The Wisdom of the Shire

When Gandalf tells Sam he’s going to be accompanying Frodo to Rivendell, the young gardener is so excited he bursts into tears. He’s like a little kid who’s just been told he’s going to Disneyland. He’s finally going to see a real Elf!

Sam has heard about Elves his entire life. He’s grown up at the bottom of the Hill in Hobbiton, practically the next-door neighbor of the famous Mr. Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit who’s actually been to the legendary Rivendell and met the enigmatic ruler of that place—Elrond Half-elven, the son of the legendary mariner Eärendil. Sam has also heard Elven stories and songs, as told by the avuncular Mr. Bilbo.

The first time Sam meets one of the Eldar is when the Hobbits are pursued through the Shire by a Ringwraith and, luckily, stumble upon Gildor the Elf walking on a path in the woods. At first the Hobbits hear the Elf lord and his companions singing a song about the Queen of the Stars. And then they see the mysterious Eldar, their bodies shimmering as though radiating a light of their own. Gildor and his friends take the Hobbits into their care for the night and lead them to an Elven campground. They feed the scared and famished Hobbits a delicious meal in the safety of their woodsy hall.

This is one of the hallmarks of the Elves—a profound courtesy for anyone who comes along their path and needs their help. One of their sayings is, “May a star shine on the hour of our meeting.”* Frodo knows this saying in Elvish and uses it, much to the happy surprise of Gildor. The greeting means so much more than an obligatory handshake. What you’re communicating when you use the salutation of the Elves is a longing for something auspicious: “I hope we become friends, and I hope our friendship lasts.”

Frodo learned his modicum of the Elven-tongue from Bilbo who studied the language in earnest after returning home from his adventure with the Dwarves. Why would Bilbo teach his nephew a language Frodo might never use? Hobbits rarely leave the borders of Hobbiton, and Elves hardly ever came into the Shire or interacted with the Halflings. Perhaps Bilbo simply had a love of the Elves and their lore and wanted to impart that knowledge to Frodo. The stories of the Elves had significance to Bilbo. Their tales stirred his imagination.

Many people, nowadays, wonder what’s the use of studying history or ancient languages. What happened in the past (or how people spoke in the past) is useless information to them. Bilbo knew, however, there were important lessons to be learned from the history of his own world. The character of Bilbo is a reflection of his creator, of course. Tolkien was a philologist. He spent his entire career poring over ancient languages (sometimes “dead” ones that were no longer spoken by any living person). But he probably would have never created Middle-earth if it hadn’t been for his loving obsession with the words and the mythologies of ancient cultures—an obsession that started for him in childhood.*

Frodo, fortunate to find himself in the presence of an Elf, begs Gildor’s advice about what course of action he should next take. The Elf tells him sagely, “advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise.” It’s a good lesson for anyone. Many of us have given counsel to friends and family—guidance given with the best intentions—only to have it blow up in our faces. It’s no fun taking the blame for somebody else’s problem. But should we simply ignore those who come to us in a time of need, and watch them suffer and brood over an important decision? The answer to that question lies in how much you’re willing to get involved. Part of giving that “dangerous gift” of advice is being willing to take the heat for what happens next.

Frodo eventually makes it to Rivendell where Elrond uses all of his powers of healing (including surgery) to cure Frodo of his terrible wound from the Morgul-blade.* Frodo wakes up from a coma to find himself in the Last Homely House east of the sea. Over half a century has passed since Bilbo first came here with Gandalf and the Dwarves, but Rivendell hasn’t changed at all. It’s still a welcoming home—a comforting place filled with food and song and friendly faces. The real magic of the Elves is an intangible force that cures all kinds of woes: “weariness, fear and sadness.” The Elves have a capacity for making everything around them better.*

Have you ever gone to someone’s place and instantly felt at home? It might be the first time you’ve been there, but the moment you walk in the door you feel a release of anxiety, a sense of belonging and happiness. My parents’ house is like that. It’s one of those places where the door seems to be flying open every few minutes to let some new visitor inside. Guests are greeted with a friendly smile and offered tea or coffee or something homemade to eat. In the winter there’s always a fire going, and something tasty cooking on the stove like soup, or cookies baking in the oven. People might be stressed out when they walk up the steps to my mom and dad’s house, but when they leave they have smiles on their faces and a boost to their spirits (and some vegetables from my dad’s big garden in their arms). They offer friends and strangers a rare kind of civility, and that’s just what Rivendell is like.

Does it seem like this kind of Elven courtesy and grace is missing in the world today? Is your home (or even your office) a welcoming kind of place? Do you try to create a friendly atmosphere for your family or coworkers? If not, you might want to ask yourself what is preventing you from doing so. Maybe we should be like the Elven-smiths who wrought the message on the doors to the Mines of Moria. All you have to do is say the word “friend” and the giant magical doors swing right open.*

During the Council of Elrond in Rivendell, representatives from all over Middle-earth come to decide what to do with the One Ring. Elrond, the head of this council, is a paragon of calm strength, and leaders in our world would be wise to study him. His responses are measured but never boring when he explains, several times and emphatically, that Sauron’s Ring cannot be used against him. The Elven rings (one of which Elrond wears)* were fashioned for “making, and healing, to preserve all things unstained.” But the nature of the One Ring is corrupting. It was made to bring strength to the user and dominion over others. Elrond absolutely fears wielding it.

Elrond uses Saruman the White as an example of a wise and trusted man fallen into depravity. Elrond says it is dangerous to study “the arts of the Enemy too deeply.” In the end you will become like the enemy you seek to destroy. Elrond, by the power of his wisdom alone, makes the Council comprehend that the only decision that can be made is to destroy the Ring. He recognizes the strength of will and potential courage in Frodo, even though the Hobbit is small, and deems the task should fall to him. One of the marks of a great leader is the ability to see talents in others.

It’s Elrond’s idea to put together a Company of Nine Walkers to stand in opposition to the Nine Ringwraiths—the Nazgûl of Sauron. He selects companions for Frodo to represent all of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. He sends them on their way into the unknown with encouraging words and the advice to not look too far ahead. It’s going to be a long road and they need to keep their wits about them and stay in the present.

When the Companions arrive in Lothlórien they are taken to the epicenter of the Golden Wood and presented to Galadriel and her husband. Galadriel has some spooky powers—she can read minds as well as project thoughts into peoples’ heads. But each of the Companions (save Boromir who fears her) is enraptured with her regal nature. She is the epitome of urbanity. Even the gruff Gimli is knocked back on his Dwarven heels and falls madly in love.*

The Companions are allowed to rest in Lothlórien and the terrors of Moria quickly vanish in this peaceful and beautiful place. They wander through the sunlit woods, listening to the Elven songs, growing stronger. One day Frodo asks Sam what he thinks of the Elves, and the gardener replies that Galadriel and her people are so completely connected to their surroundings they “seem to belong here, more even than the Hobbits do in the Shire.” Theirs is a graceful way of living in harmony with nature that has nearly vanished from our own world.

Everything the Elves do is done with great care and intention, from the “art” of making their sturdy rope to the beautiful tree houses in which they live. Each gift Galadriel bestows upon the Nine Companions is cunningly crafted—the leaf-shaped broaches that fasten their cloaks; the braided belts; and the little box with the gilt lid she gives to Sam.

Galadriel even has grace in defeat. After she rejects Frodo’s offer of the Ring of Power—knowing she would eventually become just like Sauron if she were to make use of it—she laughs and speaks in a soft voice, saying she accepts her fate: to diminish and leave Lothlórien forever.

Some of the grace of the Elves rubs off on Frodo. Or perhaps he always had the grace of the Elves, and that was why his uncle wanted him to come live with him in the first place and teach him the Elven language and history. Whatever the case, Faramir recognizes this when he captures Frodo and Sam in the Forest of Ithilien. He tells Frodo he has an “Elvish air” about him. Faramir knows Frodo is going into the darkest, most dangerous place in the world. But the Hobbit has a gravitas that’s at odds with his small stature. There’s something about Frodo that makes Faramir trust the little Halfling with the peril of “the Ring of Rings,” as he calls it.

After the quest is completed, Frodo realizes that his place is no longer in Middle-earth. He lost a piece of his soul in the War of the Ring. He decides to join Gandalf, Bilbo, Galadriel and Elrond on the white ship to Valinor—a journey to the Undying Lands.* He is essentially choosing to die the Elven way. He must say good-bye to everything and everyone he knows and loves.

In Tolkien’s mythology the one god Ilúvatar gives death as a gift to Men. You might be wondering how death can be considered a gift. Wouldn’t it be far better to exist as an immortal like the Elves? To live forever without fear of growing old or sick? Death is a terrifying reality—the end of everything.

For Tolkien, Elven immortality comes at a cost. The Elves don’t understand the ephemeral nature of life, like we humans (or Hobbits) do. They are resistant to change and attempt to stop time in their havens of Rivendell and Lothlórien. Without a comprehension of the finite nature of the world, one cannot fully comprehend the gift of life. Every day the cup must be filled to the brim, because it might be your last. And in the end death is the release from the weariness of living too long.*

Tolkien believed the real theme of The Lord of the Rings was the complex notion of “death and the desire for deathlessness.” The Men (and Hobbits) are doomed to die and leave Middle-earth for the unknown. The Elves are also doomed to leave Middle-earth and return to the Undying Lands, where they are subject to the gods and no longer masters of themselves and their world. They must “diminish” as Galadriel says after her temptation of the Ring and bow to powerful godlike entities—the Valar.

The Elves finally accept their great change—their giving up of Middle-earth—with the grace of their kind, just like we must someday face the unavoidable exit from our world. Sometimes we witness the old or terminally ill facing the prospect of death with a beautiful resignation. Others fight the great change, resisting until the very end. The white ship leaving the Grey Havens with its fatalistic passengers is a metaphor of accepting the end of one life, and moving on to another phase of existence.

The Wisdom of the Shire Tells Us …

“May the grace of the Elves teach you courtesy, a love of learning, calm-strength and acceptance.”