3. The Black Gate is Closed; 4. Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit; 5. The Windows on the West
Led by Gollum, Frodo and Sam finally reach Mordor. Hidden among the rocks, they behold the black mountain range and the Black Gate, which conceals “the Haunted Pass, the entrance to the land of the Enemy.” We learn that the Iron Gate hides “a hundred caves and maggot-holes; there a host of orcs lurked, ready at a signal to issue forth like black ants going to war.”
The author has repeatedly likened Gollum to an insect, especially a spider. The insect is a deeply repulsive creature, its appearance monstrous and its species wholly alien to humanity. Here, however, the author employs the insect metaphor not for a single creature but for a horde of creatures. Beside a giant insect, a swarm of insects may be our worst nightmare; the swarm is entirely beyond our control, spreading uncontrollably, infiltrating everywhere, undeterred by how many are killed – it threatens to dissolve the human. The individual, hero or not, stands no chance against an inexhaustible, unstoppable, mindless swarm. The orcs as a “horde of black ants” is yet another image of the dissolution that repeatedly threatens the individuality or consciousness in the tale.[1]
For the first time, Sam and Gollum are in agreement, concluding that they can never take this heavily guarded and barred path into Mordor. Frodo resolutely declares that he must enter Mordor, that he has no choice. (He is driven by the necessity we discussed in connection with the numbers three and nine.) Gollum laments, pleading that they not bring “the Precious” to “Him.” “He will devour us if he gets it, devour the whole world.” Once again, the threat of Sauron is described with attributes of the Terrible Mother.
A foreign army comes marching to join Mordor’s forces. Frodo realizes the other two are right – they cannot enter this way. He says: “Sméagol, once again I must place my trust in you. It seems I have no choice but to do so, and that it is my fate to receive help from you … and your fate to aid the one you have long pursued with ill intent.” Frodo and Gollum share a fate, much like the ego and its shadow, as we discussed in the previous commentary.
They linger, awaiting dusk. Ringwraiths fly high above them. “Gollum crouched like a spider cornered in a nook.” Later, at the same spot, hearing the clatter of weapons, Gollum “crawls like an insect” to the ridge to spy. He has shifted from being likened to an insect, to a dog, and back to an insect; it is the archetype of the Terrible Mother that renders him inhuman, while Frodo – the conscious and accepting one – has the potential to humanize him.
4. Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit
When darkness falls, they journey southward as the landscape grows less barren and desolate. As the reader likely knows, Gollum intends to lead them to Cirith Ungol, to “Her.” But that path is also a possible entry into Mordor, which serves as Gollum’s pretext.
The landscape begins to feature vegetation like heather, shrubs, and pines. The author repeatedly describes a pleasant fragrance. For alchemists, there were essentially only two kinds of smells: fragrance and stench. The former, often illustrated by or likened to flowers, symbolizes renewed life and, in our context, the Good Mother; while the stench belongs to death and decay, the Terrible Mother. This nature, after the foul labyrinth of Emyn Muil, the Dead Marshes, and the subsequent wasteland, offers “temporary relief.”
In the previous chapter, we likened the marshes and subsequent wasteland to putrefactio and mortificatio, noting that while these states are unbearable, they are often followed by renewal in the alchemical tradition. We see that the author’s intuition follows this archetypal progression (the current development along Mordor’s mountain range is not, rationally speaking, self-evident).
They enter the wooded region of Ithilien, “a fair upland country of woods and rushing streams,” an “untamed beauty.” The flora is described in detail; olives and laurels reveal the Mediterranean-inspired climate they have reached in their southward journey. They wash and quench their thirst. Ithilien is a fertile land with its “lovely fragrances” and flowing waters, and we might expect an encounter with representatives of the Good Mother. Frodo falls asleep peacefully here in the forest, as he often does in her domains. Sam gazes at him: “Frodo’s face was peaceful, the marks of fear and care had left it; but it looked old, old and beautiful, as if the chiseling of the shaping years was now revealed in many fine lines that had before been hidden, though the identity of the face was not changed.”
We often imagine Frodo as a youthful hobbit throughout the adventure, but this quoted description reminds us that this image is inaccurate. Frodo is an adult, now a weathered man; he possesses a character and wisdom that are striking, not least evident in his meeting with Faramir.
Gollum returns with rabbits he has caught and killed, as Frodo had asked him to find food for them. Sam finally puts his cooking pots to use again and retrieves his “treasure” – the box of salt. He builds a fire, cooks his meal, and wakes Frodo.
This attracts humans. The rational reason is that they see the smoke. Symbolically, however, Frodo and Sam are sharing a “human” moment together for the first time since crossing the river. Moreover, they are in the land of the Good Mother, where creatures belonging to that realm are to be expected; the places Frodo visits are almost always personified. We further note that this is the first time Frodo encounters a group of humans since leaving Bree. In the tale, humans largely represent consciousness, a content that has been made conscious. This is primarily illustrated by the meeting with Aragorn in Bree after the initiation at the Barrow-downs. Until then, “the Big Folk” had been something dangerous and unknown that the hobbits fled from, but with Aragorn, that content was integrated on a conscious level. Representatives of the unconscious that consciousness cannot integrate remain or become monsters in the tale. Gollum is a fascinating creature in this regard; as Frodo’s shadow, he should be capable of integration, of being humanized in the tale. We also observed how he transitioned from being a wholly alien “insect” to a somewhat integrated “dog”; the next stage would be to “be” human. But we have also established that this is a profoundly difficult process as long as Frodo remains in or near Mordor, the very heart of the Terrible Mother in this narrative, where her influence makes Gollum’s humanization all but impossible.
Another detail worth noting about the encounter with the strangers, soon to be friendly humans, is that Gollum is absent. Gollum, the shadow, and the human (or his consciousness) repel each other. At this stage, Frodo is either with Gollum or with the humans. Thanks to, one might say, Frodo and Sam making a fire, cooking food, and sharing a meal without Gollum, the “normal” humans can emerge.
Faramir is their leader. He is something of an ideal man. Before he appears on the scene, one of his men remarks that Faramir’s “life is protected as if by enchantment, or else fate spares him for some other purpose.” With this description, we understand that he plays a significant symbolic role in the tale. He is not easily deceived, nor can anything be hidden from him in the long run. Thus, he inquires about Frodo’s “skulking fellow,” “with an ill-favoured look.” Frodo describes his shadow as something he merely chanced upon along the way. He claims he is not responsible for it. Naturally, Frodo seeks to distance himself from his shadow in the presence of the humans.
Faramir as a Symbol
We pause the story’s chronology to discuss Faramir. On one hand, he is an impressive figure with a destiny in the tale (meaning he is important), yet he is a secondary character in the narrative’s progression. It is basically only here in Ithilien that he plays a prominent role, in his encounter with Frodo (which doesn’t really change anything). Otherwise, he talks with his father and Gandalf, rides out and reappears in the story when he is dying after a battle, and finally, he ends up with Éowyn when everything is over. In other words, he is rather passive in the story; he does not do much, if anything (according to the text), despite being such an imposing character, who is also Boromir’s brother and Denethor’s now only son. From a symbolic perspective, however, he is an important figure for three distinct reasons: he symbolizes Boromir’s redemption, the integrity of the individual, and the potential union of opposites. We will address these in turn.
We, of course, recall that Boromir was somewhat suspect from the start, as during Elrond’s council he suggested using the Ring against the enemy, claiming it was a “gift” to the free peoples. During the Fellowship’s journey south, we learned he was highly skeptical of entering the domains of the Great Mother, whether Terrible or Good. He reacted negatively and defensively when Galadriel gazed upon him. Indeed, we have established that Boromir is more one-sided than comparable figures like Aragorn and Frodo, and we have suggested that this one-sidedness makes him susceptible to the Ring’s temptation. Ultimately, in contrast to the more “whole” Aragorn, he tries to advise Frodo, which escalates into an attempt at persuasion and ends with him trying to overpower the Ring-bearer to seize the Ring, intending to defeat the enemy and be hailed as a king. When Aragorn finds him dying, however, Boromir is deeply remorseful and realizes he has failed. Yet Aragorn, as the reader may recall, speaks the unexpected words, from a rational perspective: “No, you have won!” We speculated that Aragorn means Boromir has sacrificed himself for a higher purpose – namely, the Bearer, who, thanks to Boromir’s sacrifice of his own person/identity, decides to embark on his own individual journey, the mission that overshadows all else in the story.
This signifies Boromir’s redemption. From a literal perspective, this may seem a strange interpretation, as he dies, but symbolically, it follows a logic: sacrifice, death, rebirth. When Boromir is placed in the boat and sent down the waters of Anduin, it is with the knowledge that this “boat grave” disappears into the falls of Rauros. Yet when Faramir sits watching the river far south of the falls, during “the midnight hour when all the world sleeps,” he beholds the boat drifting on the water, surrounded by a shimmer. He wades out to it and gazes upon his brother lying dead with the broken sword in his lap. The boat glides on and vanishes, while Faramir remains as a replacement.
Since Faramir is Boromir’s brother, there is an obvious connection between them, but beyond this, the author has Faramir replace Boromir; we never hear of Faramir until Boromir is out of the picture. In fact, his name is not mentioned in the story until he introduces himself to Frodo in Ithilien. He emerges there. When Frodo reveals his secret, Faramir exclaims: “So that’s the answer to all the riddles! The great Ring, thought to have vanished from the earth. And Boromir tried to take it by force? And you escaped? And fled all the way – to me!” In other words, from a symbolic perspective and according to the rule we previously touched upon, “one thing leads to another,” Frodo flees “the sacrificed Boromir” and runs straight into the arms of “the reborn Boromir.” The latter is a redeemed version of the former. Just as one receives a new name during an initiation, the character in the tale receives a new name upon rebirth. Boromir, in short, becomes Faramir.
The redeemed “Boromir” we now meet is entirely free of desire for the Ring. The broken blade in the lap of the dead warrior in the boat can be seen as a sacrifice to the Mother, to yin, if you will, whose essence thus becomes part of his personality; the figure, as Faramir, becomes more “whole,” and as such does not fall prey to the weakness of one-sided masculinity, which is a recurring theme in the tale.
We need to elaborate on this. Neither masculinity nor one-sidedness are weaknesses. On the contrary, they are qualities essential for a goal-oriented and successful life. One cannot, in short, take everything (inner and outer) into account while, as a child, youth, or young adult, and so on, striving for good grades, a solid education, or a decent job, while achieving some degree of success in social life. Both men and women must, to a greater or lesser extent, manifest yang to achieve their goals in our culture. (“Goals” can be modest, such as a reasonably fulfilling life.) One must, to a greater or lesser degree, be strong, driven, and rational. Boromir would likely have climbed the career ladder if born in the twentieth century, with all the strengths of one-sided masculinity.
But because the psyche strives for wholeness, according to Jung’s theory of the individuation process (which, in our view, is reflected in the tale), one-sidedness eventually becomes a problem. Jung essentially argued that Taoism and its yin-yang concept are synonymous with individuation.[2] The wholeness that individuation seeks thus encompasses both yin and yang, but if consciousness identifies with one, the other remains unconscious. In its autonomous striving to be integrated into conscious life, which is rejecting it, it sooner or later appears as disruptive, even hostile. In the tale, the repressed yin becomes something slithering, devouring, and paralyzing. Because the one-sided man is unaware of this inner quality, he struggles to defend himself against it; it attacks, so to speak, from behind, perceived as treacherous and magical – indeed, as something serpentine, witch-like. This becomes the backdoor through which the Ring’s power flows. Boromir, due to his one-sidedness and associated unconsciousness, has no defense against this, while Faramir, as we shall see, a more “whole” person, is conversely immune to it. This is what we mean when we say that one-sided masculinity is a weakness in our story; we also know that the tale strives for a union of the conscious yang and the unconscious yin.
Faramir is, beyond this, a significant figure in the story for what we might call philosophical reasons. He demonstrates through his example that not all men succumb to the temptations of darkness. Significant men whom the Fellowship encounters after leaving Rivendell tend to be seduced by Sauron, whether through the Ring, the palantír, or intermediaries – Boromir, Théoden, Saruman, and Denethor. Faramir is an exception, and an important one. He shows that there is a choice, that it is not predestined for representatives of masculinity to be “weak.” A person can, so to speak, choose to be a Boromir or a Faramir. The story emphasizes through Faramir the individual’s own responsibility and choice, and how this largely depends on wisdom and integrity.
What is it in his character that makes Faramir, unlike his brother and father, immune to Sauron’s allure? In keeping with the tale’s themes, we believe it stems from Faramir not being as one-sidedly masculine as the others. Like Aragorn, he keeps the door open to the feminine. While all these men must possess the ability to manifest yang, their wisdom and character derive from yin. Let us explore how we arrive at this conclusion based on what the tale reveals.
We recall that the men Aragorn meets in Rohan – Éomer, Wormtongue, and Théoden – like Boromir, have a negative view of Galadriel, the Great Mother, associating her with spiders, seduction, webs, and magic. Faramir, who knows no more about her than the others, has a more neutral, vaguely positive sentiment. He calls her “Mistress of Magic,” “the Lady that dies not,” and “White Lady.” This offers an initial hint that he has a more mature relationship with this archetype. Like Aragorn, when he gazed south toward Gondor, speaking longingly of the White Tree and the sea (in contrast to Boromir, who spoke of men, walls, and war), Faramir says he cares not for the Ring but only wishes to see the White Tree bloom again. Both the tree and the sea are, as we know, maternal symbols in this universe. Faramir, in other words, desires for the feminine to flourish in his one-sidedly masculine city.
Even the environment associated with Faramir reflects the presence of the Good Mother. On the way to their hideout in a cliff, they follow a lively stream. Water becomes particularly prominent in this section. To enter the cave, for instance, they pass through a waterfall. Here, we see a union of water and stone at a higher level than in Moria; the water is vibrant, and the company is generous. Wine appears frequently in the tale, but to underscore the presence of the feminine, Frodo drinks white wine with Faramir; it is the only time white wine is explicitly mentioned in the story. (White and red often symbolize the moon and sun, respectively.) They are thus given rest, food, and drink, and sleep securely for the first time since leaving Galadriel. Faramir even carries Frodo to his bed and tucks him in, an image we recognize from the first encounter with the elves. “He fell at once into a deep sleep.” It is clear that Faramir, while a man with masculine traits, nonetheless represents the tale’s good femininity – both yang and yin. He is, as we began, something of an ideal man in this universe.
Faramir and his men also represent a distinctly more mature femininity than the elves the hobbits first met in the Shire. They are solemn humans (that is, more conscious than the elves) and more “adult” than the giggling elves; the hobbits are offered meat to eat (in contrast to the elves’ vegetarian fare), and the place unites the opposites of water and stone (in contrast to the feminine night and forest that characterized the elves’ environment).
As a symbol, Faramir thus represents the potential union of opposites at a high level. He is also one of three men who marry toward the end of the story, ultimately manifesting the coniunctio oppositorum that is in many ways hinted at in his encounter with Frodo.
Footnotes
[1] Cf. the essay "Going Bugs" in James Hillman, Animal Presences, Uniform Edition of the Writings of James Hillman, vol. 9 (Putnam, CT: Spring Publications, 2008).
[2] Jung, Nietzsche’s Zarathustra, p. 128. However, Jung was critical of the Eastern philosophical pursuit of enlightenment, which he believed did not correspond to individuation; see, for example Jung, Visions, p. 1370.