Arwen's Choice

Arwen is one of the many peripheral but nevertheless interesting characters in The Lord of the Rings. Her story, glimpsed at the edges in a tale mainly concerned with the hobbits, appears as a bittersweet one, and since the ending of it is sad, it always bothered me. But after many years I’ve come to appreciate it in a different light. Arwen’s choice: to die, alone at Cerin Amroth, is my favorite part of the story. It’s not just that I prefer (or seem to have keener insight into) the female characters: it’s the luxurious storytelling capstone to the whole history.

There are analogies, especially in Shakespeare, and in his works there are quite a few tragic endings for certain of the ladies. Romeo and Juliet, for instance. Juliet: dies, dies every time, no matter how often you read it. And try as I might, I can’t find much uplifting about it; it’s just dark -- a lot like Nienor, but not so bad (Nienor was the worst). But there might be something uplifting about somebody’s death somewhere. For example, in the discipline of Sociobiology it is shown that if a single organism dies while saving the life (and the DNA) of sufficient numbers of close relatives, then that is something accruing a selective advantage, and might be perpetrated in a biological realm. But that is not what I’m getting at.

A character like Juliet has certain properties; she’s a biological organism, a psychological entity, and a spiritual entity. I would rank these: biology is the lowest, and spirituality is the highest. In storytelling terms it’s an advantage to retain something on a higher plane, even if you lose something on a lower plane. Generally the biology and psychology go together (although there was that case in Rollerball where someone survived in a coma). The really interesting contrast comes when there is a conflict between biology/psychology on the one hand, and spirituality on the other. This is the conflict between the flesh and the spirit written of in the Pauline epistles. This conflict isn’t so clear for Juliet, but how about Desdemona?

Desdemona is killed by Othello (“falsely, falsely murdered”), and she miraculously revives for a few moments, just in time for Emilia to pose her significant question: “Who hath done this deed?” Desdemona, with her dying words, says, “Nobody. I myself. Farewell. Commend me to my kind lord, O, farewell.” That’s interesting. She refuses to condemn Othello, who seemingly qualifies as an enemy, since not only is he a murderer, but her murderer, and she knows it. But, in accordance with what might be termed a Christian world view, Desdemona cleaves to the good on the higher plane. Her act recalls the words of Jesus in Matthew 5:43, “But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you in order that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” In terms of the conflict between planes, though illustrative, this particular case might not be the most pure example imaginable, because Desdemona is not in a position to choose life in unrighteousness over death in righteousness, since she is going to die momentarily anyway.

In Middle-earth, Arwen’s situation recalls that of Luthien in “Of Beren and Luthien” (in The Silmarillion). Here’s a story I like to feel I’m familiar with, and for long I’ve believed it’s really Luthien’s story. She’s a remarkable character: decisive, active, unconventional, she loves Beren, and she has a knack for making the right decision. And she dies: twice, rather than be parted from him. At the heart of Luthien’s story is the idea she gained something from Beren, even if it is never directly stated. I surmise that Men are somehow closer to Iluvatar than the elves. Luthien’s situation would then be somewhat analogous to that of Abraham, although it’s not so pronounced. Abraham was drawn out of idolatry by God, and Luthien, as I see it, is drawn away from a close association with the Valar and into a closer association with Iluvatar, through Beren. It’s as though Beren has a priestly/evangelical function, even if I am merely speculating on this point. But Abraham: he is in a position to choose between life (biological life) and unrighteousness on one hand, or biological death (sacrificing Isaac) and righteousness (obedience to God) on the other -- and he chooses to be righteous.

Desdemona and Abraham, by their actions, as a result of what might be termed their faith, draw closer to our God. Luthien moves closer to Iluvatar, the God of Arda.

Referring to the appendices of The Lord of the Rings, we get a hint of what may have passed between Beren and Luthien. In Rath Dinen Aragorn, speaking to Arwen, makes reference to a hope. And the way it is stated implies previous discussion on the subject. Even so, in Aragorn and Arwen’s case it would be too simplistic to say that they understand they would live happily ever after in heaven with Iluvatar after dying. There is doubt. Tolkien stated what he thought was one of the more important issues of the story in Letter 181.

Here I am only concerned with Death as part of the nature, physical and spiritual, of Man, and with Hope without guarantees. That is why I regard the tale of Arwen and Aragorn as the most important of the Appendices;....

Hope without guarantees.

The Silmarillion is written from an Elvish perspective, and from it we gain a certain understanding of them; they admit not understanding men well, or their fate. Arwen, coming from an Elvish background, has an Elvish view of reality (vague on the fate of men). Though she has joined herself to Aragorn, and entered into the world of men, and presumably shares Aragorn’s hope, nevertheless...it is quite a leap to give up immortality within the world for something else, even if that something else is guaranteed eternal life in “heaven.” But it’s not guaranteed, despite Aragorn’s last words. She has to make a leap of faith.

So there she is, in a barren and ghostly Lorien, all alone, and it’s so sad. But she goes through with it. And Tolkien words it as if it actually were sad. And it is sad, on a psychological plane. But on the spiritual plane it is triumphant. And I can’t help feeling the tone of the passage is written consciously in counterpoint to the real “feeling” (in spiritual terms) of joy involved.

References

Shakespeare, William. Romeo and Juliet. Ed. Brian Gibbons. The Arden Shakespeare. Methuen, 1980.

Shakespeare, William. Othello. Ed. M.R. Ridley. The Arden Shakespeare. Methuen, 1962.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed. Humphrey Carpenter. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1981.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Lord of the Rings. 2nd ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1965.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Silmarillion. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977. Houghton Mifflin

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