Disclaimer: This post is not a review of the film, but there will be spoilers. However, since the book has been published for quite some time now, I hardly count it as a spoiler. Read at your own risk.
Last Sunday, my godmother had managed to convince me to watch the latest Hobbit film with her. To be quite honest, I didn’t need much convincing, as I had been wishing to see it for quite some time now. It had been so long since I last stepped foot outside the flat, let alone got out of bed.
There is a specific reason as to why I chose to use the promotional poster of Thorin Oakenshield, and that reason was that if there was anyone in this movie I could relate to, it was him.
To be fair to Thorin, (‘Son of Thrain, Son of Thror’) we have very little in common. He’s charismatic, a natural leader, and he has a killer beard. He also has the distinction of being able to ‘snap out of it’ much quicker than I have.
Thorin, as depicted in this poster, and for a good part of the movie is suffering from something Balin would call ‘dragon sickness’. It is generally described as a sickness of the mind that causes someone to be overly-possessive of gold. This sickness leads to Thorin breaking his promises, turning his back on people who needed him, and doubting the sincerity of kin and friends.
While I am not a Tolkien scholar, I find the parallels of ‘dragon sickness’ to addiction, as the dragon Smaug himself is the embodiment of greed (and pride– something I personally find common amongst the obscenely and unrightfully wealthy).
I am not saying, however, that Thorin had become afflicted with a malicious, insidious love for gold. What I think is different, and powerful, about Thorin’s strain of dragon sickness is love. Full stop.
If we were to do away with the ominous ‘curse upon that treasure hoard’, the fact remains that the illness itself was feeding on the better part of Thorin– his determination, his desire to reclaim Erebor. Thorin wanted to reclaim Erebor so badly, for his people. He considered Erebor a beacon to unite and call upon all the dwarves that had scattered across Middle-Earth. It was this kind of valorous love that was corrupted by the sickness.
His belief that the dwarves are the rightful occupants of Erebor had become synonymous to the gold that lay buried beneath it. This is what dragon sickness does: it twists the very things which are true and good and attaches to it that which can corrupt. To Thorin in this state, parting with a single coin is tantamount to giving in to allowing Erebor to be lost to the opportunistic who may want it for themselves: Thranduil’s presence– the Elves’ military presence, in fact– only served to cement and reinforce this belief.
In all fairness to Thorin, Thranduil’s presence at the gates complete with an army is a clear show of an intent to take over. I doubt anyone would simply and peacefully ‘ask for a few gems’ at your doorstep with a complete plan of action and the (figurative) guns to boot. Then again, Thorin vehemently denied a deal (complete with insults) with Thranduil in the previous installment, so one would naturally expect Thranduil to consider the dwarves as hostile. This, and Thranduil really strikes one as prideful, snobbish and elegantly sly.
So it comes to no surprise that he saw Bard the Bowman (slash Dragonslayer) as equally opportunistic, despite being sincere in asking for the promised share of the gold in order to help his people rebuild a settlement. Thorin has now taken a defensive stance, his love for Erebor corrupted into a protective and jealous love for the treasure that had become synonymous with his kingdom.
Thorin has been convinced, and in his mind, there is no doubt that he is in a position to be robbed– and while this may be true (see also Thranduil), the problem lies in that he knows not to distinguish friend from foe. Which is why Bilbo Baggins’ reassuring presence is crucial.
I will not handwave the fact that Thorin had suspected Bilbo of concealing the missing Arkenstone from him. Thorin’s suspicion was correct. However, Bilbo was able to trick Thorin into thinking that he too, knows not where the accursed gem is in order to protect him from further self-destruction.
It is in this deception that I find the addiction parallels more prominent. In this, Bilbo plays the role of the therapist, denying, concealing and at times playing innocent about Thorin’s ‘fix’ while standing by his side to remind him that not all is lost. Unlike a therapist, however, Bilbo himself is not emotionally detached to the subject. This now puts him more accurately as the support person, the anchor to which the coping ‘addict’ clings to.
Bilbo’s support, however deceptive it may be, should be taken at face value: it is a deception made for a good cause, and with no malicious intent– truly, just the same as Thorin’s obsession with gold has corrupted his well-meaning fixation on reclaiming Erebor for the Dwarves, so too can it be helped by such a pretense.
Bilbo appeals to whatever sanity is left inside Thorin at a crucial point in the story. Fortunately for them, the sickness is clinging onto a truth that Thorin had always believed in, even when it was apparent in his actions that it was a lie: that the he set out to reclaim their homeland and take his rightful place as king for the good of his people, the dwarves of Erebor. With emphasis on ‘for the good of his people’.
Up until being entranced by the promise of the golden hoard, Thorin is doing it for his people. It wasn’t until he had taken his time to relish in their success that he lost sight of this truth, and it had only become a shadow of it. He kept telling himself that what he is doing is ‘for the good of his people’, when it is far from it. Thorin has been deceived by a truth he believed in.
So it is no surprise that in what is possibly the most dramatic breakdown in the entire film, the thoughts that helped him out of his miser’s pit (of gold and dragon curses) were appealing to this truth.
I have gone through similar things, but there was no gold, no item worth of any material value that had been my source of grief and object of addiction. No, I had been addicted to something worse. Gotye put it into words: ‘You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness’.
I found the cycle similar to my plight. First, I was posessed by a truth I had nurtured inside me based on my perception of myself and my perceived and/or actual perception from others. This truth was the ‘truth’ that I was not a very social being. Something which originally meant, ‘I’m perfectly okay with just myself.’
At this point, I had accepted this truth, and the ‘dragon sickness’ had begun corrupting it already. The statement had become ‘I’m not fun to be around with because I am not a very social being.‘.
With this as my ‘revised’ truth, I set out into the world and met my Thranduils– more accomplished and attractive and much, much younger and happier people. A new clause was added: ‘I’m not as good a company to be around with as Person A, who is fun to be around with, unlike me, who is not a very social being.‘
Upon reaching the gates of my Erebor, I have crafted myself an armor of lingering doubt. ‘Why am I not a very social being?’. This led to a treasure room of similar doubts. ‘Was I not kind enough?’ ‘Was I not funny enough?’ ‘Was I not cool enough?’
Without knowing it, I have isolated myself in halls of self-doubt, feverishly seeking the ‘Arkenstone’, the answer that would put all these questions to rest, specifically, something that will put these questions to rest in terms favorable to me, even when they are not true.
This isolation, literally and figuratively, has only drove me to realize that it is true. Self-deception had become key, ‘It is not just me who is the problem… The problem is that people don’t like me just because I’m not a very social person’. I have shifted the ‘problem’ onto others.
Regardless of it being true or not, whether these ‘Thranduils’ at my doorstep are blatantly parading about, displaying their might and superiority over me and winning the favor of others who once cheered at my side and considered me a friend, I have already classified both as hostile forces. So much so that when a friend had approached me to ‘keep my promise’, I turned away from them in fear of being cheated, robbed or hurt– especially when it is obvious to my eyes that they have already allied themselves to others, specifically, those who I full well know are against me. And all at once, the ‘problem’ has become full circle and has taken over my truth.: ‘Other people don’t like me. Friends betray me. They prefer ‘better’ people. This is why I am not a very social person.’. The ‘truth’ I once knew I have accepted as the ‘result’ of a conjecture founded upon itself.
And now I spend days lying on the bed of my own desolation, sitting on a golden throne woven out of my misery.
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