In The Two Towers, the second volume in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series, characters travel through ruined monuments, barren lands, vast gravesites, and failing kingdoms. The threat Middle-earth faces is not only from Sauron, who intends to conquer everything and destroy the world as the protagonists know it, but also from the corruption and failure found in the civilizations of men, leaving them more vulnerable to Sauron’s influence. As Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli travel through Rohan, and Sam and Frodo search for an entrance to Mordor, their surroundings indicate that Middle-earth has declined, slowly and unnoticed, from a beautiful and noble past to a bleak and hopeless present. It is now characterized by a loss of hospitality, morality, honor, and natural beauty. The ents, who once shepherded the trees of Middle-earth, are few and fading into legend. Faramir and Théoden anticipate the imminent end of their nations as Sauron readies his forces for war. Middle-earth is a dying world, hastened into its grave by the influence of Sauron, whose orcs kill the men of the West and burn the land. The Fellowship, in striving to destroy the Ring and defeat Sauron, attempts also to halt the swift decaying of Middle-Earth. As virtuous men step forward to lead, and hobbits dream of growing gardens in barren lands, they seek to not only preserve their world, but to undertake the restoration of the Middle-earth that has been lost, to return the realms of men to their former righteousness and natural beauty. Through this mission, The Two Towers suggests that a place’s physical state its tied to its rulers’ morality—decline and decay are symptomatic of evil and corruption, while beauty is rooted in goodness—and therefore that restoring a decaying place to its former glory is a noble, worthwhile pursuit.
Sauron and Saruman’s destructive influence is mirrored in the slow corruption of Middle-earth’s natural landscapes. The hobbits, in particular, as a race of peaceful gardeners and lovers of nature, notice the destruction of the natural world. Merry and Pippin are witnesses to the deterioration of the land of Isengard and the destructiveness of the orcs who fell the trees of Fangorn forest, leaving “wastes of stump and bramble” behind them. The orcs, servants of both Sauron and Saruman, have no respect for the lands they inhabit, burning Rohan’s fields and farmlands as they march to attack Helm’s Deep. Merry and Pippin also learn of the decline of the ents, who, as guardians of nature, parallel the decline of Middle-earth’s natural lands. Treebeard, a very old ent, is a remnant of the Middle-earth that once was, wild and fruitful. Sam and Frodo also encounter firsthand the effect of Sauron’s rule on the land they pass through. The mountains are treacherous and barren, offering nothing for the hobbits to eat or drink and little real shelter. Though not all the land Sauron has conquered is completely “barren and ruinous,” his influence on the natural world is undeniable. Even Ithilien, which used to be part of Gondor and hasn’t yet “fallen wholly into decay,” shows signs of desolation, pollution, and corruption. Moreover, the land is not quick to heal after it’s damaged. A great battle during the War of the Last Alliance, when Sauron rose to power in the Second Age, turned the Dead Marshes into a foul-smelling wasteland. The fact that the bodies in the marsh are not there physically indicates spiritual (as well as just ecological) damage to the land that isn’t easily remedied.
As the land has been corrupted by evil, so too have the nations of men experienced a slow internal decline from morality and honor to selfishness, carelessness, and complacency in the face of evil. Faramir, as a scholar of Gondor’s history and lore, is the primary observer of this decline. He explains to Frodo Gondor’s failings, which “brought about its own decay, falling by degrees into dotage” as its men grew lazy and arrogant. Gandalf, too, who was alive to witness Rohan and Gondor’s former ages, remarks on the decline of the morality of men as evidenced in Rohan’s “lessened” courtesy. Many of the men of the west, from Faramir’s soldiers to Théoden himself, understand that they almost certainly face the eradication of their countries and the destruction of their ways of life. The imminent threat comes from Sauron and his invading armies, but the fault lies partly in Rohan and Gondor themselves, for not remaining vigilant against their enemy and allowing him to regain power in the east. The narration is full of the language of decline and finality as the nations of the West rally for a final stand and “the last host of Rohan” rides to war. Faced with their destruction, the men of the West have little hope, yet resolve to fight to the bitter end.
Yet, though Middle-earth’s decline is evident, its survival is not as hopeless as the men of the West fear. Rohan and Gondor seek to hold back the tide of Sauron’s army long enough for Frodo to destroy the Ring and significantly weaken Mordor’s power. While their primary goal is preservation, they also take steps to restore Middle-earth. Merry and Pippin accompany Treebeard and the ents to reclaim Isengard for the natural world, flooding the river Isen to wash away the pollution and mechanization. In the ultimate symbol of the land itself fighting back against its oppressors, the huorns exterminate orcs at the battle of Helm’s Deep. Virtuous men and women, who embody the righteousness of the men of Middle-earth’s past—Aragorn, Faramir, Éowyn, and Éomer—appear as if “out of the forgotten days” to lead their nations. These attempts at Middle-earth’s restoration, though they seem small in the face of the enemy and the ongoing threats of climate change and corruption, are not meaningless acts, but rather indicate a solemn intention to heal from the current barrenness of both land and virtue and regain a righteous and fertile Middle-earth.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Decline and Decay ThemeTracker
Decline and Decay Quotes in The Two Towers
Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. ‘I tried to take the Ring from Frodo,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. I have paid.’ His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there. ‘They have gone: the Halflings: the Orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them.’ He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again.
‘Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.’
‘He was polite in those days, always asking my leave (at least when he met me); and always eager to listen. I told him many things that he would never have found out by himself; but he never repaid me in like kind. I cannot remember that he ever told me anything. And he got more and more like that; his face, as I remember it—I have not seen it for many a day—became like windows in a stone wall: windows with shutters inside.
‘I think that I now understand what he is up to. He is plotting to become a Power. He has a mind of metal and wheels; and he does not care for growing things, except as far as they serve him for the moment.’
‘Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,’ he said slowly, ‘likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. […] Now at least the last march of the Ents may be worth a song. Aye,’ he sighed, ‘we may help the other peoples before we pass away.’
‘I have spoken words of hope. But only of hope. Hope is not victory. War is upon us and all our friends, a war in which only the use of the Ring could give us surety of victory. It fills me with great sorrow and great fear: for much shall be destroyed and all may be lost. I am Gandalf, Gandalf the White, but Black is mightier still.’
He rose and gazed out eastward, shading his eyes, as if he saw things far away that none of them could see. Then he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said in a soft voice, ‘it has gone beyond our reach. Of that at least let us be glad. We can no longer be tempted to use the Ring. We must go down to face a peril near despair, yet that deadly peril is removed.’
‘The end will not be long,’ said the king. ‘But I will not end here, taken like an old badger in a trap. Snowmane and Hasufel and the horses of my guard are in the inner court. When dawn comes, I will bid them sound the Helm’s horn, and I will ride forth. Will you ride with me then, son of Arathorn? Maybe we shall cleave a road, or make such an end as will be worth a song—if any be left to sing of us hereafter.’
‘I will ride with you,’ said Aragorn.
‘Songs we have that tell of these things, but we are forgetting them, teaching them only to children, as a careless custom. And now the songs have come down among us out of strange places, and walk visible under the Sun.’
‘You should be glad, Théoden King,’ said Gandalf. ‘For not only the little life of Men is now endangered, but the life also of those things which you have deemed the matter of legend. You are not without allies, even if you know them not.’
‘Yet I should also be sad,’ said Théoden. ‘For however the fortune of war shall go, may it not so end that much that was fair and wonderful shall pass for ever out of Middle-earth?’
‘It may,’ said Gandalf. ‘The evil of Sauron cannot be wholly cured, nor made as if it had not been. But to such days we are doomed. Let us now go on with the journey we have begun!’
‘About the food,’ said Sam. ‘How long’s it going to take us to do this job?’
[…]
‘I don’t know how long we shall take to—to finish,’ said Frodo. ‘We were miserably delayed in the hills. But Samwise Gamgee, my dear hobbit—indeed, Sam my dearest hobbit, friend of friends—I do not think we need to give thought to what comes after that. To do the job as you put it—what hope is there that we ever shall? And if we do, who knows what will come of that? If the One goes into the Fire, and we are at hand? I ask you, Sam, are we ever likely to need bread again?’
‘Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo. […] War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend: the city of the Men of Númenor; and I would have her loved for her memory, her ancientry, her beauty, and her present wisdom.’
‘All is lost. Even if my errand is performed, no one will ever know. There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.’ Overcome with weakness he wept. And still the host of Morgul crossed the bridge.
Then, at a great distance, as if it came out of memories of the Shire, some sunlit early morning, when the day called and the doors were opening, he heard Sam’s voice speaking. ‘Wake up, Mr. Frodo! Wake up!’
[…]
Frodo raised his head, and then stood up. Despair had not left him, but the weakness had passed. He even smiled grimly, feeling now as clearly as a moment before he had felt the opposite, that what he had to do, he had to do, if he could, and that whether Faramir or Aragorn or Elrond or Galadriel or Gandalf or anyone else ever knew about it was beside the purpose.
He flung the Quest and all his decisions away, and fear and doubt with them. He knew now where his place was and had been: at his master’s side, though what he could do there was not clear. Back he ran down the steps, down the path towards Frodo.
[…]
‘I wonder if any song will ever mention it: How Samwise fell in the High Pass and made a wall of bodies round his master. No, no song. Of course not, for the Ring’ll be found, and there’ll be no more songs. I can’t help it. My place is by Mr. Frodo. They must understand that—Elrond and the Council, and the great Lords and Ladies with all their wisdom. Their plans have gone wrong. I can’t be their Ring-bearer. Not without Mr. Frodo.’
