Trust in the fellowship

This first essay on Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings translates his fellowship of nine in the first part of his work into the fellowship that serves as a core feature of recovery programs

My copy of Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring has accompanied me on some hard journeys of my own - nothing compared to Frodo’s Mount Doom-bound mission, but challenging nonetheless in different ways. My first time really reading it was in my senior year of college. I’d read it once before for the story, but that was before my transformation into a real reader. I’d always been a story-reader before, devouring books for plots that could transport me from my life into someplace else. At some point I began to dive deeper into the pages, beyond the trajectory of plot into the existence of human experience. I began to see threads of my own life in the struggles and triumphs of the characters, and I finally grasped the concept of literature as a mirror to my own soul as well as a window into the lives of others whose beings constituted part of a greater connection.

Fellowship showed me the importance of place and the inevitable sadness and loss in time passing just as my own college experience and sense of belonging there was drawing to an end. I recognized the fear in starting something new and losing something familiar, and the humanity in sitting with that fear and progressing even with its weight. His characters exhibited different trials and triumphs, and I found a way to see myself and the people in my life in a new light by coming to know the hobbits, elves, dwarves and men of Middle Earth. Tolkien illustrated feelings I hadn’t been able to put into words.

Our most recent trial together - the book’s and mine - was my first experience in a rehab center. I was reading the book for a class I was teaching at the time, so it happened to be in my backpack when I made my unglamorous way to Danvers. I’d never been to rehab and hadn’t planned on going to rehab. It was something my sister had talked with me about before, and though I’d been open to the idea, I didn’t have any real intentions of following through with it. I wasn’t necessarily happy, but I was comfortable with my life. I knew how to exist in my life as it was, and though I couldn’t articulate the fear, a crippling fear of changing life as I knew it prevented me from even considering it. But I found myself, despite being unprepared and unwilling, in a situation that necessitated rehab as the next right step in my life.

At first I turned to reading as a means of escaping the mental hell I found myself in. I was ashamed of my situation, of needing help in such an institutionalized form. I was struggling in a major way with the reality of ceding management of my life to any power, let alone a Higher Power. And I didn’t feel that I connected to any of the other women in rehab with me. I felt that the tragic flaw that had separated me from the family and friends I so loved should have been a commonality to link me to these other women in treatment, but instead I found myself fixating on our dissimilarities rather than our shared struggle. I didn’t want to be on this journey, and I didn’t want to be on it with the people who had coincidentally become part of it through varying levels of choice on their part.

So I turned to Tolkien’s world, because mine was just too dismal to accept. Before this year, if asked which Tolkien character I most related to, I’d always answer Faramir. He’s the younger brother of Boromir, the more sensitive, thoughtful, romantic one. He lives in the shadow of his older brother, who is bold, strong, and a natural leader. Faramir is a leader in his own way, though he was judged to be less so because of his affinity for nature and the arts. I like his style, and I much preferred him and certain elves to the hobbits of the story. Hobbits and dwarves were cool in their own way, but give me elves any day. That’s how I felt at the time. However, as I dove into Fellowship this time, I found myself paying closer attention to the hobbit Frodo’s experience than I had before.

Frodo is kind of an odd guy. Taken in by his cousin Bilbo after his parents drowned, he grew up with more than a few similarities to his mentor. Bilbo’s story, chronicled in The Hobbit, echoes the epic hero cycle that Joseph Campbell presented as an archetype in his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces. The hobbit experiences the call to adventure when a troupe of dwarves arrives in Bag End, he goes off on his adventure with Gandalf the Grey as his mentor figure, overcomes obstacles with wit and bravery, experiences an abyss of sorts in the deep tunnels of Gollum’s lair and emerges victorious though with a mark that changes him: he becomes the bearer of the Ring. He returns home a changed hobbit, with treasure and the title that ultimately serves as the call to adventure for Frodo. This title is a greater burden than any hobbit could imagine shouldering alone, and Bilbo unknowingly bequeathes it to his heir when he Irish exits after their shared birthday celebration in The Fellowship.

This post will remain focused on the fellowship aspect of the story, but we can touch briefly on the Ring, which will be developed more in another LOTR piece. The Ring - “the one Ring to rule them all and in the darkness bind them” - functions as the Addiction in the recovery translation of Tolkien’s work. It is the one thing that rules all whose lives are burdened with the task of bearing it, and there is both great power and danger that fall upon its bearer. It’s a beautiful, shiny thing, seemingly harmless but captivatingly beautiful. However, when its true nature becomes known, it is an item of possession and evil despite its appearance. Not many addicts begin drinking or getting high with a death wish, but many soon come to the recognition that their addiction is a mortal dictator. The Latin addictor is one who condemns, betrays or abandons, which is just what the Ring is. The Ring enslaves those drawn to it with an invisible pull or obsession, and it betrays them to evil because it holds no love or loyalty to the one who wears it other than to Sauron, the evil Lord of the Rings.

It must be destroyed, but it’s not as simple as crushing it with a dwarvish ax or throwing it into a simple hobbit hearth. This truth is found out by those assembled at the Council of Elrond. In the midst of the elves, men, dwarves and wizard trying to decide how to handle the situation, Frodo speaks up: “I will take the Ring…though I do not know the way.” Something in him knows he can do it, but he also knows he’ll need help. It is in this courageous moment that the fellowship is born.

Frodo’s words here reflect how I felt when I finally let myself enter rehab and for much of the early time of recovery. I knew I wanted to carry the burden of my recovery, but I had no idea how to go about it. I thought it would have to be alone, since I was still operating in the mindset that everyone in the world is justified in rejecting me once they see my struggle. But I was finally at a point where I just had to let go of holding onto my Hobbiton: the comfortable familiarity.

I love Elrond’s response to Frodo: “I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will” (303). I think Elrond knows that Frodo won’t be alone in his endeavor, but he also knows that Frodo has to be the one to find the way for himself even with this support. Otherwise, the mission will never truly be accomplished. Frodo has to learn to find the way and to be willing to set out on the journey without knowing the way at the same time. This is true of recovery. We will have mentors and the support of loved ones, but whether or not we succeed in living a good life in recovery ultimately comes down to our willingness to set out not knowing the way with the drive to find it for ourselves.

In the film adaption, the forming of the fellowship follows immediately on the heels of Frodo’s decision. In the book, it takes a couple months, but in both versions the fellowship comes into fruition from the courage of one hobbit to leave his known life and step into unknown territory. Elrond nominates Nine to go as a company against the Nine Riders and to serve as representation for the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth. Gandalf the Grey as their guide. Aragorn, or Strider, and Boromir of Gondor for the race of Men; Gimli, son of Gloin, for the race of Dwarves; Legolas for the race of Elves. Frodo and Sam are for the race of Hobbits; and Merry and Pippin volunteer themselves to go before Elrond can find two more Elves of his household to complete the team. He hesitates to let them go, saying of their choice, “you do not understand and cannot imagine what lies ahead.” However, Gandalf supports the hobbits’ ignorance of their mission: “Nor do any of us see clearly…I think, Elrond, that in this matter it would be well to trust rather to their friendship than to great wisdom” (310).

Gandalf recognizes that fellowship serves a stronger purpose than knowledge here. Though the company consists of varying degrees of skill and intelligence, not one of them has made this journey before nor do any of them know how this mission will progress. They have a common goal, and they support each other in achieving that goal, so loyalty and love within the company ultimately prove more valuable.

As Elrond and Gandalf have pointed out, none of them is truly ready for the mission, just as no one in early recovery is totally prepared for the challenge of real recovery. Each of them encounters an obstacle that reflects the challenges of successful recovery. Gandalf’s self sacrificing efforts on the Bridge of Khazad Dum serve as an archetypal representation of how recovery can fit into the epic hero cycle previously discussed. Boromir functions as an excellent example of relapse due to pride and ego. Aragorn portrays the challenge of losing love in order to pursue recovery. Legolas and Gimli bear a deep resentment toward the other. Merry and Pippin show how recovery can be derailed by outside forces beyond our control, but they also show how this recovery can be regained through trusting reliance on the help of others. Sam experiences prejudice and doubt, but he exhibits strong trust and loyalty that ultimately save the mission. Finally, Frodo represents the keen isolation and mental anguish of the addict mentality that separates him time and again from his fellowship and threatens the outcome of their mission.

Even with their shared mission, the members of the Nine are not all friends. Gimli and Legolas join the mission with an inherited resentment toward the other that is rooted in the tainted history between the races of the Dwarves and Elves. Boromir is a complete stranger to everyone, and the hobbits have only just learned the true identity of Strider: Aragorn, heir of Isildur. The hobbits of course know each other, but theirs is a friendship until now only rooted in the shared good times of growing up in Hobbiton. Basically drinking buddies with a deep affection for each other. Despite their dissimilarities, they forge ahead knowing the mission is necessary for all of their survival since it is the only way to quell the evil force that is Sauron. Over the course of the journey their ill will turns into a deep friendship as they recognize each other’s worth, reflecting how the deeper one works into recovery, the greater the sense of connection he finds.

I recently witnessed a similar transformation at a meeting when the speaker talked about having a high school nemesis whom she saw at one of the first AA meetings she attended. Although she dreaded seeing this woman and cringed when the former nemesis approached her and gave her number, the two have since become close friends who support each other in their recovery and recognize in hindsight the mistaken thinking behind their former ill will. A similar growth happens between Legolas and Gimli, who seem ready to come to blows at the onset of the journey though they don’t truly know each other for what they are truly worth.

Boromir’s attempt to control the outcome with the conviction that he knows how best to handle the Ring leads him to disrupt the mission. He believes that in the right hands, the Ring can function as a force of good for his kingdom of Gondor. Tempted by the pull of the Ring and ignoring the wise council of Elrond, he attempts to take the Ring from Frodo, causing the hobbit to flee from the others in order to continue the mission on his own. This breaking of the fellowship results from a few things: Boromir fails to honor the mission of the group; Frodo feels he can no longer trust the others in his group; and the others have not seen any part of Boromir’s and Frodo’s struggles. The fellowship has been fractured even before Boromir betrays their trust and Frodo goes his own way.

Redemption comes when they put the fellowship above their own tendencies. Boromir sacrifices himself in a valiant effort to defend Merry and Pippin in the subsequent attack by orcs on the company. Frodo, though hell bent on completing the mission alone, allows Sam to accompany him when the other hobbit doggedly follows him, risking drowning to prove his loyalty. The fellowship doesn’t remain intact, and I think that’s an important point Tolkien makes. Even as they all work toward this noble mission, life does not allow for them to remain together on the same plane.