Valuing the Least of These
Guest post by Rebecca Martin
“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.
Week Five Journaling Exercise & Discussion
So often, I have felt like Pippin: “Just a nuisance: a passenger, a piece of luggage,” torn between hoping someone would rescue me and not wanting to get in the way of other things that appear to me more essential to the universe.
The Lord of the Rings reminds me again and again of the significance in seemingly valueless things: cultivating earth, healing brokenness, and lives so often overlooked by the powers that be (in this story, the hobbits).
This theme came into play in therapy a few years ago while I was in the midst of a severe depressive episode. At the time, I was struggling with suicidal ideation. I was so incapacitated I was unable to care for myself, let alone anyone else—including my then-two-year-old son. I felt like a burden, devoid of value to anyone. My therapist shares a love for Lord of the Rings, so she used the illustration of Frodo dangling off the cliff at Mount Doom at the end of The Return of the King. While this didn’t happen in the book, it has always been a poignant scene for me in the film.
“You’re like Frodo right now,” she said to me. “Your ‘Sams’ are your husband, your best friend, and possibly therapy. You’re dangling from the cliff’s edge; you need to reach for help and hold on.
“But you’re also ‘Sam,’” she continued. “(Renley) is holding onto you.”
Such an odd position to be in—a parasite (or so I saw myself) and also someone’s lifeline.
I’ve written before of how the relationship between Ren and me saved us both. It’s also a truth that with our limited perceptions and lifetimes, we’re never able to see the full picture of someone’s significance. If I had not had others carrying me, I could not have survived to this day. In turn, without having been carried, I would not have been able to carry another.
The beauty of existence and humanity is that we are never just one thing: we are multi-faceted and constantly evolving. Life is the same way. I hope I don’t lose sight of this when darkness falls.
Let us carry one another.
Journal exercise
Reflect on a personal fork in the road where you had to decide between different paths. What guided your choice?
Describe a time when you felt like Pippin: small and seemingly useless in a larger situation.
Discussion
(These are only starting points. Feel free to discuss anything that came to mind for you.)
In what ways does the concept of “carrying” others apply to our modern world? How does Tolkien’s treatment of “small” characters reflect his wider philosophical or moral views?
Share about a personal “Boromir moment”: a time you failed but then chose to act nobly afterward.
Have you ever been part of a group that fractured like the Fellowship? How did you handle it?
How do you balance pursuing your own goals with supporting and uplifting others in your life?