but good will eventually win out.

But this advice isn't very useful to us.  Children died during World War I, and while the Central Powers were defeated, what comfort is that for them or their family?  The Korean War has allowed South Korea to be a successful society in stark opposition to the North's fate.  But what about for those Koreans, Chinese, Americans and even far-flung Australians who died?  What do they get?

Life can stink.  I hope it doesn't for you.  But parts of it may well.  People's fears and dangers are rooted in all sorts of things - politics, society, money, identity, sports, whatever.  And sure, "they cannot conquer forever", but if you didn't live to see the Red Sox finally win the World Series in 2004, you likely went to your grave cursing Bill Buckner.  We don't need to be conquered forever - we only need to be conquered during our lifetime.  And sometimes we are.

Climate change is coming, but our demise is not the end.  The Earth will endure, as it has before we turned up.  But that's a nihilistic point of view - to say things are bigger than ourselves and therefore we shouldn't really care because "they", whoever they are, cannot conquer forever.  That cannot be a healthy point of view.  It allows one to endure all sorts of suffering with little chance of seeing a turn of fortune.  Ultimately, it's misplaced faith.  

So what should we have faith in?  Our small selves?  Our impersonal institutions?  Those we love, who are also small?  The ideals we reach toward, which are also impersonal?  It's difficult to say.  It is possible for all those things to fail.

Recall that Frodo had despaired that everyone he knew might already be dead.  When this thought hits him he collapses in tears.  But then:

Frodo raised his head, and then stood up. Despair had not left him, but the weakness had passed.

He even smiled grimly, feeling now as clearly as a moment before he had felt the opposite,

that what he had to do, he had to do, if he could, and that whether Faramir or Aragorn or Elrond

or Galadriel or Gandalf or anyone else ever knew about it was beside the purpose...

This is not the first time we have seen Frodo turn despair into resolve, but that is a difficult lesson to apply to our lives.  Hopefully we do not, amidst our difficulties, find ourselves truly despairing.  But the key phrase here I want to hone in on is "Despair had not left him."  Frodo manages to focus on what must be done to alleviate his despair, rather than focusing on the despair itself.  He does not let the despair control him.  If you ever find yourself in a desperate situation, I hope you will do the same.  "If you're going through hell, keep going."

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When To Doubt

This week we read "The Forbidden Pool," which takes place in the middle of the night.  Frodo is roused by Faramir, who tells him to come with him to see something. Sam,"waking suddenly by some instinct of watchfulness," follows them both.  They go to the edge of the hideout and Faramir points out a creature in the pool underneath - it is Gollum!

Faramir asks Frodo what he should do.  Gollum has found their secret hideout.  He can lead all sorts of enemies to it.  He must die before that.  What should Faramir do?

Frodo did not answer for a moment. Then `No! ' he said. `No! I beg you

not to.' If Sam had dared, he would have said `Yes,' quicker and louder. He could not

see, but he guessed well enough from their words what they were looking at.

Hesitation is usually seen as a weakness.  Decisive action is more praiseworthy.  Hesitation reveals doubt and can be seen as a lack of conviction.  Sometimes it is.  If you hear someone use an offensive slur and need 24 hours before you call it out people will wonder why you didn't call it out immediately.  On the other hand, if you are told someone's boss was abusively criticizing them during a meeting but when you accuse the boss they can prove they weren't working that day, you will be criticized for acting too swiftly.

Hesitation is the result of doubt.  Doubt is when we are unsure.  It will surprise few of you to learn I am a proponent of doubt - I would prefer to hesitate when I should have acted than acted when I should have hesitated.  In the examples above, it is possible to explain why one hesitates even when the wrong is obvious.  False accusations are much more difficult to take back.

But doubt is more than being unsure.  Doubt reflects a larger thought process.  Let's get back to the text.

Why is Sam so eager to let Gollum die?  Because he is looking out for Frodo, and Sam thinks Gollum is a danger to him.  Sam wants to protect his friend and master (Though usually portrayed as very good friends, and they are, ultimate Sam's relationship to Frodo is better explained as a loyal servant than a close friend).

Frodo knows the danger Gollum poses.  But Frodo also has the Quest in mind.  Gollum is their only hope of getting inside Mordor.  No matter the danger to himself, if Gollum dies the Quest will fail.  And Sauron is much more dangerous than Gollum.

Frodo hesitates to consider his options.  But when he answers he answers firmly.  He says no twice, then says "I beg you not to."  Frodo hesitates in his thought, but his action is decisive nonetheless.  His waffling is internal, only.

And yet we shouldn't look too harshly on Sam.  The Creative Wizard tells us he would have spoken only "If Sam had dared...".  But he did not.  What stopped him?  Sam knows Frodo is thorough and that Frodo has the Quest on his mind.  Here, Sam also showcases a larger thought process.  Though he has a preference, he puts his loyalty to Frodo first.

I am putting together next year's youth board for the synagogue I work at.  All the teens who are interested need to fill out an application.  This application asks, among other things, what role they tend to take on in group situations.  Because they are applying to be community leaders, nearly all of them said they are leaders in groups.  This presents a problem.  Have you ever been in a place where everyone thinks they are the smartest in the room?  That many egos in one place can get messy.  And teen egos can be much harder to rein in.

The teens, in order to be a successful leadership board, will each need to learn hesitation.  They'll need to learn doubt and patience.  They will need to learn how to widen their thinking and how to shrink their own presence in order to let others have space to shine.  Collaboration demands space for coexistence.  When people have different ideas, doubt is the foundation of the solution - surety will only inflame it.

Frodo showed doubt at the right moment.  He had the opportunity to have Gollum killed, and yet he knew that ultimately betrayed his own goal.  Sam had the opportunity to speak up, but that would have betrayed his loyalty to Frodo - even if his goal was to protect him.  And let's not forget Faramir, who is guarding his secret hideout, and could have killed Gollum without a word to the hobbits.  But something stops him.  We never know what.  But isn't that always the way?  Who can really tell what doubt is - what it feels like in our gut.  But we know it when we feel it, and we would always do well to examine it.

The Lord of the Rings: An Ethical Guide is a Patreon-supported project. Thank you to all those who have contributed.

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