LotR -- Book 4 - Chapter 10 - The Choices of Master Samwise

[davem]

Regarding the self-defeating tendency of evil (in Middle earth at least), this from Brian Rosebury's book - Tolkien: A Cultural Phenomenon :

..The defeat of the forces of evil should ideally appear, not as a lucky accident, or as a punishment inflicted from outside by a superior power (which deprives the actual process of defeat of any moral significance), but as the practical consequence of wickedness itself: Evil must appear as intrinsically self defeating in the long run. Sauron & his servants, despite their steadily growing superiority in crude strength & terror, are hindered by weaknesses which are themselves vices: their lack of imagination, the irrational cruelty which denies them the option of voluntary assistance (the victim must be made to act against his own will), & the selfishness which disables their alliances.

[Bêthberry]

Let me begin by thanking Estelyn for taking the time to start this thread even in the midst of her computer woes! Well might you have said, "Well, I'm back" because you are as faithful as Sam, Ghosted Princess!

I have a few points to offer which differ slightly from the topic developed here. I hope I have let that topic develop before I throw some other irons in the fire. With Fordim being absent so much from the forum, I think I am safe to offer these ideas without having Freud thrown back at me!

The first point I noticed is how this chapter parallels the chapter which began The Two Towers, "The Departure of Boromir." In that early chapter it is Merry and Pippin who are dragged away by orcs; here it is Frodo himself. But what I find particularly interesting is how Aragorn's quandry is echoed by Sam's, not only in word but in rhetoric as well, for both heroes work through their decision by a kind of internal dialogue.

This is a bitter end. Now the Company is all in ruin. It is I that have failed. Vain was Gandalf's trust in me. What shall I do now? Boromir has laid it on me to go to Minas Tirith, and my heart desires it; but where are the Ring and the Bearer? How shall I find them and save the Quest from disaster?
. . .
He knelt for a while, bend with weeping, still clasping Boromir's hand. . . .

"Let me think!" said Aragorn [to Gimli and Legolas now.] "And now may I make a right choice, and change the evil fate of this unhappy day!" He stood silent for a moment. 'I will follow the Orcs,' he said at last. "I would have guided Frodo to Mordor and gone with him to the end' but if I seek him now in the wilderness, I must abandon the captives to torment and death. My heart speaks clearly at last: the fate of the Bearer is in my hands no longer. The Company has played its part. "

The cairn that they could not build for Boromir is reduced to two stones for Frodo, at his head and feet. When Sam recovers from his decent into the blackness of despair and loss, he begins his self-questioning, which is more extensive than that of Aragorn, but similar.

'What shall I do? What shall I do?' he said. 'Did I come all this way with him for nothing?' And then he remembered his own voice speaking words that at the time he did not understand himself, at the beginning of the journey: I have something to do before the end. I must see it through, sir, if you understand.'

'But what can I do? Not leave Mr. Frodo dead, unburied on the top of the mountains, and go home? Or go on? Go on?' he repeated, and for a moment doubt and fear shook him. 'Go on? Is that what I've got to do? And leave him?'. . . .

'What? Me alone, go to the Crack of Doom and all?' He quailed still, but the resolve grew. 'What? Me take the Ring from him? The Council gave it to him.'

But the answer came at once: 'And the Council gave him companion, so that the errand should not fail. And you are the last of the Company. The errand must not fail.'

"I wish I wasn't the last,' he groaned. 'I wish old Gandalf was here, or somebody. Why am I left all alone to make up my mind? I'm sure to go wrong. And it's not for me to go taking theRing, putting myself forward.'

'But you haven't put yourself forward; you've been put forward. And as for not being the right and proper person, why, Mr. Frodo wasn't, as you might say, nor Mr. Bilbo. They did't choose themselves."

And so Sam takes the Ring upon himself in order to fulfil the Quest. Of course, the chapter is not over, but the structural parallels between the future king's choice and the humble hobbit hero's are interesting, for they underscore, I think, one of the themes of LotR, that even the most humble may serve, and that all heroes have moments of deep distress where they must search for the right answer. And by the chapter's--and book's--conclusion, we know that Sam's choice was the right choice for he has saved the Ring from the clutches of the enemy, even at the terrible loss of his friend.

Or at least, we hope it is the right decision. No Hollywood cliff hanger in the old serials was more poignant than this break before the next chapter.

I am called away. My other observations must await a later post.

[Kuruharan]

Yet another cliff hanger?

[Bêthberry]

Originally Posted by Kuruharan

Yet another cliff hanger?

haha, Kuru! I wonder why the train barrelling down the track towards Pauline never merited a sobriquet like the cliff did.

The other point I want to raise about this chapter was prompted by my recent reading of the Narnia series, and thoughts about Lewis' White Witch. Clearly, our two Inklings had in mind ages-old stories about primitive evil, an evil which is gendered, a specifically female evil. I think Tolkien's use of the traditional mythology works better than Lewis' because Tolkien specifically did not give his evil goddess human form, but bestialised her. Thinking about Joseph Campbell's monomyth and the various stages the hero must endure also got me thinking about this.

We all know by now, I think, how in his later years Tolkien attempted "consciously so in the revision" to cast Galadriel as Mary, the spotless woman who redeems the sins of Eve, Adam's wife.

Eve, however, as not Adam's first wife. There are extant references in old mythologies, Talmudic lore, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and scattered medieval texts to a first wife (plus a naming in Isaiah), made possible by the confusion over the two creation stories in Genesis. This first wife was not formed out of Adam's rib, but in the same manner as Adam. Not from dust, though, but out of filth and sediment. Her name is Lilith, which some say derives from the Babylonian word lilitu, female demon or wind or Hebrew for 'night.' In Arab folkore, she is a hairy night monster.

Lilith was more disobedient than Eve. According to the stories, she refused Adam's demand that she take the supine position in sexual intercourse and in a huff of disagreement, left Adam to dwell with demons and monsters in The Red Sea, (sounds like an early Cannes beach scene) where she produced offspring at a startling rate (hundreds and hundreds). These nasty beings, lilin, were said to 'have their way with' sleeping men at night and also to kill newborns--the creatures get mixed in with tales of succuba. Although three angels were sent to Lilith asking her to return to Adam, she refused and instead said she would prey upon the descendents of Adam and Eve forever. Lilith apparently was not included in the apple rap which brought death into the world.

You can see where I am going with this, can't you? (Actually, I am curious why davem hasn't raised this, for with his love of mythology I'm sure he knows the legends.) I have no idea if Tolkien knew these legends. Yet the similarities to his Shelob are fascinating. The ancient legends focus upon the ugliness, stench, depravity and concupiscence of the foul female with her countless spawn.

Even the manner of Sam's defeat of Shelob fits the legend, for Shelob does herself in by taking the superior position and inflicting the prick of the blade upon herself. And I would argue that the sexual interpretation is suggested by the way Tolkien describes Sam's rage of defense for Frodo and the way Tolkien gives Shelob's point of view.

Sam did not wait to wonder what was to be done, or whether he was brave, or loyal, or filled with rage. He sprang forward with a yell, and seized his master's sword in his left hand. Then he charged. No onslaught more fierce was ever seen in the savage world of beasts, where some desperate small creature armed with little teeth, along, will spring upon a tower of horn and hide that stands above its fallen mate.

Disturbed as if out of some gloating dream by his small yell she turned slowly the dreadful malice of her glance upon him. But almost before she was aware that a fury was upon her greater than any she had known in countless years, the shining sword bit upon her foot and shore away the claw. Sam sprang in, inside the arches of her legs, and with a quick upthrust of his other hand stabbed at the clustered eyes upon her lowered head. One great eye went dark.

Now the miserable creature was right under her, for the moment out of reach of her sting and of her claws. Her vast belly was above him with its putrid light, and the stench of it almost smote him down. Still his fury held for one more blow, and before she could sink upon him, smothering him and his little impudence of courage, he slashed the bright elven-blade across her with desperate strength.

But Shelob was not as dragons are, no softer spot had she save only her eyes. Knobbed and pitted with corruption was her age-old hide, but ever thickened from within with layer on layer of evil growth. The blade scored it with a dreadful gash, but those hideous folds could not be pierced by any strength of man, not though Elf or Dwarf should forge the steel or the hand of Beren or of Turin wield it. She yielded to the stroke, and then heaved up the great bag of her belly high above Sam's head. Poison frothed and bubbled from the wound. Now splaying her legs she drove her buge bulk down on him again. Too soon. For Sam still stood on his feet, and dropping his own sword, with both hands he held the elven-blade point upwards, fending off that ghastly roof; and so Shelob, with the driving force of her own cruel will, with strength greater than any warrior's hand, thrust herself upon a bitter spike. Deep, deep it pricked, as Sam was crushed slowly to the ground.

At this point, of course, it is remembrance of the Phial of Galadriel that saves Sam, and Shelob is repulsed by the light of the stars therein. Thank Eru one woman got it right, eh? Note, however, how Tolkien specifically refuses to foretell the end of Shelob's tale, just as Lilith does not die.

One last point in this very long post! And I will write it with economy. Joseph Campbell's monomyth in The Hero with a Thousand Faces suggests that the hero must past through thresholds between the world of his previous life and the darkness where he must defeat the forces of evil. Campbell describes clearly that passing over the threshold takes the hero into the realm of darkness. The Two Towers is bookmarked by threshold experiences. It opens with the crossing over of the Anduin, a river being a major symbol in the myths Campbell discusses for the threshold, and the death of Boromir and Aragorn's great dilemma and confusion over his leadership. It closes with this terrible passage through the dark tunnels of the mountains and a pseudo-death of Frodo. Can any of us not surmise that the Land of Shadow awaits Sam and Frodo?

I rest. No cliff hander this time, although perhaps I have lobbed a few explosives.