The Wisdom of the Shire

In The Fellowship of the Ring Galadriel gives Frodo a special gift before he departs the sacred woods of Lothlórien. It’s a crystal phial containing the light of a star called “Eärendil.” Frodo and Sam use this magical light several times in their journey through Mordor, saving themselves from danger in the darkest depths of Sauron’s demonic realm.

Eärendil was a mortal Man of the First Age of Middle-earth, the period taking place over ten thousand years before the action of The Lord of the Rings, which Tolkien wrote about in his posthumously published saga The Silmarillion.*Eärendil was a bold mariner who sailed to the Undying Lands with one of the famed Silmaril jewels affixed to his helm—to beg the help of the Valar in fighting Morgoth (the fallen Valar and master of the young Sauron). The Queen of the Stars eventually placed Eärendil in the firmament—turned him into a heavenly body so the light of the surviving Silmaril could shine as a beacon for all of Middle-earth.*

The “star” of Eärendil is actually our planet Venus—the brightest object in our sky after the sun and moon. It’s been a part of our own world’s mythology for thousands of years, just like it was for the Hobbits and the other inhabitants of Middle-earth. Like Venus, Eärendil is so bright it can actually cast a shadow at night. And based on the position of its orbit around the sun it can change from the evening star to the morning star.*

The mythos of Eärendil is contained in Tolkien’s very first writings about Middle-earth, penned nearly a hundred years ago. The story of this Man who became a star is the seed from which grew all of Tolkien’s universe and it was created during a time of great anxiety for the author while he was finishing his university studies, knowing he would have to go to war as soon as he was done. The slaughter of the trenches loomed ahead, and so he found relief in a fantasy world of his own creation. He would begin to work in earnest on the mythology of Middle-earth while recovering from trench fever in an army hospital after being discharged from combat.*

For such a devout Catholic and true believer in the Christian faith, Tolkien used a remarkable amount of restraint in keeping his own religious beliefs out of Middle-earth. There is not a single mention of the word “God” in either The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings. It’s one of the reasons the stories are so popular around the world—despite the complex mythopoeia Tolkien didn’t try to impose a theology upon the reader.*

There are godlike creatures in Tolkien’s mythology, however. They are called the Valar, the angelic children of the one god Ilúvatar. The Valar are blessed with the gift of subcreation—they can bring to life their own creatures to inhabit Middle-earth. The Elves, Ents, Dwarves and Men and even the Hobbits are all “invented” by the Valar who are like a team of wild video game designers populating World of Warcraft.

The light of Eärendil is also a symbol of insight. When Galadriel takes Frodo to her mirror of prophecy, they stand under the light of the evening star shining brightly above—shining so brightly the star casts her shadow on the ground. Suddenly, Frodo sees a ring on her finger, glittering brightly as if the Star of Eärendil “had come down to rest upon her hand.” It’s only then Frodo realizes Galadriel is wearing one of the three rings Celebrimbor made for the Elves. Galadriel explains that the destruction of the One Ring—to which the Elven rings are bound—will cause the decline of Elven power in Middle-earth.

Impulsively, Frodo holds out the Ring for her to take it. Galadriel is tempted by his offer of the “Great Ring” as she calls it. In one of Tolkien’s most powerful monologues she imagines herself the master of the Ring, with the people of Middle-earth falling before her in “love and despair” like some sort of terrible goddess. Galadriel quickly realizes this choice could only lead to disaster, and understands the Valar have sent a final test of her character. With the Star of Eärendil shining over her head, and lighting up her countenance in the reflection of her glowing ring, the Elven Queen is literally illuminated by the wisdom of Eärendil. She releases her desire for ultimate power and accepts that she must now follow a new path.

Why is enlightenment so difficult to find in our own lives? Many of us set out determinedly on quests for self-knowledge, only to end up more confused than when we began. Or perhaps we find someone we think can teach us important truths, only to discover they have some self-serving agenda. Often those who seek enlightenment are mocked by a world that values nothing more than wealth and power.

Over the door to the Temple of Delphi in ancient Greece was carved the saying “Know thyself.”* Introspection was an important notion to the Athenians. They felt they did, in fact, know themselves. For a while they were masters of their world and made groundbreaking discoveries in the disciplines of art and science. But then the Athenians plunged their society into a meaningless war with their rival Sparta, ruining their “Golden Age” and destroying their independence for over two thousand years.

Do you feel like you really know yourself and your place in the society in which you live? Or are you buffeted about like a boat on a stormy sea? Pulled hither and thither, chasing after something (or somebody) that you don’t really want or need? The real question is, “What makes you truly happy?” And can you gain this happiness without creating more problems for yourself and everyone around you? What if we placed a higher value on quality of life rather than outward success, and tried to make this happen by simplifying everything in our lives? It’s a counterintuitive notion, but one the Shire-folk understand. “Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers,” as the poet Wordsworth so wisely wrote ninety years before Tolkien was born.

The phial Galadriel gives to Frodo is an extremely supernatural object. It’s a crystal container filled with the water from her sacred mirror—water that has been saturated with the mystical light of the Star of Eärendil. Frodo and Sam discover the light can be activated by uttering certain phrases in the Elven-tongue: words that spring magically from their mouths. The phial, supercharged with these incantations, glows to life, warding off Shelob, terrifying Orcs, and breaking the paralyzing spell wrought by the stone Watchers at the gates of Cirith Ungol.

At their darkest moment in Mordor—on the barren plains of Gorgoroth—with their journey seemingly going on forever like an “ever-darkening dream,” Sam and Frodo escape into hallucinations, imagining they’re back in sunny Hobbiton. In this wasted land, with Mount Doom billowing black smoke into the sky, even the stars are blotted out at night. Sam never lets go of the phial of Galadriel, however. He wears it around his neck—a glowing symbol of goodness and hope, the antithesis to the evil Ring of Doom on its golden necklace, weighing down Frodo’s head like a millstone.

When Sam and Frodo are approaching Mount Doom, and everything seems miserable and hopeless, Sam sees the black clouds of Mordor part to reveal a single star shining in the night. “The beauty of it smote his heart,” and suddenly, Sam is filled with hope, just from the sight of this single star.

Years ago I was co-executive producer of a film about the looting of archeological sites in Iraq post–U.S. invasion. The filmmaker behind the project, a man named Micah, was kidnapped by insurgents who threatened to execute him. When I got the call from his fiancée telling me what had happened, it felt like someone had stabbed me in the gut. I’ve never felt so sick and helpless in my life. Many nights during this ordeal I stood outside alone looking up at the stars, wondering how this colleague—a brave, decent and passionate man—could end up in this hell. Usually the vastness of the night sky made me feel insignificant. But during this time the stars seemed to connect me to everyone else out there who was hoping and praying for Micah’s release.

All of us would benefit from our own phial of Galadriel—some magical bottled starlight that could shine out in the dark times of our lives. Life can be exhausting, terrifying and heartbreaking. Anyone who’s lost a loved one, or suffered an injury or illness, or been let go from a job knows the profound despair that seems to blot out the sun and the stars and turn the whole world to a never-ending gloom, a nightmare that won’t end.

I’ve experienced my own share of losses and trials and setbacks, and each one of these challenges has led me on its own grim and twisting path fraught with pain and frustration. But “Where there’s life, there’s hope,” as the Old Gaffer says. You just have to keep on keepin’ on until, eventually, you fight your way out of the dark.

Micah, the documentary filmmaker, was let go after ten days in captivity. We’ll never know for sure why the insurgents released him. Perhaps it was the plea his fiancée and sister made begging the kidnappers for mercy. Maybe it was the influence of Islamic clerics who’d been told about Micah’s altruistic work in Iraq. Whatever the case, he was set free, and that day was one of the happiest of my life. Neither his life nor the people who cared about him would ever be the same again.

Back home at Bag End after the War of the Ring, Frodo tries to settle back into his old uncomplicated life in the Shire. It’s not the same for the Ring-bearer anymore, though. He saved the Shire but not for himself. He watches happily as Sam gets married and sets up house with Rosie Cotton, and even helps name their firstborn child.*

Sadly, Frodo can never recover from his many injuries. He’s been stabbed by a Morgul-blade, poisoned by a giant spider, beaten by Orcs and tortured by the agony of bearing the Ring. His tormented soul can only be healed by going to the source of all life in Middle-earth—to Valinor. The role he played in destroying the evil of Sauron has earned him this rare passage to the home of the gods.

Frodo completes his tale of the War of the Ring, and gives The Red Book of Westmarch to Sam who is now the master of Bag End. The Ring-bearer sets out for the Grey Havens (the Elven port a hundred and fifty miles to the west of the Shire) on his favorite horse, named “Strider” in honor of his friend who is now known as King Elessar. Here Frodo boards a white ship for the Undying Lands alongside Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond and Bilbo.*

Sam, Merry and Pippin watch the boat slowly disappear into the grey mist of the inlet. Frodo is standing at the stern of the ship, and he holds up the phial of Galadriel for his friends on shore to see one last time. A final glimmer emanates from the crystal decanter: the light of Eärendil—a symbol of enduring hope, determination and wisdom that will never fade.

The three friends ride back home to the Shire with tears in their eyes and Gandalf’s last words in their thoughts—“Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.” They will miss their beloved friends Frodo, Bilbo and their wizard mentor. But the goodness of the Shire-folk will endure, and they will continue to enjoy the simple but wonderful pleasures of their country: food, friends, gardening, warm hearth-fires and cozy armchairs, the laughter of children, a good mug of ale, long walks and the beauty of trees, presents and parties and, most important of all, peace.*

The Wisdom of the Shire Tells Us …

“May the light of Eärendil glow for you as a steadfast beacon of hope and insight, glittering in the dawn and dusk of your life.”