These are a few Lord of the Rings reflections. This will probably only interest a couple of you, if that, and was written with Chris Whitler in mind mostly, and will probably only interest him. It was also to jot my thoughts down after just finishing The Lord of the Rings again (2nd time - the first was in 8th grade). If you have not read the trilogy, DO NOT READ THIS.
There is the constant feeling that along with the Hobbits, you're merely tapping into deep, deep history - an old, old world that has seen, heard, and felt many things over countless years. You especially feel the weight of it, for example, when Gandalf (whose time on Middle-Earth was just the Third Age) introduces Theoden (the kind, old King of Rohan) to Treebeard, the aged Talking Tree: "You are about to meet the oldest living thing that still walks." (Two Towers, p. 72). Elrond is another link to the ancient past; the son of Earendil, the elf who sails over the earth in his ship with a silmaril on his brow... his father, by the power of the Valar in the West, became a star!! His brother Elros founded Numenor, the great kingdom of men, and Elrond lived in a time after Morgoth was overthrown but before Sauron forged the One Ring. The list goes on: Galadriel, who crossed over the sea from Valinor with her kinsmen the Noldor in the First Age; and Tom Bombadil, a walking fairy tale whose essence can be anything from an ancient elf, perhaps of the first created in Middle-Earth, by name one of the Moriquendi who never crossed into Valinor, to maybe a lesser Power - a Maia bound to the Earth, who isolated himself but held on to his powers, and whose tale, no doubt long, so long, could only be wildly guessed.
A very stirring element of Middle-Earth, that runs deeper than just the symbolism of white vs. black: the absolute significance of light, as opposed to dark: Shown very clearly in The Silmarillion, light is a key aspect of Good in Tolkien's writings. Like mosquitoes in a bog, evil thrives off of dark, where its works go felt but unseen. And so Evil cowers from light out of fear that its acts are indeed seen, for the light reveals the world, inherently good and alive, opening up around them, surrounded by endless eyes. But Good basks in light, is not hurt by it but is encouraged, is enlivened by it and loves it. Light is a weapon: Gandalf uses light from his staff to reject the Nazgul in front of the walls of Minas Tirith, to put fear into the hearts of the siege-company of Helm's Deep, and Frodo and Sam discover the life-saving attributes of the Light of Galadriel, a treasure whose ancient source is the aforementioned Star of Earendil, that battled against Shelob the spider, descendant of Ungoliant, partner of Morgoth in the molesting of the Trees of Valinor - the lights of the world whose glories would only be later hinted at by the creation of the Sun and Moon.
Theoden again provides us a great example as he leads the Rohirrim to the help of Gondor: "Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Orome the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and the darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City." (RK, 138).
The third thing that stood out to me was the love for leaders which birthed obedience, courage, and self-sacrifice. The band of Dunedain, Legolas and Gimli, and Eomer all said they loved Aragorn, their King.
Sam loved Frodo, and this is why:
"Where are you going, Master?" cried Sam, though at last he understood what was happening.
"To the Havens, Sam," said Frodo.
"And I can't come,"
"No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-hearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do."
"But," said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, "I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done."
"So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them...
"You will be the Mayor, of course, as long as you want to be, and the most famous gardener in history; and you will read things out of the Red Book, and keep alive the memory of the age that is gone, so that people will remember the Great Danger and so love their beloved land all the more. And that will keep you as busy and as happy as anyone can be, as long as your part of the Story goes on."
If you've made it this far, you're a trooper. Thanks for reading.
