On King Theoden, Walking in the Spirit, and the True Self

In my last blog post I wrote about a growing ‘hermeneutic of suspicion’ between men and women, stoked by our social media algorithms. Similar dynamics are at play between ideological opponents and even the Boomers vs. the Millenials. It got me thinking about Theoden and Wormtongue.

For the uninitiated, Theoden is the king of Rohan in J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series. Basically, Theoden is a powerful leader who has been brought low by a deeply manipulative advisor, Wormtongue. The pale, whispering Wormtongue doesn’t fit in at this court, a place of Rohirrim – proud, capable horse riders and warriors. But he’s managed to make the court more like himself rather than the other way around. When Gandalf the Wizard arrives, Theoden’s son is dead, his brave and loyal nephew Theodred has been banished, the Rohan flag is in tatters, and Gandalf and his trusted crew are treated like enemies and threats. Gandalf soon realizes that Rohan no longer trusts its allies either. It has become, one might say, isolationist. Wormtongue breathes into Theoden’s ear that his allies haven’t done enough for them to warrant Rohan’s trust or assistance.

In the Peter Jackson films, the inestimable Bernard Hill (may his memory be a blessing) plays Theoden, hunched over on his throne like an old man, covered in wrinkles, his beard unkempt, and his eyes pale and blind. He hardly speaks except to grunt in agreement with Wormtongue, and barely lifts his hand to sign his name. Wormtongue keeps Theoden passive. He argues that there’s no reason to act; that he shouldn’t be disturbed; that others don’t deserve him or Rohan to make sacrifices on their behalf. In doing so, Wormtongue guarantees Rohan’s demise, since forces are amassing with the power and intent to destroy it. By lulling Theoden into this stupor of suspicion and passivity, Wormtongue carries out the will of Theoden’s enemies. And he almost succeeds.

Theoden’s niece, Eowyn, sees what’s happening, but is entirely powerless to stop it. She stands up for herself against Wormtongue, but as long as he has Theoden’s ear, there is very little she can actually control. Theoden loved and valued her, but now he doesn’t even see her terrifyingly vulnerable position. Her brother is already banished, and Wormtongue looks at her with a desire to consume. Eowyn is a woman of courage and action but is constantly frustrated. She tries to speak gently and lovingly to Theoden, tries to draw him back to himself, but Wormtongue always interrupts. Something much more powerful is needed to disentangle Theoden’s mind from his psychological enslaver.

Gandalf manages to get into the throne room with his staff, and, shall we say, exorcise Theoden of his demon. As Theoden comes back to himself, his scraggly, dirty gray beard and hair turn trim and golden brown; his face returns to that of a rugged, handsome middle-aged king; and he begins to speak as though coming out of a dream. When he realizes what has happened, he declares in his booming voice that Wormtongue is banished.

The Nature of Wormtongue’s Lies

The odd thing is that Wormtongue had no personal power or physical prowess keeping him in his place. What he had was his poisonous words, and the ear of the man in charge. Having lost the vessel for his lies, his smallness and weakness are on full display as he’s thrown onto the steps of the court. In the sunlight, his sickly palor looks almost like death.

Theoden doesn’t become perfect, but his true self is finally revealed. His power as a leader and warrior are stunning. His love for his nephew and for Eowyn is real and deep. And he learns to trust his allies and to know when sacrifices must be made to protect his people. He is strong and courageous, a man of action.

Note that Wormtongue’s main message was always the same: no one can be trusted… everyone is against you… why should you do anything for them… just protect yourself… and finally, you’re too weak and troubled to be disturbed… you’re not capable. Let me handle it.

Wormtongue is the demon feeding many of us these self-same lies. He’ll use any kernel of truth – past hurts and disappointments; a betrayal, real or imagined – and build layer after layer of mistrust and self-protection around it until some entirely new narrative has been produced. He whispers to us to keep our problems to ourselves, cut off family members, cut off friends, or deconstruct our faith. In our social and emotional isolation, we become even more vulnerable to lies, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we have now become the liar. We no longer need to interact with others before we’ve created a story of what they want to do to us. They hate us; they’re judging us; they reject us. They probably planned that bad outcome; they probably enjoyed it. Wormtongue hardly has to say a word anymore.

Those of us on the outside looking in and watching this happen to our loved ones feel like Eowyn. We know the true version of our friend or family member. We know their beauty, their giftedness, their power, even if it was still merely potential before Wormtongue got ahold of them. A true friend is full of faith, hope, and love, and therefore sees what is possible. This makes our predicament all the worse, since the distance between our vision for our loved one and what they have become is so great.

The True and False Self

In several letters, Paul makes the distinction between walking in the flesh and walking in the spirit (i.e., Gal. 5). The flesh is only what we can do on our own, without God. Since we are creatures made to thrive in relationship with our Creator, our flesh malfunctions on its own. It lies to us, feeds us poison, and burns us out. It separates us from others, who are seen as a threat to ourselves, rather than as a precious person who we can love and who might love us, too. To walk in the spirit is to live life with God and in agreement with Him. Talking to Him throughout my day, His presence is my protection. Because I can trust Him, I am never really alone. I can take risks because the Lord is my fortress. The sacrifice of obedience becomes a blessing. Connected to His goodness, goodness flows out of us. It’s not so much that I love my enemies, as that I realize they never really were my enemies, even if they think they are. Wormtongue is my true enemy, but the sweet voice of our Savior drowns out his nonsense. Soon, the one who walks in the Spirit becomes so familiar with the voice of the Lord that there is no longer confusion over what is real and what is false.

We might think of walking in the flesh as the false self, like the broken-down Theoden. What happened to Theoden was real, but it was a diminishment of his personhood and his beauty. He was less himself than ever, no longer controlling even his own thoughts. But this is Wormtongue’s trick: we believe that since we are acting in our own power and resisting connection with others, this must actually be our true self. It seems that agreeing with the will of God would make us less ourselves by violating our autonomy and making us dependent on something else (or Someone Else).

Walking in the spirit is the true self, the self that you were made to be. The love and (wise) trust that a Spirit-filled person lives into allows her gifts, risks, and virtues to be made manifest. The true self is always beautiful because we are made in God’s image. When we are functioning properly because we are operating in God’s kingdom, we go from black and white to color. Our brilliance and creativity begin to shine as the energy source we were formed to run on flows through us.

The claims I have just made are a scandal to some and foolish nonsense to others. How can we be most ourselves when our minds and will are most aligned with Him? Wormtongue whispers to us that it must involve some kind of groveling submission. On the contrary, such a relationship between ourselves and God is like being a well-loved child that basks in the deep delight of a parent. A parent may want to stop their child from picking up the dog-poop in the sandbox or hitting another child over the head, but he has no interest in controlling what the child builds in the sandbox, or sings while playing, or speaks to other children while making friends. Indeed, he loves to watch and listen and be surprised and captivated by his little image-bearer.

The old cliché isn’t a bad one: Wormtongue speaks to us as someone telling a fish that if it jumps out onto the land it will truly be free.

For those of us who are in Eowyn’s position, we really do need a Gandalf to come along and free our friends. This is the frustrating truth when a loved one is caught up in some kind of un-reality. The harder one argues against Wormtongue’s lies, the more they become convinced that listening to you will mean a loss of control. They are blind to the fact that they are badly out of control as it is. This is where we are truly tested when walking with the Spirit. Will we trust God and wait on his divine intervention? Will we speak the truth in love, but also learn when not to speak at all? Will we keep on hoping and keep on loving, not because we have any power, but because the Creator of the universe loves our loved even more and even better than we do?

A genuine encounter with the risen Jesus is the magic we need to release us from the awful spell of the enemy’s lies. Like Gandalf’s flash of blinding, blessed light, being with Jesus brings us back to ourselves. Jesus is the perfect picture of the character of God, the ideal human, the greatest of all gurus, and our best friend, convicting but merciful, full of grace and truth. Yes, he wants to make us like Himself, but only in the sense that we live the life we have been given as He would live it if he were us. Wonderfully, paradoxically, bafflingly, the God of the universe created His image-bearers to retain our individuality, the glory particular to each of us, for the rest of eternity.

So flop awkwardly back across the beach and into the water where you can breathe again, swim again, sparkle in the waves, and be – to the utmost – what you truly are. Your true self.