Of the preparation of the hero
What was Frodo doing during the seventeen years it took Gandalf to identify the origin of the ring? The text gives us a very brief description of this period of maturation, but it is packed with important themes.
For one, his life keeps unfolding, almost unaffected by the events growing in the distance. He keeps celebrating Bilbo’s birthday every year, even though everyone thinks him dead. He spends a lot of time with his friends, “tramping over the Shire”. And sometimes he goes further, some suspect he visits the Elves.
There is also a second layer, talking about a more internal theme, reflected by the fact that Frodo doesn’t seem to age. Of course, we, readers, know that the cause is the ring, but this oddity seems to point out that Frodo is now in a different realm, a little bit outside of nature in a sense.
During his long walks, Frodo starts to have a sense that something is calling him. “He began to say to himself: ‘Perhaps I shall cross the River myself one day.’ To which the other half of his mind always replied: ‘Not yet.’”
Frodo also has a sort of intuition for when things will really start: around his fiftieth birthday, the same age that Bilbo set out for his adventure. As his forties come to an end, “Frodo began to feel restless, and the old paths seemed too well-trodden.” He starts spending a lot of time looking at maps and goes further and further away during his walks. He seems to be preparing himself for what lays ahead, and indeed, his mission will be one of geography and wanderings.
This is an interesting pattern to ponder: the hero doesn’t become a hero all of a sudden. Life prepares him. Life trains him. Life gives him a sense that he will have to answer a call, and that he needs to be ready. The hero doesn’t know what, or when, but somehow, he does prepare for the right things. Frodo will need to do a thousand mile journey? He practices walking far and studies maps as much as possible.
This is a well-known pattern, part of what is called the hero’s journey. But more strange is to see this pattern in real life.
There are many examples of this, but suffice to take two, from two important leaders of World War II.
The first one is Charles de Gaulle, who seem to have had a clear sense that he was destined for something. In a letter he wrote to his mother in 1916 (he was 25): “I am convinced that I have a role to play in the future of my country, though I know not yet what it will be.”
The second one is Winston Churchill, who also had a sense of his destiny: one of his biographers writes: “In 1940 he believed that he had been destined for the extraordinary role he must now play. He declared to Lord Moran: ‘This cannot be accident, it must be design. I was kept for this job.’”
Two men who played a crucial role in the destiny of their respective nations, two men who had a sense of their destiny.
Which takes us to a side question: what about the survivor bias? There are people who have a grand sense of destiny, and who never really accomplish it. France has a primer minister for instance who always thought he was going to be president. So far, he occupied many roles, except the one of President.
And in a more classic way, we have the almost tragic example of Confucius. He knew of his importance, he knew he could accomplish great things if only he were to be put in charge of a kingdom. But the best he received was to be the equivalent of minister of justice in Lu for a few years. He excelled, but this was the only time he was able to demonstrate the truth of his ideas. There are many quotes about this in the Analects, which shed a sad veil on his life. “Is he not a man of complete virtue, who feels no discomposure though men may take no note of him?” (Analects I, 1, translation Legge)
So why is is that some people feel this call of destiny but don’t end up anywhere? One could say they have delusion of grandeurs (some do), but let’s offer an alternative explanation. Life trains people to have them ready for crucial moments, but it seems as if it also trains some to be back-ups.
J. K. Rowling used this pattern in Harry Potter. Harry became the “chosen one”, but it didn’t have to be this way: it could also have been Neville Longbottom. The prophecy that appears in The Order of the Phenix could apply to both of them, save the detail of the scar. It’s almost as if Neville was Harry’s back-up, already set-up from the beginning: both are born at the end of July, both have parents who fought against the antagonist, etc.
Do we find this pattern in The Lord of the Rings? The answer is clearly yes. Frodo has a back-up: Sam. The gardener. He doesn’t seem like much, but in the end, it becomes clear he was almost as important as the main character.
If this is true, then it means that there was also a second De Gaulle and a second Churchill, somewhere not far from them, who could also have stepped up if necessary. All of them prepared, all of them having a sense of what they needed to do, if necessary.
What’s fascinating about all this, is that we probably are not completely aware of who the current Frodos and Sams of our times are. We will only find out later, maybe when the war is over, maybe in a side story that most people won’t pay attention to at first. Who knows if they will be remembered. But the story comes to remind us: they are as important as the kings and generals. Maybe even more.