Dear Inklings,
We are now reading The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien. If you’re new here, my essays for this book challenge will always be free to read, but the journaling exercises and discussions are for patrons only. I also share more of my personal experiences in that section. Upgrade for the full experience.
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“How shall a man judge what to do in such times?”
“As he has ever judged,” said Aragorn. “Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear.”
I like looking for opposites in Tolkien.
When we begin this section, the story is fractured because the fellowship has fallen apart. Hitherto, we have walked with Frodo together with his growing group of companions, but now the narrative moves from thread to thread, more like a modern YA novel that changes point of view by the chapter. The second member of the nine has been lost to death, the ringbearer and his servant have silently struck out on their own, the two faithful hobbit friends have been captured by orcs, and the remaining triad of elf, man, and dwarf are left to choose which path they will follow. Their choice means everything: they follow the friends who, in all the story, seem to bear the least value.
When Eomer, nephew to the king of Rohan and leader of an awe-inspiring cavalry (There’s no shortage of new characters in these five chapters) questions Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli’s purpose in crossing his land, Aragorn frames his response surprisingly: “I am in great need.” Why? Not because the quest to destroy the one ring has moved beyond his grasp. Not because he must arrive at Gondor soon to assert his power. “We are pursuing an orc-host,” he explains, “that carried off our friends.” Gimli is more to the point about the two captured hobbits: “...these were very dear to us.”
The characters we follow in the first two chapters of Book Two are, arguably, the strongest members of the fellowship left alive. They fit the mold of Beowulf and other medieval heroes who perform great deeds in the eyes of others, covering leagues in pursuit of Merry and Pippin with the stamina of legend. In contrast, the second two chapters shift to the plight of the seemingly weakest members. We are cast deep into Pippin’s point of view as he is tossed on the ground, crushed against hairy orc necks, and hovered over by fanged goblin faces. At one point, he acknowledges his smallness in the big scheme of the story, lamenting,
“What good have I been? Just a nuisance: a passenger, a piece of luggage….I hope Strider or someone will come and claim us! But ought I to hope for it? Won’t that throw out all the plans?”
Surprisingly, Aragorn says the same of himself around the same time, admitting that “with [Frodo] lies the true Quest. Ours is but a small matter in the great deeds of this time.” What is that small matter? The rescue of friends. Because it is friendship that makes Merry and Pippin treasures to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, even though they are not the ringbearers. And friends go after friends, and they carry them along.
The idea of carrying one another isn’t mine. Sociologist Robert Coles borrows the phrase “handing one another along” from a Walker Percy novel, saying that “amidst life's potential for loneliness or despair, we are ultimately, and ideally, deeply connected to one another, always handing one another along in our journeys.”
In our story—more opposites—there is the literal carrying to which Merry and Pippin are subjected–the bruising, tossing, clutching, whipping manner in which the orcs carry the hobbits across the hills and plains. At one point, just before escape, Grishnak “tuck[s] them one under each armpit, and crush[es] them fiercely to his sides.” But less than a day later, the hobbits find themselves held “gently but firmly” by the ent Treebeard, “one in the crook of each arm,” as he carries them through the forest. This time, “they felt, oddly enough, safe and comfortable.”
Then there is figurative carrying: the second choice of Boromir. Yes, he sought to take the ring from Frodo in the last section we read, setting terrible events in motion. And yet, when Merry and Pippin are in danger, he is full-hearted in his decision to defend them. I look at Boromir in his final moments and see not just the ways we can fail each other, but also the way, afterward, we can turn and choose love and friendship again.
“How shall a man judge what to do in such times?” Eomer asks Aragorn.
Aragorn answers, “As he has ever judged... Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear.” Through these chapters, Tolkien illustrates that one of the highest goods—a light by which to choose in dark times—is caring for those who seem weakest among us, carrying them along in their journey. From Aragorn’s pursuit across the plains to Boromir’s sacrificial defense, we see that true heroism often lies in valuing and supporting those who might appear least significant. While we may not always succeed in this, as Boromir’s earlier failure shows, the choice to act with compassion and loyalty is always before us. In this way, Tolkien’s tale continues to offer profound guidance on how to navigate our own complex world, reminding us of the power of friendship and the unexpected strength found in caring for others.
Thank you for sharing your thought-provoking insights, Rebecca. If you enjoyed this, make sure to read more of Rebecca’s writing at Out for Stars.
For next week, read the rest of Book 3, up to “The Taming of Sméagol.” To continue reading my personal reflection and participate in the discussion below the paywall, please upgrade.
