Lord of the Rings: a text of transformation?

Much scholarly ink has been spilled examining Professor J. R. R. Tolkien’s spiritual views and how they influenced and permeate his magnum opus, The Lord of the Rings. Many naysayers (most recently Philip Pullman, author of the His Dark Materials trilogy) claim that the work is hampered by Tolkien’s spirituality, that Tolkien didn’t address the “big adult questions” because he believed that the Roman Catholic Church had all the answers. Personally I disagree with that claim. Within the pages of the LOTR, as well as his monumental history of Middle Earth, Tolkien tackles many of the big themes and questions - loss of innocence; the importance of friends; the solace of the natural world; the devastation of the natural world by the rise of industrialism; the nature of war; the nature and corrupting influence of power; what things are worth fighting for; how one copes with the tremendous burdens life unexpectedly lays on us. It may be a no-brainer to longtime Tolkien fans, but I would further argue you don’t have to be Roman Catholic or even Christian to appreciate the LOTR’s philosophical and religious underpinnings. If you possess a love for the ancient epic, Norse mythology, quest literature or excellent fantasy, you’ll find much to savor in Tolkien’s Middle Earth.

I would argue though that the LOTR is a deeply spiritual text, one that transcends its creator’s Christian faith. To a sensitive and receptive reader, the book invites and even initiates personal transformation, acting as a catalyst in much the same way Joseph Campbell proclaimed myth does. I’ll illustrate my point with an example from my own life.

During the spring of 1995, I began re-reading the LOTR for the first time since high school. To my delight I found the books still spoke to me. Not only were they entertaining, but they also touched a deep place within me, reserved for certain transcendent pieces of music, beloved books, or films. As I went further into the trilogy, I found myself adopting an odd rhythm in my reading. I would devour entire chapters, and then, inexplicably, put the book down for an indefinite time, sometimes for weeks. After a while I would feel the urge to resume the quest. Around The Two Towers, I noticed a pattern: whenever I started reading after a break, the events taking place in the book, at that moment, echoed real-time trials in my own life. It was almost as if I was subconsciously waiting for my life to catch up to the adventures unwinding in the book before I could resume reading.

One specific example rings clear in my mind. At the time, I was involved in a band and I had misgivings about the founder, who I’ll refer to as Bjorn (not his real or stage name). We were friends and fellow explorers in occult ritual and philosophy, as well as band mates. Lately though, I had come to suspect he was hiding his true motives from me. After a grueling late night session auditioning drummers for our band, I returned home, uneasy in spirit. While unwinding with dinner and a bottle of good beer, I found my thoughts turning to The Two Towers. It had been a good two weeks since I had rejoined the broken fellowship. I had left off at the point where Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas arrive in Rohan to discover King Théoden enslaved by Wormtongue’s bewitchment. As Gandalf worked to dispel Wormtongue’s dark, insidious influence, encouraging Théoden to step forth to resume his kingship, a flash of insight exploded in my brain. Bjorn functioned like a real life Wormtongue. Over a relatively short period of time, his influence had become paramount in my life, looming over every move I made. In a few months time he had slowly steered me from my true wants and needs, undermining my relationship with my wife, my brother and other close friends, to usurp my power for his ends. Suddenly, the basis of our “friendship” became clear, and I saw my interactions with him over the last few months in a very different light. Bjorn was more or less the equivalent of an emotional vampire, feeding off my talent and life energy, instigating me to relinquish people and ideas that were dear to me, so he could enlist me in his own dark service. It sounds melodramatic (I’m withholding several personal, yet telling details), but it was a very real instance of someone trying to subtly assume control of my life’s direction, and I almost willingly bestowed him the power to do it. In a matter of days, I ended the professional and personal relationship.

The rest of 1995 proved to be a tumultuous year. Against reason, I attributed this to my journey through the LOTR. The book spooked me. Over the course of the next twelve years I often thought of returning to Middle Earth again, especially in the days leading up to the release of Peter Jackson’s film adaptation of The Fellowship of the Ring. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The emotions stirred up by my last reading would flare up, and I lost my nerve.

During my recent illness, I watched all twelve hours of Jackson’s extended cut versions of the films. Despite my lingering emotional trepidation, I suddenly felt the time was right to revisit Tolkien’s original vision. Already the books seem to be working their magic, reflecting real life in their fictional mirror. This time The Hobbit, a work that I initially excluded from the “transformative” books, seemed to have a similar effect. After experiencing personal upheaval that left me feeling lost, helpless and longing for outside help, I came across this passage wherein Bilbo has to figure out a way to liberate his traveling companions, the Dwarves, from the prison of the wood elves in Mirkwood: “He often wished, too, that he could get a message for help sent to the wizard, but that of course was quite impossible; and he soon realized that if anything was to be done, it would have to be done by Mr. Baggins, alone and unaided.”

I’m over halfway through The Fellowship of the Ring and my own journey has proceeded to the point where turning back is no longer an option. I felt a great kinship with Frodo just before the council of Elrond. As he stared off into the woods, he expressed to Gandalf his wish to go wandering in the pines, to reconnect with the natural world and possibly shed a bit of the darkness that had been stalking him over the course of his journey. “’You may have a chance later,’ said Gandalf. ‘But we cannot make any plans yet. There is much to hear and decide today.’”

I long for more carefree days, but the road I still have to travel beckons me. I’m afraid of what lies ahead, and saddened by what I've lost; yet I'm optimistic I’ll make it though this journey, changed for the better, happier and more fulfilled. The only thing I’m sure of is that Tolkien’s books will be at my side, my traveling companions through the wilderness of the coming months.

Anyone wishing to share their own unusual experiences reading The Lord of the Rings can contact me at wavegenerator1@gmail.com. Perhaps if I get enough entries, I’ll post the best of these experiences (with permission from their authors) at a later date.