The Two Towers had not yet received six Academy Awards nominations.

But war was already in the air as political leaders were already contemplating terrorism, war with Iraq and negotiations with North Korea, and activists were already resurrecting their commitment to build peace nonviolently.

On a cold evening this past De cember, I was in Manhattan with other religious writers for the national press preview of Peter Jackson's second motion picture of J.R.R. Tolkien's mythic trilogy, The Lord of the Rings.

The next day we sat at a round table and interviewed members of the film's cast and crew as their handlers ushered them in and out. It was an interesting and enlightening day — especially when a giant cockroach, no doubt mystically transported from the dead marshes of Mordor, attempted a blitzkrieg on our refreshments.

Fortunately, King Theoden of Rohan (Bernard Hill), was present, and with a deft stomp of his right boot smashed the vile critter into the carpet. Thus was our introduction to one of The Two Towers pervasive themes: the presence of evil in the world and our personal and corporate effort to destroy it, albeit with violence.

The freeman of Middle-earth viewed the loom of the two towers at Isengard and Barad-dÛr (and the controlling influence of their occupants Saruman and Sauron), as responsible for bringing a great terror to Middle-earth.

The parallels with our own time are astonishing. In like manner, Al Qaeda (and other Mideast concerns) saw the loom of the two towers of the World Trade Center (and the global influence of their occupants) as responsible for bringing a cultural terror to their countries and societies.

We see the Al Qaeda terrorists as evil because of the physical violence they bring to thousands of temporal lives. But Tolkien, like some living in the Middle East, may have seen another great evil in our mechanized, greedy and power-hungry society that demands the right to export a culture that can bring spiritual violence to millions of eternal souls.

We should not need Al Qaeda, Iraq (or North Korea) however, to remind us of the physical and spiritual violence we do to ourselves — and in some in stances demand that the world adopt in the name of human rights. Tolkien, through the rich Judeo-Christian themes of his trilogy, rejects the kind of industrial mechanism and moral relativism that in the United States has fostered the legalization of gambling, abortion and pornography and has created an environment that spawns greed, immorality and a lust for power. Just check recent headlines.

The Tolkien stories and the Jackson films are hugely popular because such themes are ultimately true, and research continues to show that well-produced films that reinforce Judeo-Christian themes will be successful at the box office.

The films are also popular because of the timing of their release: just a few months after 9/11 and just before revelations about the evil practices of some political, corporate and religious leaders.

On a minor note, it is also hard to ignore the uncanny resemblance of Alan Lee's 1988 fluted design for Tolkien's doomed Orthanc Tower to the same fluted design of the doomed World Trade Center towers, both with key central staircases.

All of this suggests that the motion pictures have several messages for us. Here are two.

To conquer global evil, we must first conquer personal sin.

Each of the main characters in the stories experience significant temptation to possess the One Ring and use it to control others. The opposite, however is true — the ring controls the bearer, and some have already succumbed. But until our heroes struggle against great odds, hold onto every sliver of hope and put aside their concupiscence, they are not able to defeat evil and bring peace to the Shire.

A story is told of a saintly monk, who when he was relentlessly beset by thoughts of sexual lust threw his naked body into a patch of briars and thorns, rolling around in them. He experienced violence that day. Blood was shed. But evil was defeated and peace reigned.

Tolkien suggests that whether it's the Shire or our own country, we must first conquer the evil in our own cell — even at the peril of pain — if there's any chance at all of conquering evil elsewhere.

As Christians we must be united in suffering if there is to be hope in the resurrection.

The freemen of Middle-earth were only able to defeat the evil hordes by being of one mind and coming under one king. Aragorn says to Éomer: “Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among elves and dwarves and another among men.”

There are many fallacious debates between Catholics and Protestants. But there is one that visualizes the need for unity: Should churches display a crucifix to remind us of Christ's saving passion or an empty cross to remind us of Christ's resurrection?

The correct answer is that we need both.

Christ calls us to suffer in this world if we are to have any hope of the resurrection and eternal peace — and that suffering may be as violent as Christ's death. Divided, Middle-earth would have fallen; and divided, Christians will continue to suffer setbacks and evangelical impotency (see John 17:21, 23).

Tolkien's trilogy suggests that in our quest for peace in the Shire, the avoidance of violence at all costs has a potential consequence: that we slowly begin to tolerate evil (under the guise of religious pluralism) and become the ring bearer of moral relativism, exchanging the freedom of truth for an oppressive peace.

As we approach turning points in our personal and political histories, we have choices to make. If we make the right ones, Tolkien says that someday the shadow will pass and with Sam we will wake up at the end of the story and ask, “Is everything sad going to come untrue?”

Stan Williams, Ph.D., writes occasionally about Judeo-Christian themes in motion pictures between his own film projects at SWC Films, www.StanWilliams.com.