#edit: accidentally called mordor ‘moria’ lol

[frodo-with-glasses]

I took this passage quite literally when I was little.

By that I mean I thought Galadriel was using her Super Cool Totally Sick Dude Elf Powers to play Peeping Tom on a hobbit and x-ray vision his clothes. Needless to say, I hated her. I hated her, I hated Lothlorien, I hated their stupid blindfolds and their stupid dwarf-hatred and their stupid trees (hobbits are supposed to sleep on the ground, dangit!), and most of all I hated their wicked, perverted, over-hyped, voyeuristic female dog of a Lady who got her kicks from looking at naked hobbits because no one dared to call her out.

I was already upset, of course. The Company had just lost Gandalf, and Frodo and Sam were both in pain from injuries, and the grandiose beauty of Lothlorien didn’t make me feel any better. It made me feel like I was unwanted there, like even my footsteps in the midst of that beauty would stain and taint it somehow, and that the residents looked down on me with scorn as something that didn’t belong. I wanted to get out as fast as I could. I wanted to be back in Hobbiton, where the people were simple and stupid, but kind and familiar. I wanted to be back in Rivendell, where the elves were less grand and beautiful and terrible, more warm, welcoming, and cheerful, and the touch of the skilled Healer could mend all woes up to a broken heart. Heck, I wanted to rush further on into more danger, even the unforgiving crags of Mordor, just to get away from the beautiful arrogance of Lothlorien.

A little of that initial revulsion still lingers, by the way, but it’s tempered by age and a calmer head, now.

Anyway, now that I’m older, I do understand what Sam was trying to express. It wasn’t the shame of physical nakedness that he felt, but of a sort of mental vulnerability. Galadriel could see his mind, even the deepest parts of his desires, and that was something uncomfortable and exposing in a way that Sam could only compare to losing all his clothes. It wasn’t his body that was laid bare before Galadriel, but his thoughts and heart and soul.

She issues him a test. She issues the entire Fellowship a test: Get what you most desire, or continue on, to whatever bitter end. This was another strike against her, in my mind. Who but someone in league with the Enemy would tempt even one member of the Fellowship to turn aside from their quest? Aragorn constantly defended Galadriel’s honor, but I sided with Boromir. She didn’t seem trustworthy. In fact, she almost seemed to be pushing the Fellowship to the brink of breaking.

But again, now that I’m older, I think I understand. Galadriel isn’t asking any questions that they aren’t already asking themselves.

The Fellowship has just met with the first major check of their quest. Gandalf is dead. Up until this point, they’ve fought orcs and wolves and snakes; they were pursued by Black Riders and swallowed alive by trees; but however hurt or frightened they might have been in the meantime, they all came out alive. Until now. Gandalf is dead. The whole Fellowship is realizing, suddenly, just how much this quest could cost them. They could be next. Their friends could be next. The very real, very mortal danger lies heavy on them. The question on all their minds is, “Is it worth it?”

Galadriel simply personifies this crisis. She gives their internal question a face and a voice. While they might try to ignore the dilemma and put it out of their minds, Galadriel forces it to the forefront, because if they will continue on, they must decide to do so fully, now, or their double-mindedness might later come back to break them.

I think the Mirror of Galadriel functions in much the same way. It only expounds upon and magnifies what the person looking into it is already thinking. Sam sees bad things happening in Hobbiton because he’s already looking back, thinking and worrying about home; Frodo sees the epic history of the Ring and the flaming Eye of Sauron because he’s already looking ahead, to the enormity of the task in front of him and the terror of the Enemy to whom he marches ever closer.

Galadriel says herself that the Mirror is a bad prophet; it shows “things that were, things that are, and things that may yet be”, and some things that never come to pass. That’s how it is with our worries, isn’t it? We think about things that happened, we fret about what’s happening now, and we worry about many imagined scenarios that may or may not ever be. Perhaps the Mirror isn’t meant to reveal the future, but the mind of the one looking into it. After all, it’s not a “Seeing Stone” or a “Fortune Pool”, but a Mirror. A mirror’s job is to reveal the person looking into them.

Through Galadriel, Tolkien takes the very human internal crisis on the minds of each member of the Fellowship and clothes it in a beautiful face and a deep, musical voice. He adds a touch of magic and wonder to the mix to keep us engaged and immersed in the fantastical nature of this world, even as he explores a very simple and mundane question that has, at one point or another, been close to all our own hearts and minds: “Is it worth it to go on?”

Galadriel is not a traitor. She’s not a temptress, or a conspirator, or even a guide. She is simply a mirror, reflecting the thoughts of the Fellowship back upon themselves, and it is how they respond to seeing themselves laid bare that reveals the integrity of who they really are.

Doesn’t mean I like her tho. I’d trade her to Sauron for Finrod and one (1) corn chip :-D