Denethor, Lord of Doom-Scrolling

What Tolkien can teach us about social media, information paralysis, and the erosion of hope.

‘Come!’ said Gandalf. ‘We are needed. There is much that you can yet do.’

Then suddenly Denethor laughed. He stood up tall and proud again, and stepping swiftly back to the table he lifted from it the pillow on which his head had lain. Then coming to the doorway he drew aside the covering, and lo! He had between his hands a palantír. And as he held it up, it seemed to those that looked on that the globe began to glow with an inner flame, so that the lean face of the Lord was lit as with a red fire, and it seemed cut out of hard stone, sharp with black shadows, noble, proud, and terrible. His eyes glittered.

—The Return of the King. The Pyre of Denethor.

Imagine, if you would, that you have a long and dark battle ahead of you.

It shouldn’t be hard to imagine. We all carry our own heavy burdens; we have our own battles.

But imagine this particular battle has already begun. You’re in it already, and the fight is likely to get worse.

You know you must fight this battle. You know the Enemy you face. You know that defeat will mean the erosion and eventual destruction of everything you hold dear.

You have a role to play in this fight, a specific battle-station suited to—and arising from—your particular gifts and strengths. Every day you must take up that station again, and come to the fight anew.

It is a hard battle. And long. The Enemy is great and merciless. He fights savagely.

You have allies and friends, and many others working beside you in their own roles, with their gifts and strengths.

Now imagine that you also have one particular asset at your ready disposal: a magical artifact, which can bring you knowledge that is otherwise inaccessible. With this magic in your hands, you can turn your gaze anywhere in the world. You can see things you would never see with your own eyes. You can hear things your ears would never otherwise hear.

This knowledge can teach you about the Enemy. It can show the tactics of this evil power. Such magic could be of service to you.

There’s only one problem…

You cannot truly control this artifact. You can influence it. You can choose to pick it up and put it down. You can decide what to do with whatever you learn. But you cannot always control what you see and hear, for there is another Power at work within it—a Power greater than you and beyond your full understanding.

And while you can always control what you do with your emotions, you won’t be able to control what emotions arise within you while you gaze into this great artefact.

This artefact is useful, arcane, and perilous.

I’m talking, of course, about your smartphone.

There are obvious parallels, of course, between the devices in our pockets and the palantír of Denethor in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.¹

Denethor is one of Tolkien’s most masterfully crafted characters. Though he is perhaps overshadowed as a villain by the likes of Saruman, Gollum, and Sauron, Denethor remains in my mind as the most interesting of the antagonists in The Lord of the Rings.

He enters the narrative first as only a name, arrives on page in The Return of the King as the Lord of Minas Tirith, intimidating, proud, and effective. But by the end, Lord Denethor walks freely into his own tomb, destroys the symbols of his own office, sets himself aflame and dies cursing all those who would fight on in hope.

There are more than a few reasons for Denethor’s despair, but one thing had an influence greater than all the rest: the palantír, the magical Seeing-Stone which he tried to use for the sake of his battle.

Ultimately, however, everything he saw “fed the despair of his heart until it overthrew his mind.”²

“I couldn’t fall asleep until after one a.m.,” said my beloved, bleary-eyed wife one recent morning. We’d gone to bed at a reasonable hour and I—probable sleep-apneic that I am—promptly slipped into unconsciousness. But not Mrs. Falden.

Her mind had been stuck on things, she told me. Not racing, exactly, but just moving from bad thing to bad thing. She’d seen some friends earlier that evening, but some of them were unburdening with her about their recent problems. Normal friend stuff, but heavy friend-stuff.

And of course, our family has had its own hardships lately. Our own battles, if you will.

“So my mind was just on all of that, feeling that stress a bit. Then since I was feeling crappy and I couldn’t sleep,” here Mrs. Falden gave a wry smile, “I decided to make all of that worse by opening Instagram and staring into my phone for a while.”

We should extend pity and compassion to Denethor. He was not a monster at first. Like his son Boromir, he tends to be remembered for his downfall and death rather than his earlier deeds.

But we should remember that Denethor guided Gondor through a precipitous crisis for years before we see him on-page.

When we first hear of him in The Fellowship of the Ring, at the Council of Elrond, it is entirely in the context of this desperate, existential threat.

Boromir says of the war, which his father directs:

‘[Few people] know of our deeds, and therefore guess little at their [own] peril, if we should fail at last.

‘Believe not that in the land of Gondor the blood of Númenor is spent, nor all its pride and dignity forgotten. By our valour the wild folk of the East are still restrained, and the terror of the Morgul kept at bay; and thus alone are peace and freedom maintained in the lands behind us, bulwark of the West. [...]

The Nameless Enemy has arisen again. Smoke rises once more from Orodruin that we call Mount Doom. The power of the Black Land grows and we are hard beset. [...]³

Here we have the parameters of Denethor’s battle. The entire fate of the free peoples of Middle Earth rests on his ability to lead Gondor in defense against overwhelming odds.

We should also remember that Denethor and his people are almost entirely alone during this crisis. As Boromir explained:

‘But still we fight on, and those who shelter behind us give us praise, if ever they hear our name: much praise but little help. Only from Rohan now will any men ride to us when we call.’⁴

Only from Rohan, says Boromir, but of course even as he says this Rohan is falling under the sway of Saruman’s betrayal. Gondor stands alone.

The war against Evil defines Denethor. How can it not? He gazes out his tower and sees his homeland and the land of Shadow just beyond it. Sauron’s realm dominates the landscape. He can watch as the clouds gather on the horizon and never dissipate. He can see the physical advance of the sleepless enemy.

Consequently, Denethor is willing to do anything—anything—in that fight.

And one day a small Elven riverboat floats down the Anduin to Denethor’s doorstep. Within lies his son, dead.

There is the great personal loss, of course, but even more: Boromir was Gondor’s best hope for victory, and they placed their trust in his strength. With his death, Gondor’s solitude is now made manifest in its Lord’s own grief.

Denethor turned then to the palantír and tried to find there a shortcut to wisdom, knowledge, and power. He tried to use it for the defense of his realm.

As Gandalf explains, post mortem Denethoris:

‘In the days of his wisdom Denethor would not presume to use it to challenge Sauron, knowing the limits of his own strength. But his wisdom failed; and I fear that as the peril of his realm grew he looked in the Stone and was deceived: far too often, I guess, since Boromir departed. He was too great to be subdued to the will of the Dark Power, he saw nonetheless only those things which that Power permitted him to see.’⁵

We are all familiar with this sort of story, because we’ve lived it in small ways. More and more of us, more and more often, each day since the summer of 2007 when the first iPhone hit the shelves.

Here’s how it plays out.

We’re not feeling great. There’s something on our mind. Something’s worrying us. So at the very first threat of silence we reach for our phones. We choose distraction instead of mental discomfort and we don’t even realize we’re doing it.

It could be at a red light, or waiting in line, or at your desk while you wait for your computer to boot up, or even during commercials that are interrupting your the larger, brighter screen you were already watching in emotionless silence.

There’s rarely intention when we do this. There’s no real purpose. Maybe we have something specific we want—maybe—but it’s never urgent. We might check an inbox or a notification feed or our texts. We’re not looking for anything in particular except a stimulus we can respond to.

But we do it anyway.

I know I do it. Far too often. No judgement here.

But I want to hone in on that particular instance with my dear wife again, since I think it reveals something about how we face (or refuse to face) evils that are right in front of us.

Somewhere deep in the night, since my wife couldn’t sleep, our bedroom was bathed in blue light as she looked for some piece of joy and distraction. Maybe there would be pics of our nieces and nephews. (We live far from them, and miss them dearly). Maybe a college friend had sent something funny. (They live all over the place, so social media is how we keep up.) Maybe the algorithm will just give some random thing to laugh at, to break the melancholy.

In this particular instance, the Power that lurked in the heart of the Seeing-Device was intent on bending the eyes of all who watched onto one particular set of news stories. They were all about this guy named Jeffrey Epstein. Maybe you’ve heard of him.

“And it wasn’t just news stories or something,” my wife told me as we prepared breakfast the next morning. “It was pictures. I don’t know how they even got past the safety filters. Like one second I’m watching a reel about how to deal with your toddler arguing with you and then the next second I’m looking at abusers preying upon children while some floating head screams at me about how angry we should be.”

As we made breakfast, we spoke about how we both hate social media because… well, do I need to spell it out? It’s awful.

But at the same time we like social media because it helps us know what’s going on. It’s not as if we want to be blind to the really awful things that are happening. We do want to be informed. But the rollercoaster of it all…

At best we come away not feeling worse.

“I want to know what’s going on,” she said, “so I can prepare myself and my family for dealing with whatever this world is gonna throw at us, and I want to be able to find and listen to people I trust who can help us with particular things… but now I just feel shook up and awful and like nothing will ever be okay.

“And,” she added, “I feel like there’s no actual control over what I see. Delete the apps and feel blind and cut off from the world, or allow raw sewage to pump into my brain.”

“It’s like Denethor,” I said.

“... What do you mean by that?”

Denethor has a battle to fight. He has an Enemy to resist. He has work to do, people to help, things to organize. He can look out the window of his tower and see the Anduin over which the enemy is crossing. He watches the battle below.

Like I said before: the battle against Evil defines him. In raw terms, his decades-long war against Mordor probably means he does more, on the whole, than many of the heroes of The Lord of the Rings.

But when his son Faramir falls to a Black Dart and is brought before him, wounded, what does he do?

He turns inward. He goes up to his tower and locks the door, and the room is lit only by the fell light of the palantír.

As his own knight, Beregond, later tells Gandalf and Pippin:

‘It was in the very hour that Faramir was brought to the Tower that many of us saw a strange light in the topmost chamber,’ said Beregond. ‘But we have seen that light before, and it has long been rumoured in the City that the Lord would at times wrestle in thought with his Enemy.’⁶

In these moments, Denethor is wrestling with Sauron, and he is learning helpful things. Even Gandalf says later that “[the] knowledge which he obtained was, doubtless, often of service to him.”

The palantír does indeed give him knowledge, and lets him see things he could not see on his own. He knows of the enemy fleet coming from the south. He knows of Aragorn long before he otherwise would, and he has some sense of Rohan’s peril long before messagers arrive about Saruman’s betrayal. The palantír gives him foresight, of a kind, and an ability to plumb the depths of mysteries otherwise locked to mortal Men.

Denethor is not wrong about the palantír’s power. But it is a false wisdom.

Because Denethor is not the stone’s master.

Made in the long-ago ages of Middle-Earth, the seven palantíri were eventually employed in the ruling and defense of the kingdoms of the Dúnedain. It is in this precise purpose that Denethor uses his. But even in the ‘Days of Old’, the stones were subject to the master stone at Osgiliath.

With those kingdoms of the Dúnedain receding against decay the might of Mordor, many of the stones fell under the power of Sauron. Thus, when other minds gazed into the palantíri, they were ensnared by the greater mind of the Nameless Enemy.

First, of course, was Saruman, but Denethor was soon to follow. As he explained the Seeing-Stones to young Pippin, Gandalf explained their allure and their danger.

‘Easy it is now to guess how quickly the roving eye of Saruman was trapped and held; and how ever since he has been persuaded from afar, and daunted when persuasion would not serve. The biter bit, the hawk under the eagle’s foot, the spider in a steel web! How long, I wonder, has he been constrained to come often to his glass for inspection and instruction… And how it draws one to itself! Have I not felt it? Even now my heart desires… to look across the wide seas of water and of time to Tirion the Fair, and perceive the unimaginable hand and mind of Feanor at their work, while both the White Tree and the golden were in flower!’ He sighed and fell silent.⁷

The temptation is towards pleasure, towards connection with good things that one cannot reach, towards equipping oneself to fight on the side of good.

But all these things can ensnare, for a greater Power is at work, and now the stones answer to Sauron.

In much the same way, we cannot control the digital world we in which we participate, especially with regard to social media.

We simply cannot control it. We think we can. But there are stronger minds at work behind the glow.

Technocrats. Megacorporations. Algorithms. Artificial Minds which humans do not even understand. We understand the inputs and outputs, some of us do, at least, as concepts if not as code… but we don’t understand these ‘intelligences’ that turn the gears of our digitized lives.

The great kings controlled the palantíri, but that did not save them.

In the same way the algorithms were made by brilliantly effective engineers who excelled at creating massive companies and in revolutionizing our entire way of being.

That does not make the algorithms good for us.

Denethor’s is not the strongest mind. Sauron’s is. Sauron decides what Denethor sees. Sauron can bend Denethor to his will.

When we peruse social media to find something to settle our emotions— ‘to look across the wide seas of water… while both the White Tree and the golden were in flower!’ —the same thing happens. We turn our gaze to far things, only to have deeper minds turn our eyes where they will.

It sounds nice to gaze into a glowing glass which can allow us to commune with one another, to share thoughts directly from soul to soul across space and time. But by gazing into it, we give some of our mind over to whatever is on the other side.

In Denethor’s case, we should note what does not happen as a result of his Doom-gazing.

Denethor does not decide that Sauron is good, and decide to join him (though Saruman does that, in his own way). Denethor does not conclude that Gondor is evil or not worth saving.

Denethor does not forget who he is, nor his station, nor his duties. He is not fooled. He knows much as a result—it’s not ignorance that dooms him. Nor is he even lied to—what Sauron shows him is factually true.

Denethor is not stupefied or robbed of his reason. There’s no trace, no possession, no overpowering of his identity.

But in spite of all of this, Denethor does give up. He loses hope.

Nothing shows this more clearly than a quick comparison between Denethor and his counterpart, King Théoden.

When Théoden is freed from the spells of Wormtongue, he comes out into the light of day and asks Gandalf, “What is to be done?”

And Gandalf replies “Much.” Théoden then sets out to reclaim his kingdom and save his people from Saruman’s treachery.

In contrast, when Denethor hears the same thing from Gandalf, he curses him:

Then passing through the door [of the tomb, Gandalf] took Faramir from the deadly house and laid him on the bier on which he had been brought, and which had now been set in the porch. Denethor followed him, and stood trembling, looking with longing on the face of his son. And for a moment, while all were silent and still, watching the Lord in his throes, he wavered.

‘Come!’ said Gandalf. ‘We are needed. There is much that you can yet do.’

Then suddenly Denethor laughed… and lo! He had between his hands a palantír. And as he held it up, it seemed to those that looked on that the globe began to glow with an inner flame [...]

‘Pride and despair!’ he cried. ‘[...] thy hope is but ignorance. Go then and labour in healing! Go forth and fight! Vanity. For a little space you may triumph on the field, for a day. But against the Power that now arises there is no victory… The West has failed. It is a time for all to depart who would not be slaves.’⁸

Despite all the things the palantír did not do, it did enough to make Denethor despair in his battle. Knowing everything about everything did nothing to help him actually prevail.

The stone gave its wielders the illusion of knowledge, of wisdom, of security, of community, of presence… But in reality—it ensnares them in dark rooms, alone, glued to the images given by powerful malice.

To return for a moment to my wife’s sleepless night where she was bombarded with images from the Epstein files…

What do we gain from moments like that?

Are we now suddenly more against human trafficking than we were before? Are we now suddenly more capable of resisting that evil? Is there something my wife and I, alone in our room at midnight can actually do to fight this? Are we now more likely to help those who need our help—as in our help, specifically, she and I, within the reach of our arms, in our lives?

No.

But we are more angry now. More unsettled. Less stable. Less in control of our emotions. More worried. More desirous of watching more and more so that we can know what’s going on.

Knowing about everything everywhere doesn’t actually help us fight evil.

Instead, an overwhelming deluge of information paralyzes us. Everything is bad. There’s so much evil. What can you do against such reckless hate? Evil powers are rising! They are here and here and there too. Keep looking. Keep looking.

It becomes—rapidly—a vicious cycle: It is a constant voice of alarm (Everything is awful!) combined with a paralyzing effect that prevents us from making anything better.

‘It is a time for all to depart who would not be slaves.’

‘Such counsels will make the Enemy’s victory certain indeed,’ said Gandalf.

‘Hope on then!’ laughed Denethor.⁹

We have to put down the palantír. Ideally, we should cast it into the Sea.

Eschewing the palantír is not eschewing the fight! It’s actually about facing the fight.

Turning off the doom-machine does not mean turning a blind eye to evil. That’s a lie—a lie that Sauron probably told Denethor: keep looking in the stone and you’ll be able to beat me. Pay no attention to the monsters ravaging your towns outside your window.

If we are to fight evil at Osgiliath, or in the Pelennor Fields, or in our homes, or in our families, or in our communities, then we must cover the stones, leave our dark tower rooms, and look at what is in front of us.

Then, we must act from a place of hope.

If we don’t, we’ll end up like the Lord of Minas Tirith. We’ll be overcome by the rising tides of despair, do nothing about it, and then curse our own inability to fight.

Then Denethor leaped upon the table, and standing there wreathed in fire and smoke he took up the staff of his stewardship that lay at his feet and broke it on his knee. Casting the pieces into the blaze he bowed and laid himself on the table, clasping the palantír with both hands upon his breast. [...]

Gandalf in grief and horror turned his face away and closed the door. For a while he stood in thought, silent upon the threshold, while those outside heard the greedy roaring of the fire within. And then Denethor gave a great cry, and afterwards spoke no more, nor was ever again seen by mortal men.¹⁰

Théoden’s question—what is to be done?—is the right one.

Not “what is happening everywhere, to everyone, always?” but “what is to be done, now, here, by me?”

The answer to that question is not likely found on social media. It won’t be found by staring the blue glass and letting technocrats play with your mind.

The answer won’t be found in the palantír. It can only be found by looking up from it.

Whatever battle you’re facing—whether its personal or familial or a larger fight for a better world for your friends, neighbors, and children—that battle is real. You are not alone.

Your role in that battle is real. It is particular to you. You may have allies and friends and you should call to them for aid, but only you can take up your duties.

You cannot fight that battle from a dark room, alone, with a glowing glass in your hands.

Cover the stone. Go outside. Fight.

Cover art: Screenshot from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, directed by Peter Jackson (New Line Cinema, 2003). // // Social thumbnail image: made by author, composed of assets, including Minas Tirith (2026) by artist Andreas Rocha and Palantir of Orthanc by Magali Villeneuve.

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1. I’m not the first person to make this observation by the way, but I do think evaluating Denethor specifically can shed a lot of light on this struggle for us.

2. The Return of the King, Book V, Chapter VII: The Pyre of Denethor.

3. The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter II: The Council of Elrond.

4. Ibid.

5. RotK, The Pyre of Denethor.

6. Ibid.

7. The Tow Towers, Book III, Chapter XI: The Palantír

8. RotK, The Pyre of Denethor.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.