Of Lorien, Nature and the Four Loves

I'm continuing my Lord of the Rings reread, and I have to say that this time through (this is probably the sixth or seventh time I've read them) I'm focusing on taking deeper lessons from the story instead of just reading for entertainment. Of course, participating in a LOTR book club on Monday nights with some brilliant friends only helps the cause.

One of the themes we've talked about a bit at the book club is nature. Both Tolkien and C.S. Lewis use nature as a thematic element in their fantasy stories, and both seem to have similar methods of introducing and using it.

And as it so happens, I've been thinking a lot about the role of nature in my life lately. I just returned from a wonderful vacation where I got to see both the piney splendor of the Pacific Northwest and the rocky lakeshores of the Catskill Mountains. While traveling, I began to read C.S. Lewis's The Four Loves, which includes a great section about nature. So, let me start this off with a section of The Fellowship of the Ring. The Fellowship has just emerged from the Mines of Moria and, under the leadership of Aragorn, decides to seek refuge in Lothlórien. Boromir shows some reluctance to enter the forest.

He stepped forward; but Boromir stood irresolute and did not follow. 'Is there no other way?' he said.

'What other fairer way would you desire?' said Aragorn.

'A plain road, though it led through a hedge of swords,' said Boromir. 'By strange paths has this company been led, and so far to evil fortune. Against my will we passed under the shades of Moria, to our loss. And now we must enter the Golden Wood, you say. But of that perilous land we have heard in Gondor, and it is said that few come out who once go in; and of that few none have escaped unscathed.'

'Say not unscathed, but if you say unchanged, then maybe you will speak the truth,' said Aragorn. 'But lore wanes in Gondor, Boromir, if in the city of those who once were wise they now speak evil of Lothlórien. Believe what you will, there is no other way for us – unless you would go back to Moria-gate, or scale the pathless mountains, or swim the Great River all alone.'

'Then lead on!' said Boromir. 'But it is perilous.'

'Perilous indeed,' said Aragorn, 'fair and perilous; but only evil need fear it, or those who bring some evil with them. Follow me!'

Boromir isn't afraid to speak his mind, and speak it plainly – even if he is wrong (one of the reasons I like him, but that's another story). Boromir, subject to what must have been the Gondorian equivalent of an urban legend, believes the woods to be wicked and evil. Aragorn corrects him, noting that the woods is dangerous, but that the real danger lies within one's own heart (think Star Wars: Luke's strange cave training with Yoda).

C.S. Lewis echoes this sentiment in The Four Loves.

"If you take nature as a teacher she will teach you exactly the lessons you had already decided to learn; this is only another way of saying that nature does not teach."

Lewis suggests that Nature is a myriad of different things all at once: it's life and death. It's beautiful and terrible. It's forgiving and unforgiving. As Lewis puts it, it at once includes, "overwhelming gaiety, insupportable grandeur and sombre desolation."

But Lewis certainly doesn't suggest that Nature is without its merits. He continues:

"Nature never taught me that there exists a God of glory and of infinite majesty. I had to learn that in other ways. But nature gave the word glory a meaning for me. I still do not know where else I could have found one."

For Lewis, the lesson that Nature taught was one of God's glory. Lewis believes he never would have fully understood God's glory – or learned to fear God – without "certain ominous ravines" and "unapproachable crags." But to others, Nature appeals to the "dark gods in the blood." Though Nature can suggest glory, it presents other things, too – sex, hunger and power operate in Nature without shame.

We can certainly see this idea of nature as a "mirror" in Tolkien's Lothlórien, among other places. Boromir is right to fear the woods, because the woods will expose the fears that he carries in his heart. Tolkien's Nature, in and of itself, is not good or evil. It may reflect the good or evil present in it (as I'll note presently) or, in its natural course cause actions that seem to be good or evil, though they are neither (the foiling of the Fellowship on Caradhras).

We can see the effect of good or evil in nature if we read on to the end of the Lothlórien chapter. The Fellowship has reached Cerin Amroth, a hill with a vantage point of the surrounding lands. Frodo pauses to look out over the golden wood:

Frodo looked and saw, still at some distance, a hill of many mighty trees, or a city of green towers: which it was he could not tell. Out of it, it seemed to him that the power and light came that held all the land in sway. He longed suddenly to fly like a bird to rest in the green city. Then he looked eastward and saw all the land of Lorien running down to the pale gleam of Anduin, the Great River. He lifted his eyes across the river and all the light went out, and he was back again in the world he knew. Beyond the river the land appeared flat and empty, formless and vague, until far away it rose again like a wall, dark and drear. The sun that lay on Lothlorien had no power to enlighten the shadow of that distant height.

'There lies the fastness of Southern Mirkwood,' said Haldir. 'It is clad in a forest of dark fir, where the trees strive one against another and their branches rot and wither. In the midst upon a stony height stands Dol Guldur, where long the hidden Enemy had his dewlling. We fear now that it is inhabited again, and with power sevenfold. A black cloud lies often over it of late. In this high place you ay see the two powers that are opposed to one another; and ever they strive now in thought, but whereas the light perceives the very heart of the darkness, its own secret has not been discovered. Not yet' He turned and climbed swiftly down, and they followed him.

Nature can appear to be good or evil depending on both what is inhabiting it, and, again, depending on the perspective of the beholder. As Lewis would say, it teaches us no lessons than those we already wish to learn.

Instead, Lewis suggests we should "learn our theology and philosophy elsewhere." That we must "leave the hills and woods and go back to our studies, to church, to our Bibles, to our knees." And, in a specific note to nature lovers, Lewis continues, "Otherwise the love of nature is beginning to turn into nature religion. And then, even if it does not lead us to the Dark Gods, it will lead us to a great deal of nonsense."

I don't know about you, but to me this all makes perfect sense. I believe wholeheartedly – especially since I tend to be a "nature lover" – that the love of nature must be anchored in truth. Additionally, Tolkien's storytelling seems to back up the theological stylings of his good friend Lewis. Lothlórien is just one example.

As a parting thought: At book club on Monday we discussed Radagast, Gandalf's wizarding peer with a deep affection for nature (and possible St. Francis parallel). If Lewis suggests that a pure love of nature will, at best, lead to a "great deal of nonsense," then perhaps that's one reason why Radagast is considered a simpleton and a fool in the books.

Off course

While in Florida this past week, I started a re-read of "Lord of the Rings." I think this will be my sixth reading of the books, but it's amazing how it never gets tiresome. The story is always rich and I always seem to find some new detail that brings me joy. Anyway, this re-read will probably trigger a rash of Tolkien-themed pots, so prepare yourselves. You've been warned.
Anyway, to set the scene: the Hobbits have just fled the Shire, ducking into the Old Forest to evade the pursuit of the black riders. They know the forest is dangerous, but believe they can make it through if they keep their wits about them, set a direction of travel and don't dally. Of course, that doesn't quite work out.

"At first their choice seemed to be good: they got along at a fair speed, though whenever they got a glimpse of the sun in an open glade they seemed unaccountably to have veered eastwards. But after a time the trees began to close in again, just where they had appeared from a distance to be
thinner and less tangled. Then deep folds in the ground were discovered unexpectedly, like the ruts of great giant-wheels or wide moats and sunken roads long disused and choked with brambles. These lay usually right across their line of march, and could only be crossed by scrambling down and out again, which was troublesome and difficult with their ponies. Each time they climbed down they found the hollow filled with thick bushes and matted undergrowth, which somehow would not yield to the left, but only gave way when they turned to the right; and they had to go some distance along the bottom before they could find a way up the further bank. Each time they clambered out, the trees seemed deeper and darker; and always to the left and upwards it was most difficult to find a way, and they were forced to the right and downwards."

This continues for a while, until the four Hobbits end up exactly where they didn't want to be: the Heart of the Old Forest. There, the magic and enchantment of the forest are strongest, and they soon find themselves in peril. Old Man Willow snatches Merry and Pippin, and Frodo and Sam's attempts to help them prove fruitless.
Isn't this just like our lives and our walks of faith? I can't put a number on the amount of times I've believed myself fully capable of doing something on my own, only to find myself hopelessly off course. We may set out on a course of action with the best intentions, but when we are reliant on ourselves we often drift farther and farther off course.
And more often than not we're not lured off course drastically. It happens one little bit at a time – just like the Hobbits found themselves slowly and unaccountably veering East. But they didn't stop – they kept going, perhaps thinking they could correct the course on their own.
The world lures us in similar ways. Take "stuff" as an example. As we graduate from college and enter into the working world, we go (hopefully) from being poor college students to having a job with a salary. And we can use that salary to get all kinds of stuff – furniture, DVDs, surround sound systems, cars, ships in bottles – you name it. Our appetite for stuff is temporarily sated, and we think we have enough. But we get used to those things. And maybe one day we get a raise. All of a sudden, we can afford nicer stuff. And why not? We've earned it, right? So we get the nicer things. We get accustomed to those, too, and our slow drift off course continues until one day we open our eyes and realize: we're not in the place we intended to be when we first set out!
The same happens to the Hobbits. They find themselves at the River Withywindle, the heart of the forest's strangeness. They soon find themselves in trouble, and Merry and Pippin are taken by Old Man Willow. Frodo and Sam try to help, but can't rescue their friends. Then Frodo takes an unexpected action:

"Frodo, without any clear idea of why he did so, or what he hoped for, ran along the path crying help! help! help! It seemed to him that he could hardly hear the sound of his own shrill voice: it was blown away from him by the willow-wind and drowned in a clamour of leaves, as soon as the words left his mouth. He felt desperate: lost and witless."

How often have we felt as Frodo did: lost and helpless in a world that is constantly trying to throw us off course. And when we reach that desperation, what do we do? We cry for help! And there is an answer!
Frodo's answer comes from Tom Bombadil (a mysterious figure who isn't worth delving into in depth in this post, because it would take far too many words), who – by some divine mistake or providence – claims he just happened to be in the neighborhood. Tom rights the wrongs, gets the Hobbits back on their feet and sets them back on the path with clear direction. The Hobbits escape the peril.
When we find ourselves off course, we too should ask for help – because it will come. And instead of being self-reliant, believing ourselves strong and capable enough to set our own course through life, we should ask for help before we find ourselves hopelessly lost and in trouble. And where does our help come from?

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
- Psalm 121:1-2

The Lord will rescue us, put us back on our feet and set us on the right path.

"And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left."
- Isaiah 30:21

Here's to staying on course.