by Tom Shafer
October 20, 2022
Last evening I was relaxing with a couple of cats on my lap, Cricket and Rainbow, and randomly trolling the Spectrum viewing guide when I paused on a Paramount selection, the film The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Now, this is a movie I have viewed a few times, mostly in parts, sometimes out of boredom, other times because, once again, I was drawn back into the story. On this night I was more than interested because it was the Two Towers. Typically, when I come across an offering from the LOTR universe, it is the Fellowship or Return of the King entry, or one of the Hobbit features. So, though half an hour into it, I couldn’t resist following Frodo’s and Samwise’s harrowing journey to Mordor (to return the One Ring to the molten lava of Mt. Doom) and the raging twin battles at Helm’s Deep and Isengard.
Toward the end of the film, the forces of good are on the verge of winning the two clashes, setting up the final battle for Middle-earth, and Frodo and Sam, with the bipolar Gollum in tow, have been taken by Faramir, captain of the Rangers of Ithilien and son of the Ruling Steward of Gondor, Denethor. Now of course, I have to pause here to recognize that Peter Jackson, director and co-writer of the LOTR movies, took some (if not many) liberties with J.R.R. Tolkien’s works, and thus storylines and characters are frequently amended to suit cinematic needs. I also have to recognize that if Tolkien’s books were developed faithfully and literally, each film would be approximately one hundred and seventy-six hours long — which would probably be okay with Tolkienites (fans of the books) and Ringers (fans of the movies) alike.
Anyway, back to the movie, Frodo has just survived an encounter with a Ringwraith (saved once again by Sam), one of nine mortal ring-servants of the Dark Lord Sauron, and Frodo is lamenting the difficulty of the task of returning the ring to Mt. Doom. What follows is essentially the essence of Tolkien’s vision for his books about Middle-earth — and our earth in general (and it’s worth noting that this dialogue echoes closely the words from Tolkien’s book):
Sam: It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. 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 happened. But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding on to, Sam?
Sam: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.
Of course, given his own history, the fact that Tolkien believed in the “good in this world” is somewhat remarkable — but yet understandable. Young Ronald Tolkien’s father died from rheumatic fever when he was three and his mother passed away from acute diabetes when he was twelve, and he and his younger brother Hilary were left in guardianship to Father Francis Morgan. Though Father Francis remained an important figure in their lives, the two bounced around through three different homes and boarding houses until they both entered college at age eighteen.
In his teen years, Tolkien embraced fantasy literature and was much influenced by the works of Lewis Carroll, George MacDonald, and Andrew Lang. He was also involved in the creation of at least three different languages and even learned Esperanto, intended as a universal second language for international communication. Collegiately, he graduated with a degree in English language and literature from Exeter College in Oxford before being summoned by the British army to serve as second lieutenant in the First World War, where he contracted trench fever which invalided him to garrison duty for the remainder of the war. Unfortunately, Tolkien’s battalion was almost completely wiped out following his return to England.
Of course, all of these events and episodes contributed to his beliefs, his worldview, and ultimately his writings.
But back to the quote. Given the totality of Tolkien’s experiences, from those parental deaths in his youth — and subsequent time spent in foster care — to his involvement in the first world war, how could he not cling to hope, to see the potential good around him. It would have been so easy just to wallow in self pity, to succumb to the sad events that colored his life.
But he did not.
And neither should we.
Unless you are living under a rock (and shouldn’t you be sharing anyway?), it is blatantly obvious that our world is on fire — civil unrest everywhere, post-pandemic issues, global inflation — perhaps pushing recession, nationalism rising internationally, the war in Ukraine, growing tensions among world powers. Add to these — as if they aren’t enough — all of our domestic issues that pit blue Democrats against red Republicans, inflamed and promulgated by social media — and well, move over and give me a little of your rock!
But that’s not right. Because there is “some good in this world” and “it’s worth fighting for.” As a species, we have spent several millennia perfecting the art of adapting and overcoming. Procuring shelter. Taming fire, then electricity. Raising and cultivating crops. Developing increasingly complex tools. Devising languages. Birthing the scientific method and encouraging scientific inquiry. Advancing medical innovation and creating vaccines. Fashioning the printing press. Inventing transportation, for land, water, and air.
It was Plato who wrote that “our need will be the real creator,” which of course inspired the English proverb “necessity is the mother of invention.” Our ancestors have secured our present. They did the hard work, the dirty work, and suffered as a result. And though not all basic needs — necessities — are being met, especially in those third world countries, today’s human can’t fault our forebearers. We can only blame ourselves, our greed, for not securing “necessities” for all, for not securing our future properly.
Sam is right when he notes that “it’s only a passing thing, this shadow” and that “a new day will come.” Tolkien witnessed this directly with his own personal life and two global conflicts, and he certainly wasn’t alone, as millions of people across the planet experienced a world truly on fire. And yet, the “darkness” passed and that new day did “shine out the clearer.” It is with all due reverence and wonder that we rightfully refer to people of that age as the Greatest Generation.
I contend that though things look bleak to us today, they do pale in comparison to what humanity faced in the last century. And I don’t mean to diminish what we are dealing with. Our problems are complex and very real, but we’ve dealt with much worse — actually much, much worse. So it’s up to us to strap in, buckle up, and get to it.
Because there is good in this world, and it IS worth fighting for.
