Before I start, I’d like to get one thing very clear:
I am not here to trash Lord of the Rings.
I am not here to criticize its artistry. I am not here to say anything against its moral values. I am not here to make anyone feel guilty for enjoying this story, in any way. I’m only here to talk about why it doesn’t work for me, personally. As a single individual whose perspective is subjective and limited, just like everyone else’s.
*Pippin’s voice* Right, then! Let’s dive in, shall we?
[No lie, Pippin is very rather cute.]
All my life, I’ve felt a curious sort of palpable . . . darkness . . . surrounding the Lord of the Rings trilogy. It began when my older brother was reading the series and I, being an inquisitive little girl, picked up The Fellowship of the Ring and leafed through it. It made me oddly sad. I didn’t even understand a quarter of the situations involved, I just felt that it was sad. Like a cold, damp wind blowing in my face.
That turned me off LotR for quite a long time. A year or two ago, though, I persuaded myself to pick up The Fellowship a second time. “I’m a big girl now, I can handle Dark Stuff!” Well . . . apparently not. I didn’t even make it out of the Shire before I felt myself being sucked into what can only be described as a black hole of depression. I had to quit.
Somehow, all this wasn’t enough??? I should’ve known better; but somehow, I decided this ‘darkness problem’ only applied to the books themselves. Not the movies. So yesterday afternoon, I curled up in my favorite chair with my laptop, determined to watch The Fellowship of the Ring all the way to the end.
Massive fail. I only made it to Lothlorien before I hit Depression Overload and shut the thing off for good.
But this time–something happened. This time, about two-thirds of the way through (and with the help of a between-scenes text convo with a dear friend), something clicked into place. I finally understood why I don’t like Tolkien. Now I’m here to explain it to you all.
Simply put: I don’t like this story, because it exploits my deepest and darkest fear. Which is:
The fear of becoming evil.
Everyone is afraid of something, aren’t they? But what you fear most, depends on who you are. Some people fear being alone. Unloved. Unwanted. Some people fear failure, or their own incompetence. Some people fear control or domination. Me? I fear becoming evil. More specifically–being made evil against my will. I fear being turned into a monster. I’m deathly afraid of having my mind and soul poisoned . . . by what? Oh, I don’t know. Take your pick. Evil desire. Falsehood. Manipulation. Addiction. Just poison.
At which point, good ol’ J.R.R. Tolkien leaps out of his leather armchair, enthusiastically waving a long-stemmed pipe and shouting, “DID I HEAR SOMEONE SAY ‘POISON’? I’LL SHOW YOU POISON!”
*heavy sigh*
Yes, Professor Tolkien. That’s exactly my problem. That’s why I can’t enjoy your stories.
You took my Absolute Worst Fear . . . fear of a poisoned mind, a poisoned soul . . . and you distilled it into a single, highly potent, omnipresent symbol: the One Ring of Power.
That’s the thing about the One Ring. There is no escape from its clutches. No one is safe. No matter how good, how strong, how kind, how pure–everyone falls in the end. Even Frodo Baggins, and he’s literally the Christ-figure of all Middle Earth. He doesn’t just feel temptation. He yields to it. It was by sheer chance that the Ring was finally destroyed, instead of Frodo keeping it forever, a slave to its withering cruelty. CORRUPTION. IS. EVERYWHERE. Corruption spreads its tentacles through this entire universe . . . without even the promise of a pure Savior to compensate.
If you’re someone like me, that’s not the setup for a thrilling adventure saga. That’s the setup for a frickin’ horror movie.
When I try to read the books, or watch the films, I honestly feel as if I’m the one wearing the Ring. I’m wearing the Ring, and it’s sucking the life out of me and turning me into something sad and hopeless, deformed and monstrous. I believe (and y’all can correct me if I’m wrong) many Tolkien fans love this story because it’s an epic battle between light and dark which they can cheer on from the sidelines, knowing the light will triumph. For me . . . the battle is taking place inside my mind. And THE DARKNESS IS WINNING.
(That’s about the point where I quit, every time. When I feel like the darkness is taking over.)
In my own life, I believe in the Light. I believe in goodness. And (most days), I believe in the promise of my own salvation. I’m not planning on letting go of these things. But Tolkien’s story, it seems, has the power to make me loosen my grip. I know that absolutely was not what he intended when he wrote it. And that’s why I’ll be avoiding Lord of the Rings from now on.
Because Tolkien – the man, the artist, the Christian – would never want any of his readers to feel that way.
I know people have a ton of feelings on this subject, so . . .
Thoughts?