Tolkien: the Speechless Philologist

Thinking back to Thurdsay's class, I can't help but be delightfully overwhelmed at the depth of truth found in the pages of Middle Earth. Every time I return there, I discover a new treasure that I had passed by before. One that I found (or that Dr. Mitchell helped us see) keeps echoing throughout my mind...

Some things must be said in myth because they now can be said no other way. We've lost our capacity to hear. We're separated by a gap, living in the shadows...

Rarely have I before viewed mythology as depiction of reality. I have always been drawn to it, believing that it may depict portions of truth through fantasy, but have not considered it to be necessary. I believed the myths were in addition to the truth, not supportive of it. Now I realize that I live in a blind, deaf world where we are stumbling around in the shadows, separated from the light. There are no absolutes, no morals; we have faith in nothing and are incapable of love. J.R.R. Tolkien crafted Middle Earth as a world that may draw us back. After the creatures of the shadows have wounded us, we may still be healed if we are found by the hand of the Healer-King...

Tolkien was not only an incredible scholar of languages, but a creator of them. As a philologist, he understood not only the structure, but the power of words. Some of the most beautiful passages I've ever read in literature are words shaped by Tolkien; but some of potent passages found in The Lord of the Rings (especially in The Return of the King) are the moments when Tolkien's characters say nothing. When Dr. Mitchell asked us Thursday what our favorite part of The Return of the King would be, immediately my mind went to one such instance.

In Chapter 1 of Book 6, Sam has determinde to rescue the unconcsious Frodo from the orcs in Cirith Ungol. The brave hobbit is ready to fight unto death against the orcs, but before he reaches the tower, he is stopped by an enemy. It is not orcs, but a dark will that keep Sam from Frodo.

Just as he was about to pass under its great arch, he felt a shock: as if he had run into some web like Shelob's, only invisible. He could see no obstacle, but something too strong for his will to overcome barred the way. He looked about, and then withing the shadow of the gate he saw the Two Watchers....immovable, and yet they were aware: some drreadful spirit of evil vigilance abode in them.

The three-bodied, vulture-faced statues that are enveloped in the shadows will not allow Sam to pass. He tries again, but their will forces him back. Then Sam remembers...

...he drew slowly out the phial of Galadriel and held it up. Its white light quickened swiftly, and the shadows under the dark arch fled. The monstrous Watchers sat there cold and still, revealed in all their hideous shape. For a moment Sam caught a glitter in the black stones of their eyes, the very malice of which made him quail; but slowly he felt their will waver and crumble into fear.

This moment in the quest is for me one of intense conflict. Tolkien sets the stage well; Sam now carries the weight of the enire world around his neck and on his will to push on through the impossible. He has decided that "he was not large enough to to bear such a burden." His decision to follow Frodo also keeps him from bending to the Ring, for "it was the love of his master that helped most to hold him firm." Sam has decided to surrender, to love, to be faithful, to dwell in the light even in the world of shadows...even though it could be his death. He is denied entrance to the one way he can fulfill his purpose; and he refuses to turn back. I can imagine a tiny hobbit, underneath a sky full of darkness in a land of shadow and ashes, reaching inside his clothing and pulling out the phial of light. Throughout all of Mordor, only here in this tiny hand is one glimmer of true beauty. It is not light from a consuming fire or an destructive volcano, but from a world beyond the earth. The dark creatures of Sauron are forced to remember the power greater than their master, who has done all he can to forget. In moments like this, Tolkien reconciles the separation between the hell of Mordor and the heaven of the beauty above it, and he does not bring this moment to pass by having Sam speak an incantation or proclaim words of courage; he simply holds the light high. And the will of the Watchers crumbles.

This is what Tolkien does with mythology. He does not write the truth in the way that it is expected to be declared. He holds the light of truth up high with his fantasy; when those who have been dwelling in the shadows realize it, the must either run deeper into the darkness or draw near to the light. Tolkien's trilogy penetrates the shadows of the 20th century. The philologist in many instances throughout the quest leaves his characters speechless, as well as those who read their story. When it came to the truth, Tolkien may not have given speeches or written apologies for it. Instead, he sat down and wrote a myth that built a bridge over the gap. Tolkien's light is bright enough for even our blinded eyes to see; the music of Middle Earth has been ringing for decades now and will continue to play in the ears of those that can hear nothing else. He brings the deaf and blind to the house of healing, where Truth is King.