(avg. read time: 54–107 mins.)
Today begins what will be my longest work to date in my series of biblical and theological commentary on Tolkien’s works. As background to all of this, I encourage the reader not only to see my forthcoming book God Has Chosen the Little Ones (now available), but also the following:
My Thoughts on the Tolkien Biopic, Part 3: J. R. R. Tolkien the Catholic Christian
J. R. R. Tolkien’s Theology of Sub-creation, Part 1: Mythopoeia
J. R. R. Tolkien’s Theology of Sub-creation, Part 2: On Fairy-Stories
J. R. R. Tolkien’s Theology of Sub-creation, Part 3: Tolkien’s Letters
Biblical and Theological Commentary on Tolkien’s Beowulf, Part 1
Biblical and Theological Commentary on Tolkien’s Beowulf, Part 2
Biblical and Theological Commentary on “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics”
Biblical and Theological Commentary on Tolkien’s Letters, Part 2: Letters #43–45 and #49
Biblical and Theological Commentary on Tolkien’s Letters, Part 6: Letters #208–#213, #246, and #250
Biblical and Theological Commentary on The Hobbit, Part 1: Introduction and Journey to Erebor (Until the Woodland Realm)
Biblical and Theological Commentary on The Hobbit, Part 2: There and Back Again
Biblical and Theological Notes on Tolkien’s Short Stories
Biblical and Theological Commentary on The Battle of Maldon and The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, Beorhthelm’s Son
Biblical and Theological Commentary on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and Pearl
I have a verbal agreement to publish an expanded version of this commentary, which will include some of the material in the above links, as well as content that has not yet been written. As a fair warning to the reader, this means, like for some other posts on this site, that the full version of future posts in this series will be exclusively for my paid subscribers. Only this one will be available in full for free.
The forthcoming book, like my previous one, will not assume familiarity with my work or (more likely) familiarity gained by other means. As such, for example, while I do plan to have a long post on Tolkien and allegory later this year, I would hope the reader could understand clearly enough from the previous posts that I am not positing any sort of allegorical intent on Tolkien’s part in making the connections he does to biblical and theological elements. The links are indirect and mostly subconscious (we will note exceptions as we go), but they are all results of Tolkien’s formation as a Christian combined with his intent to present truths of the Primary World in Secondary World forms.
Moreover, one should note that while Tolkien did not affirm every attempted correlation of The Lord of the Rings with biblical and theological elements, he acknowledged that there were links. He noted on multiple occasions that his Catholic faith was relevant to understanding his work. He said in Letter #195 (to Amy Ronald, December 1956):
One point: Frodo's attitude to weapons was personal. He was not in modern terms a ‘pacifist’. Of course, he was mainly horrified at the prospect of civil war among Hobbits; but he had (I suppose) also reached the conclusion that physical fighting is actually less ultimately effective than most (good) men think it! Actually I am a Christian, and indeed a Roman Catholic, so that I do not expect ‘history’ to be anything but a ‘long defeat’ – though it contains (and in a legend may contain more clearly and movingly) some samples or glimpses of final victory.
More significantly, in Letter #213, in response to Deborah Webster’s request for biographical information, he was initially dismissive of literary critics who he thought excessively focused on authors’ (and other artists’) lives as opposed to their works in their attempts to make various psychological analyses, but he describes him being a Christian as not only a more important fact about himself than other biographical details he could give, but that it can be deduced from his work:
Or more important, I am a Christian (which can be deduced from my stories), and in fact a Roman Catholic. The latter ‘fact’ perhaps cannot be deduced; though one critic (by letter) asserted that the invocations of Elbereth, and the character of Galadriel as directly described (or through the words of Gimli and Sam) were clearly related to Catholic devotion to Mary. Another saw in waybread (lembas)= viaticum and the reference to its feeding the will (vol. III, p. 213) and being more potent when fasting, a derivation from the Eucharist. (That is: far greater things may colour the mind in dealing with the lesser things of a fairy-story.)
He said of The Lord of the Rings in a letter to the Jesuit priest Robert Murray (Letter #142), in response to his statement that he had a sense of the positive compatibility of Tolkien’s book with the order of grace,
The Lord of the Rings is of course a fundamentally religious and Catholic work; unconsciously so at first, but consciously in the revision. That is why I have not put in, or have cut out, practically all references to anything like ‘religion’, to cults or practices, in the imaginary world. For the religious element is absorbed into the story and the symbolism. However that is very clumsily put, and sounds more self-important than I felt. For as a matter of fact, I have consciously planned very little; and should chiefly be grateful for having been brought up (since I was eight) in a Faith that has nourished me and taught me all the little that I know; and that I owe to my mother, who clung to her conversion and died young, largely through the hardships of poverty resulting from it.
As Tolkien would say in another letter, “long narratives cannot be made out of nothing; and one cannot rearrange the primary matter in secondary patterns without indicating feelings and opinions about one’s material” (Letter #215 to Walter Allen).1 In an unpublished letter to G. S. Rigby Jr. (December 1965), he says all too briefly, “There is, in fact, quite a lot of theology included in The Lord of the Rings (I was surprised to find how much when the work was analysed some time ago in a theological periodical), though it is perhaps made more palatable by a sugar coating.”2 As such, the religious elements of Tolkien’s own life have been absorbed implicitly in his fictional work because they were so absorbed by the writer.3
He describes The Lord of the Rings in particular as a fundamentally religious and Catholic work because it is so at its foundation in that it is reflective of Primary Reality (truth in the actual world that we live in), particularly the transcendent qualities Tolkien knew in Catholicism, but it is so in that its Secondary Reality (the internal reality of the fantasy setting) reflects the truth in its own way. That is, Tolkien thus maintains the integrity of the order of nature through his Secondary World representation while also maintaining its continuity with Primary World truth that has benefited from God’s order of grace. It is consistent with Tolkien’s Catholic theology that what can be learned from “natural theology,” while necessarily incomplete, is, at its best, consistent with revealed theology as articulated in Scripture. As Thomas Aquinas articulates throughout his works—in developing ideas mentioned from earlier sources4 of how God’s truth had been spread so that one could find fragments of it even in pagan sources—the “order of grace” builds on and completes the “order of nature.” As the era of history that Tolkien presented in his work is a “monotheistic world of natural theology” (Letter #165 to Houghton Mifflin Co.) it was consistent with his Christian (specifically Catholic) beliefs to find ways of articulating ideas in continuity with what God had revealed by the order of grace in special revelation to Israel and in Christ, while still remaining ideas derived from the order of nature.
Beyond these comments (and others outside of his letters), Tolkien himself even addressed links with both The Lord of the Rings and his larger mythos as conveyed in The Silmarillion in Letters #109, #131, #148a, #153, #156, #163, #165, #181, #183, #186, #191, #192, #211, #212, #246, #269, #297, and #320. We will have occasion to reference these letters as we go, so we will not review their contents here.
With these considerations in mind and with the guardrails established by previous work on Tolkien’s theology of sub-creation, his approach to his own fiction, his setting of this story in an imaginary time before Christ (and even before Israel), and with guidance from his comments where applicable, we will examine the biblical and theological links to the Primary World that appear in proper Secondary World forms in The Lord of the Rings. This commentary will be done in narrative order. The first six parts will focus on the respective books that make up the main story of LOTR. Two subsequent parts will focus on Appendix A and Appendices B–F, respectively.
On the Matter of “Christ Figures” in LOTR
One preliminary matter to address is the question of whether or not there are “Christ figures” in LOTR. I am inclined to agree with Austin Freeman that we should recognize “a difference in finding a ‘Christ-figure’—that is, a fictional stand-in for the Redeemer such as Aslan—and finding christological types, or partial echoes that point forward to a full realization.”5 We have no examples of the former in LOTR, despite a recent argument to the contrary, but there do appear to be examples of the latter.
While Tolkien still lived, Barry Gordon presented the thesis in “Kingship, Priesthood, and Prophecy in The Lord of the Rings”6 that the schema of the threefold redemptive offices of Christ, which are represented by him being Prophet, King, and Priest, are embodied in the story of those who bring about Middle-earth’s redemption. Namely, he identifies Gandalf with what is signified by the shorthand of the prophetic office, Aragorn with the royal office, and Frodo with the priestly office. He also argues that these characters go on to take on more qualities of the other offices as they progress in sanctification as a result of accepting the responsibilities of their respective offices. Tolkien sent the paper to Clyde Kilby and wrote to him, “Much of this is true enough—except, of course, the general impression given (almost irresistibly in articles having that analytical approach, whether by Christians or not) that I had any such ‘schema’ in my conscious mind before or during the writing.”7
As we go, we will have occasion to note how each character supplies echoes or embodies christological types. But one should be cautious about putting too much weight on any of these correlations of redemptive office with the respective characters. Each of these characters are exalted in different ways that do not correspond to how we ought to think of the relations or relative importance of Christ’s work as Prophet, King, and Priest. Gandalf’s correlation with “Prophet” is the weakest of the correlations and he seems to be placed here because the correlations needed to be rounded out. Gandalf’s correlations with Christ are more significant outside of the attempt to force him into this categorization. As much as Tolkien himself will identify significant biblical and theological resonances in Frodo’s Quest and the fulfillment of the same, the crucial moment of the eucatastrophe in the gospel story and this story are remarkably different, particularly in that Frodo is ultimately overcome by the power of the Ring and he himself does not destroy it. Aragorn presents the strongest “office” correlation, but he is not the one to achieve ultimate victory, and indeed ultimate victory is not possible in his time, given that his reign is set in an imaginary time thousands of years before Christ. Nor are the circumstances in which he takes up his kingship comparable to the gospel story, even if there are various correlations of character.
Indeed, not least because of when and where Tolkien has set his story there can be no “Christ figure” as such. Gandalf is analogous in that he is a transcendent being who became incarnate, but he is properly among those (like Saruman and Radagast) who are “the near equivalent in the mode of these tales of Angels, guardian Angels” (footnote in Letter #131 to Milton Waldman). Tolkien similarly says in a later letter (#156 to Robert Murray) that Gandalf was an incarnate “angel” (or ἄγγελος), being “an emissary of the Lords of the West.” He further clarifies, “By ‘incarnate’ I mean they were embodied in physical bodies capable of pain, and weariness, and of afflicting the spirit with physical fear, and of being ‘killed’, though supported by the angelic spirit they might endure long, and only show slowly the wearing of care and labour.” He reiterates these same points in Letter #246 to Eileen Elgar, which he then contrasts with the Incarnation, “But though one may be in this reminded of the Gospels, it is not really the same thing at all. The Incarnation of God is an infinitely greater thing than anything I would dare to write. Here I am only concerned with Death as part of the nature, physical and spiritual, of Man, and with Hope without guarantees.” Both here and in Letter #181 (to Michael Straight), he stresses that “there is no embodiment” of the One/the Creator/God in the setting of his stories, although a text I would like to explore another time—the “Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth” in Morgoth’s Ring—hints to this happening in the future.
Concerning Hobbits
The prologue serves the functions of telling the reader more about Hobbits and of recapitulating the story of The Hobbit that was the prequel to LOTR. In both respects, it provides the framework for the proceeding story. It is thus fitting that this work with so much biblical and theological resonance should have in its narrative framework multiple resonant statements. Early in the first section of this prologue we have this poignant summary statement:
Yet it is clear that Hobbits had, in fact, lived quietly in Middle-earth for many long years before other folk became even aware of them. And the world being after all full of strange creatures beyond count, these little people seemed of very little importance. But in the days of Bilbo, and of Frodo his heir, they suddenly became, by no wish of their own, both important and renowned and troubled the counsels of the Wise and the Great.
The Hobbits are a branch of the race of Men characterized by remarkably small stature. Tolkien says in Letter #131 that from his Primary World perspective as author of this story, “They are made small (little more than half human stature, but dwindling as the years pass) partly to exhibit the pettiness of man, plain unimaginative parochial man – though not with either the smallness or the savageness of Swift, and mostly to show up, in creatures of very small physical power, the amazing and unexpected heroism of ordinary men ‘at a pinch’.” As he says elsewhere in the letter,
Some of the details of tone and treatment are, I now think, even on that basis, mistaken. But I should not wish to change much. For in effect this is a study of simple ordinary man, neither artistic nor noble and heroic (but not without the undeveloped seeds of these things) against a high setting – and in fact (as a critic has perceived) the tone and style change with the Hobbit’s development, passing from fairy-tale to the noble and high and relapsing in the return….
But through Hobbits, not Men so-called because the last Tale is to exemplify most clearly a recurrent theme: the place in ‘world politics’ of the unforeseen and unforeseeable acts of will, and deeds of virtue of the apparently small, ungreat, forgotten in the place of the Wise and Great (good as well as evil). A moral of the whole (after the primary symbolism of the Ring, as the will to mere power, seeking to make itself objective by physical force and mechanism, and so also inevitably by lies) is the obvious one that without the high and noble the simple and vulgar is utterly mean; and without the simple and ordinary the noble and heroic is meaningless.
In Letter #165 he writes of this aspect of the story being especially moving to him: “There are of course certain things and themes that move me specially. The inter-relations between the ‘noble’ and the ‘simple’ (or common, vulgar) for instance. The ennoblement of the ignoble I find specially moving.” Likewise, when he writes of the development of his sub-creation in Letter #180, he states, “The hobbits had been welcomed. I loved them myself, since I love the vulgar and simple as dearly as the noble, and nothing moves my heart (beyond all the passions and heartbreaks of the world) so much as 'ennoblement' (from the Ugly Duckling to Frodo). I would build on the hobbits.” It was actually for this reason that, for as much importance as Tolkien attached to the story of Aragorn and Arwen, he placed it in an appendix “because it could not be worked into the main narrative without destroying its structure: which is planned to be ‘hobbito-centric’, that is, primarily a study of the ennoblement (or sanctification) of the humble” (Letter #181) The theological tinge of the language is especially notable in this last example, as is his remark in Letter #281 concerning his response to a blurb:
Hobbits were a breed of which the chief physical mark was their stature; and the chief characteristic of their temper was the almost total eradication of any dormant ‘spark’, only about one per mil had any trace of it. Bilbo was specially selected by the authority and insight of Gandalf as abnormal: he had a good share of hobbit virtues: shrewd sense, generosity, patience and fortitude, and also a strong ‘spark’ yet unkindled. The story and its sequel are not about ‘types’ or the cure of bourgeois smugness by wider experience, but about the achievements of specially graced and gifted individuals. I would say, if saying such things did not spoil what it tries to make explicit, ‘by ordained individuals, inspired and guided by an Emissary to ends beyond their individual education and enlargement’.
We will address some of the particular manifestations of this grace later as the occasions arise. The Emissary is, of course, Gandalf. He is an emissary from the Valar, the Lords of the West sent to help Middle-earth in the struggle against Sauron. But he is also ultimately an emissary from the One, the All-Father, Eru Ilúvatar. Eru/God is the one who can properly be described as the agent who “specially graced and gifted” or “ordained” the individuals in question. That is also why in the quote we are focusing on that it is said they became important and renowned “by no wish of their own.” For indeed, it was the wish of another will, another power who will be mentioned again and again. Furthermore, the fact that this happened through no wish of their own illustrates why the Hobbit heroes are proper heroes. As Tolkien says in Letter #163:
Anyway I myself saw the value of Hobbits, in putting earth under the feet of ‘romance’, and in providing subjects for ‘ennoblement’ and heroes more praiseworthy than the professionals: nolo heroizari [I do not wish to be a hero] is of course as good a start for a hero, as nolo episcopari [I do not wish to be a bishop] for a bishop. Not that I am a ‘democrat’ in any of its current uses; except that I suppose, to speak in literary terms, we are all equal before the Great Author, qui deposuit potentes de sede et exaltavit humiles.
While Bilbo, Sam, and Frodo each had an interest in adventure beyond the Shire, it is only there deep down, a “spark” that is fanned into flame by Gandalf and the sense of necessity each of them must face, along with their companions, and this is what excites both the interest in actually going on the adventure and the heroism needed, which otherwise might have remained buried beneath their lifelong conditioning of denial of the spark. And it is precisely because they are not “professional” heroes—like Gandalf, Aragorn, or any other non-Hobbit heroes involved in the story—and do not even see themselves as the hero types that they are best suited to be the heroes of Tolkien’s story. The Latin quote is from the Magnificat (specifically, Luke 1:52), which Tolkien had heard in Mass for most of his life, and it puts a fine point on the character of Tolkien’s story as one of ennoblement. It is a story that imitates God’s action as Creator, Judge, King, and Redeemer in humbling the exalted and exalting the humble (besides the rest of the Christmas story, cf. 1 Sam 2:1–10; Pss 9:11–14, 17–20; 10:1–4; 12:1–5; 14:6; 18:25–29; 22:26; 25:9, 16–18; 37:14; 69:30–33; 140:12; 147:6; 149:4; Isa 11:4; 29:19; 61:1; Zeph 2:3; Matt 5:3, 5; 18:4; 23:12; Luke 6:20; 14:11; 18:14; Phil 2:1–11; 3:21; Jas 1:9; 4:6–10; 1 Pet 5:5–6).
In part, this is why they trouble the counsels of the Wise and the Great. We will see other expressions of this idea later in story, and it is noteworthy how much biblical resonance this theme has. As noted already, it is a key theme of Mary’s Magnificat, reflecting her own situation as a humble virgin exalted to be the mother of the Messiah and God Incarnate, as well as the expectations of the coming eschatological future (Luke 1:46–55), which has made this text so fitting for Advent. Beyond the many, many cases of the Bible declaring God’s vindication and exaltation of the humble and humbling of the exalted, there are some other texts worth noting. For example, one is reminded of Jesus’s praise of the Father that he has hidden the things of the kingdom from the wise and learned, instead revealing them to little children, the opposite of what many might have expected, and all the more remarkable because of how lowly children were held in this regard (Matt 11:25–26 // Luke 10:21). Likewise, Paul reminds the Corinthians that the message of the cross is considered utter foolishness to those who ignore it, and yet through this message and through those who have accepted it, God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise and the weak things of the world to shame the strong (1 Cor 1:18–31). Thus, Paul instructs the Corinthians:
Let no one deceive himself; if anyone thinks he is wise among you in this age, let that one become foolish, so that this one should be made wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness before God; for it is written, “He is the one who catches the wise in their craftiness,” and again, “The Lord knows the reasonings of the wise, that they are futile.” Therefore, let no one boast in humans; for all things are yours, whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things about to be, all of them are yours, but you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s. (1 Cor 3:18–23, personal translation)
Although this story is set in an imaginary time thousands of years before Israel, we see how God is represented in this Secondary World as being at work in ways that anticipate much greater things in the Primary World, as shown many times throughout the OT and NT.
The Common Grace for the Hobbits
While certain Hobbits are chosen and equipped for special purposes, they also participate in the common grace the Creator has given the people as a whole. One such expression of grace that is particularly outstanding in this story is how, despite seemingly being such soft creatures because of how easy their lives would be:
ease and peace had left these people still curiously tough. They were, if it came to it, difficult to daunt or to kill; and they were, perhaps, so unwearyingly fond of good things not least because they could, when put to it, do without them, and could survive rough handling by grief, foe, or weather in a way that astonished those who did not know them well and looked no further than their bellies and their well-fed faces.
Such is the first piece of build-up that Tolkien gives for how curiously tough Hobbits could be. In response to Rayner Unwin’s feedback in 1947 about how in LOTR the “struggle between darkness and light (sometimes one suspects leaving the story proper to become pure allegory) is macabre and intensified beyond that in ‘Hobbit,’” he writes:
Evidently I have managed to make the horror really horrible, and that is a great comfort; for every romance that takes things seriously must have a warp of fear and horror, if however remotely or representatively it is to resemble reality, and not be the merest escapism. But I have failed if it does not seem possible that mere mundane hobbits could cope with such things. I think that there is no horror conceivable that such creatures cannot surmount, by grace (here appearing in mythological forms) combined with a refusal of their nature and reason at the last pinch to compromise or submit.
The last part of the last sentence is reminiscent of the comment from LOTR that is our focus here. But it also signifies grace. It is not the special grace/gift given to some for specific tasks like Tolkien refers to with the use of the term here; it is the common grace given to a people. It is the same principle in different form of the spirit of courage Tolkien observed in the Norse and Old English stories he loved.
As we have explored in the pertinent commentaries linked above, the expressions of this spirit most compelling to Tolkien are found in Beowulf and the incomplete Old English poem The Battle of Maldon (a story he even wrote a continuation of, which he called The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorthelm’s Son). Tolkien is critical of certain expressions of this spirit of courage when heroes use it to pursue their own glory, but he finds it best exemplified by servants who express this spirit in the form of unflinching fidelity in service. The Norse spirit was one defined by indomitable will chafing against inevitable defeat. As such, although the direction of logical causation is less clear, related to this spirit are elements of Norse theology, such as Valhalla being for those who die in battle (expressing indomitable will in the face of death) and their eschatology being expressed in the battle of Ragnarök, wherein almost all of the gods die in battle against the forces of chaos. In this theology, right and wrong had nothing to do with victory or defeat. Even the greatest warrior, like a Beowulf, can fall to the forces of chaos as exemplified by the monsters, but their greatness in Norse estimation was not measured by “competence” or ability to finally overcome all obstacles, for final defeat is inevitable. Rather, their greatness is measured by absolute resolution to not be cowed by such final defeat, to exert one’s will to the bitter end, never wavering amidst the waves of chaos, even if one must ultimately be drowned by them.
As such, Norse mythology and Norse theology, resonating as such in Old English tales like Beowulf, are defined by tragedy, for human existence itself is a tragedy in the face of this final defeat.8 But Beowulf is, of course, not an undiluted presentation of Norse paganism, for it comes from the Christian era reflecting on the era of Beowulf as the darkened past. It is thus “a fusion that has occurred at a given point of contact between old and new, a product of thought and deep emotion.”9 In the distant past of Tolkien’s England, “this imagination was brought into touch with Christendom, and with the Scriptures. The process of ‘conversion’ was a long one, but some of its effects were doubtless immediate: an alchemy of change (producing ultimately the mediaeval) was at once at work.”10 For the Beowulf-poet, one of the most significant contributions the Norse make to this fusion of horizons is “the theory of courage,” “the creed of unyielding will” that defines the valued character of the Norse.11
Christian eschatology, shaped as it is not only by the eschatological visions of the OT (seen most poignantly in Revelation), but also by the remembrance of Jesus’s resurrection, presents a hope of final, everlasting victory. The Messiah who was crucified was ultimately vindicated by the God who raises the dead, and he took up the everlasting life that utterly conquers death. Those who are in him will likewise receive this vindicative and ultimately vivifying victory. The tragedy of human life is given its great eucatastrophe by the Author. The condemnation of final defeat is overturned by the great Arbiter with his verdict of victory, the same verdict he gave to the Christ he raised from the dead (and whom he unites others to by the Holy Spirit). The monsters persist for now, but there is hope for a time when they will be no more, when God will be all in all (1 Cor 15:20–28). The ending humans and their enemies receive in the Christian story is starkly different from the one they receive in the Norse story of Ragnarök.
Hobbits, bearing the resemblances that they do to the English while being set in an imaginary time long before the Anglo-Saxons were known as such, partake of that “northern spirit of courage” exemplified in Beowulf, but in ways more apropos to common English country folk than ancient warrior heroes. Thus, their valor, their courage, their strength is often hidden, even from themselves, as Tolkien says in both LOTR and The Hobbit. That “northern spirit of courage” is nevertheless something of a preparation for the gospel in the view of the Beowulf-poet and Tolkien. That indomitable will that represented the highest ideals of the North was a gift of empowerment, courage, and even integrity from God, preparing people for the life of perseverance that characterizes the faithful, though it was incomplete in itself until the gospel came (even as the indomitable human could not hope to attain final victory outside of this Christian story). As the poet looks back on this past in writing this elegy, he presents his fusion of horizons as what Tolkien describes as “essentially a balance, an opposition of ends and beginnings. In its simplest terms it is a contrasted description of two moments in a great life, rising and setting; an elaboration of the ancient and intensely moving contrast between youth and age, first achievement and final death.”12 Beowulf thus becomes the paradigmatic figure for this pagan past in his own progression through this opposition, but he is now given a new frame. And this new frame, as we have noted earlier, is presented by Tolkien through making the little, lowly Hobbits central heroes of this story and its sequel, wherein Eru Ilúvatar exalts the humble as instruments of his providence and brings to fruition the seed of courage he himself planted in them at their creation.
As for the special grace that Tolkien references, he says it appears here in “mythological forms.” This is something else to pay attention to as we proceed through this commentary, for the mythological forms are many. Some of them are seemingly internal, and others are external, as noted in my Hobbit commentary. Key words to watch for include uses of “fate,” “fortune,” “luck,” “chance,” and so on, which function as references to divine providence by other names. This is not to say that every use of such terms can be substituted with “providence” without remainder. But the more suggestive a certain use of this language is of something more than randomness—i.e., being suggestive of a benefactor, of agency, and of a larger purpose, more than “mere” X—the more likely it is that one can find in such texts references to divine providence in appropriate Secondary World (or “mythological”) forms. Indeed, Tolkien even refers to Frodo in Letter #246 as “an instrument of Providence.”
Providence by Many Names
By “providence” I mean actions of divine agency in both senses of the word in theological tradition: preservation and governance. In terms of preservation, God’s providence means God’s action in taking care of creation by sustaining it, providing for it, giving gifts to it, and planning for the same in order to preserve it; the most remarkable cases of this come in instances of timely provision. In terms of governance, God’s providence refers to his ultimate authority over and action taken in directing the course of history, though the account one gives for this will be complicated by the influence of evil in the world. Still, in various ways God guides history to his ultimate/eschatological purposes, and this is seen in foreshadowing and fragmentary fashion in some events in the course of history, especially when various forces and/or wills come together in instances of remarkable timing that achieve some great end, or in cases where something seemingly insignificant has its significance exponentially multiplied by the context of subsequent events.
As the ultimate Author, God is constantly at work both to sustain his creation to keep it going toward its goals and to guide all the storylines contained therein towards the authorial purposes to weave the grand Story. God, named “Eru Ilúvatar” in Tolkien’s sub-creation, works similarly in this story and Tolkien’s other stories. Of course, the extent to which he exercises direct control varies and the forces and agents he uses to bring about his purposes are many. Nor in the Primary World does God always act in the ways we have deemed miraculous (though that term has admittedly been used ambiguously), but he often works on more subtle levels. Yet all of these levels and kinds of action are contained within the parameters of what is called “providence.”
As Tolkien himself will declare more clearly in The Silmarillion, providence entails that all things, every force and every being, even those in opposition to God, are within God’s realm of preservation and governance, and all of them will ultimately redound to the accomplishment of God’s purposes. It is often difficult to see this providence while in the process of events, but sometimes in hindsight we can see God’s orchestrating hand. The supreme example of this is, of course, the three-stage narrative of major gospel events of the cross, the resurrection, and the ascension or exaltation of Jesus. The cross, by any measure of the time in which it took place, certainly seemed to signify an utter failure and disaster for Jesus and the purported purposes of God in him if the story had simply ended there. But the resurrection and exaltation that followed thereafter showed that the cross was a supreme mode of divine providence working even in the circumstances of humans working together with the demonic forces of sin and death to thwart the purposes of God by seeking to destroy God Incarnate.
The notion of “providence” is also often invoked in contexts where seemingly small actions and events can have results in kinds and scales that we cannot comprehend. A well-known biblical example of this is in Genesis. Out of jealousy and bitterness, Joseph’s brothers decided to sell him into slavery, yet we see by the end of the narrative that God worked through this event—and even Joseph’s imprisonment—to accomplish the salvation of many lives and, ultimately, the slavery in Egypt followed by God’s long-promised exodus, and all that pertained thereto. All of this came as consequences of Joseph’s brothers selling him into slavery. One can see such providence as well in the story of Esther, a book that famously never mentions God by name (that is, before the Greek additions that sought to correct that omission) and features several seemingly small actions and placements of people moving the story to its resolution. As in much of Tolkien’s stories, God is not named, per se, but he is certainly not absent. And indeed, we see this providential work all the time in our lives and in broader history in how seemingly small or insignificant happenings turn everything around for someone or for a group of people. One conversation can change someone’s life. One act of prudence or imprudence, wisdom or foolishness, kindness or apathy can profoundly affect a person’s life. God can use any such small openings for the work of his purposes, so that they become instruments of his governance.
Tolkien’s particular choices in terminology were influenced not only by parlance, but also by the medieval stories he knew well. Perhaps the most remarkable is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a text about a supposedly pre-Christian time which is nevertheless suffused with explicit Christianity, wherein we see a direct parallel between referring to “luck” and referring to God’s action. In stanza 38, when Gawain arrives at a castle, the narrator says that the lord of the castle learns “whom luck had brought him,” but the lord says more specifically a little later, “God has given us of His goodness His grace now indeed, / who such a guest as Gawain has granted us to have” (38).13 Likewise, in Beowulf, a text Tolkien knew thoroughly and which impacted him deeply, the Christian poet telling a story from a pre-Christian time refers to God’s providence as “fate,” “fortune,” and even by the name of Metod (Ordainer/Arbiter/Maker; cf. the Old English Exodus poem that Tolkien translated). These authors were not reluctant to refer to God, nor were they imagining that some other benefactor was acting besides God, but uses of such terms highlight how they incorporated parlance in their theological expressions. They exemplify the declaration of Prov 16:33: “Into the lap the lot is cast, but from the Lord is its every decision.”
This notion has already been introduced subtly with the comment that the Hobbits became important and renowned “by no wish of their own,” but it is also present in the description of the story of The Hobbit in this prologue. First, the narrator tells us, “Yet, though before all was won the Battle of Five Armies was fought, and Thorin was slain, and many deeds of renown were done, the matter would scarcely have concerned later history, or earned more than a note in the long annals of the Third Age, but for an ‘accident’ by the way.” Tolkien has already added the scare quotes here to indicate that the “accident,” while it certainly seemed to be so, was, in fact, no accident. This will be unpacked in later dialogue, but there were multiple wills at work, including one above all, to make this “accident” happen. Like so many other acts of providence, it could only be perceived as something more in retrospect. A similar statement appears not much later to this effect: “In the end Bilbo won the game, more by luck (as it seemed) than by wits.” There will be other such suggestive comments like this that have the same effect as the scare quotes. What seemed like luck was another will at work giving him what he needed to win the riddle game and to be able to escape with the Ring.
Thin and Stretched
From the beginning of ch. 1, we are told of one of the effects of the Ring on Bilbo: his prolonged vigor. He found the Ring when he was fifty, and he is now turning 111 looking no worse for wear. Between this and the wealth he possessed (largely as a result of his quest with the Dwarves to Erebor), Bilbo seemed to have far too much going for him. Other Hobbits said, “It will have to be paid for … It isn’t natural, and trouble will come of it” (I/1). On both accounts, they were right.
Bilbo’s being so “well-preserved” was a result of his possession of the Ring. But it came at a cost. In his words, “‘I am old Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed!’ he snorted, ‘Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change or something’” (I/1). Bilbo realizes that his life is not as others perceive it to be and that he requires a change, but when he knows what needs to be done and the time comes to make his decision, he finds that he cannot bring himself to do it. It is only after a prolonged struggle with Gandalf that he is able to do what must be done.
While the Ring is a symbol—for in the story this is the nature of its origin—of “the will to mere power, seeking to make itself objective by physical force and mechanism, and so also inevitably by lies” (Letter #131), the power presents itself as an overwhelming force by which to work one’s will. That is what it was to be for Sauron to use as a way to dominate the wills of others, to make the world ordered as he thought it should be ordered, and ultimately to be worshiped as this world’s Creator.14 To make the Ring powerful enough to potentially achieve his goals, he had to put much of himself into it to concentrate such power. And so with this power came the amplification of his character as a tempter and deceiver in the image of his master Melkor. As we will return to later, he hastened the fall of Númenor, the greatest kingdom of Men the world had ever seen, by deceiving them, including about their ability to claim immortality for themselves. Here and elsewhere, he had sought to confuse Men about the nature of true immortality, making them think it consists of “clinging to Time” rather than “freedom from Time” (Letter #208).
And this is ultimately where the temptation of the Ring comes from, even if it is not something the bearer is conscious of. After all, the tale is “mainly concerned with Death, and Immortality; and the ‘escapes’: serial longevity, and hoarding memory” (#211). While the Ring is not the only way this is manifest in the story, it is rather clearly the most potent source of temptation to surpass creaturely limits. As Tolkien says in a footnote in Letter #131: “each ‘Kind’ has a natural span, integral to its biological and spiritual nature. This cannot really be increased qualitatively or quantitatively; so that prolongation in time is like stretching a wire out ever tauter, or ‘spreading butter ever thinner’ – it becomes an intolerable torment.” By the will of Eru Ilúvatar, there is more beyond death for Men, and thus for Hobbits, but it is beyond the bounds of this world and time, and what exactly it is remains unclear at this time. Only those most acquainted with the Elves or most knowledgeable of history and tradition might be aware of what has been said of the Second Music. But much trust and acceptance of creaturely limitations ordained by the Creator are necessary. Yet the love for the world by those who will ultimately leave it means that life within this world can become the only imaginable life, and so one may seek the prolongation of the same in place of a greater, yet currently inscrutable, immortality. Thus, Tolkien says in Letter #212, “To attempt by device or ‘magic’ to recover longevity is thus a supreme folly and wickedness of ‘mortals’. Longevity or counterfeit ‘immortality’ (true immortality is beyond Eä) is the chief bait of Sauron – it leads the small to a Gollum, and the great to a Ringwraith.” The power to confer this counterfeit immortality also seemingly implies the power to do what one wants with that life.
The Ring is even beneficial to Bilbo in The Hobbit, as it enables him and his fellows to complete their quest. But the longer he possessed it, the more it possessed him. This becomes clear in the conversation he has with Gandalf as he reaches a point of no longer acting like himself, even sounding like Gollum in referring to the Ring as his “Precious.”
Although the Ring is not a mere stand-in for sin, the dynamics of temptation and the deterioration brought by giving oneself over to temptation are still well exemplified here anyway. The more one gives into temptation, the weaker the will becomes until one’s will becomes a tool for whatever controls it, even when one wishes to do otherwise and knows it ought to be done. It had such an effect on Gollum that it resulted in a split in personalities and wills with one being typically obsequious to the other so that they work towards satisfying a common desire. As the rest of the story will show, he is the most vivid example of the self dominated by sin that Paul describes in Rom 7:14–25. The other example that Tolkien gives of a Ringwraith is even deeper in this state because of how long his will has been enthralled to Sauron’s. Bilbo is nowhere near as far along as these others, but he has possessed the Ring long enough and it has had enough of an impact on his will that he can no longer do what is right in giving the Ring up without the work of divine providence, here embodied in a literally angelic interventionist named Gandalf.
Gandalf, being faithful to his mission, does not attempt to overwhelm Bilbo’s mind and will by his sheer power in an attempt to dominate him, so he could thereby make him do “what’s best for him.” As Tolkien says in Letter #156, “train, advise, instruct, arouse the hearts and minds of those threatened by Sauron to a resistance with their own strengths; and not just to do the job for them.” But in this case, Gandalf has to be more forceful because of the power he is contending with. At this point in the conversation, he has stand up and speak sternly, saying, “You will be a fool if you do, Bilbo … You make that clearer with every word you say. It has got far too much hold on you. Let it go! And then you can go yourself and be free” (I/1). As sin entraps and enthralls by offering a seeming good if one will but transgress, only to bring ultimate decay and death, which was the case all the way back in Gen 3 with how the serpent talked Eve (and by extension, Adam) into violating God’s will, salvation from the same is presented as liberation. As Jesus says in John 8:34–36, “Truly truly I say to you that everyone who does sin is a slave of sin. But the slave does not abide in household forever; the Son abides forever. Therefore, if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” Gandalf’s work here is not one of proclaiming the gospel that has yet to be announced, but it is ultimately about Bilbo accepting the Creator’s will, whether or not Bilbo knows of the Creator at this point, and to accept the way out he provides through relinquishing the Ring (and all the seeming benefits and the actual costs pertaining thereto) and staying true to his own word. In a way, it is a natural theological preparation that is fundamentally consistent with the gospel.15
Bilbo not only continues to resist Gandalf’s exhortation, but he even threatens to pull his small sword on him. Only here does Gandalf flash his power to illustrate how foolish Bilbo would be to fight him: “He took a step towards the hobbit, and he seemed to grow tall and menacing; his shadow filled the little room” (I/1). This is the first of several “transfiguration” scenes, wherein someone gains sight of the hidden power and/or glory of someone else, like Peter, James, and John saw of Jesus in his Transfiguration. But this is not Gandalf’s gambit to compel Bilbo’s will, for the struggle continues after this. It is merely to bring him to his senses with a dramatic, though still understated, display. Indeed, Bilbo initially asks Gandalf what has come over him, not at first recognizing that it was Bilbo who had something come over him, which in turn causes him to reflect on his attachment to the Ring:
But I felt so queer. And yet it would be a relief in a way not to be bothered with it anymore. It has been growing on my mind lately. Sometimes I felt it was like an eye looking at me. And I am always wanting to put it on and disappear, don’t you know; or wondering if it is safe, and pulling it out to make sure. I tried locking it up, but I found I couldn’t rest without it in my pocket. I don’t know why. And I don’t seem to be able to make up my mind. (I/1)
This is reminiscent of obsessive attachments to particular ways of sin (e.g., Ps 106:43; Isa 59:7). And even with the realization of his problem, Bilbo still finds it exceedingly difficult to relinquish the Ring. The resolution is worth noting: “Bilbo took out the envelope, just as he was about to set it by the clock, his hand jerked back, and the packet fell on the floor. Before he could pick it up, the wizard stooped and seized it and set it in its place. A spasm of anger passed swiftly over the hobbit’s face again. Suddenly it gave way to a look of relief and a laugh” (I/1). We see Bilbo resist giving up the source of his temptation until the last possible moment. He is only able to do so when Gandalf takes the matter out of his hands and does what the better side of Bilbo promised to do. And Bilbo was still on the verge of rage when this happened. Ultimately, though, he feels relief and laughs. Laughter is a motif of resolution to track in Tolkien’s work. It often signifies delivering joy (or the joy of deliverance), but there will be other times when it has a decidedly different significance for characters given over to despair. For Bilbo, the delivering joy accompanies his temporary victory over the source of his temptation. But we will see later that this victory is not final. It will need to be sustained by other decisions.
The Road Goes Ever On
As Bilbo leaves Bag End for Rivendell with his Dwarf companions, he sings a song that he composed:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say. (I/1)
This song is then reprised by Frodo two chapters later, of which he says, “He [Bilbo] used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river; its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary” (I/3). The resonance of this song for our purpose may not be obvious, but it is important to recognize the relation of this song to the last comment of Gandalf from The Hobbit:
‘Then the prophecies of the old songs have turned out to be true after a fashion!’ said Bilbo.
‘Of course!’ said Gandalf. ‘And why should not they prove true? Surely you don’t disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself? You don’t really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Mr Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!’ (19)
Gandalf is thus conveying to Bilbo that he is an instrument of Providence whose entire journey has participated in larger purposes than he could conceive at the time. The song thus represents his acknowledgment of his place within and connection with the larger world and the providential purpose that guides it. He must follow the way, even when he does not know where it is going, because he has already been guided by larger purposes on that Road before, and this is his expression of faith—both in terms of trust and in terms of fidelity—that he ought to follow it wherever that One leads him on it.
The Shadow of the Past
The succeeding chapter, “The Shadow of the Past,” includes some reiteration of points already made. In the interest of maintaining narrative order in this commentary (apart from the previous exception when it was necessary to do so for purposes of providing primary source commentary), I have decided to allow the degree of repetition to see how the various points observed reappear in the narrative rather than, say, addressing each manifestation of a theme the first time it appears. As an example, there is this comment from Gandalf early in his explanation to Frodo about the Rings of Power and their history:
A mortal, Frodo, who keeps one of the Great Rings, does not die, but he does not grow or obtain more life, he merely continues, until at last every minute is a weariness. And if he often uses the ring to make himself invisible, he fades: he becomes in the end invisible permanently, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the dark power that rules the Rings. Yes, sooner or later—later, if he is strong or well-meaning to begin with, but neither strength nor good purpose will last—sooner or later the dark power will devour him. (I/2)
This shows the power that the Ring wields through (most of) the Great Rings and how they affect mortals. The condition described is the state of the Ringwraiths, who have become invisible to the Seen world, save by their raiment, because they have long since faded and been consumed by the Dark Lord whose will is their life. Gollum, particularly because he was not exposed to the direct influence of the Dark Lord while he possessed the Ring, is not yet so far down this road as to have faded altogether, but the Ring has obviously left an indelible mark on him. Bilbo was not even so far as Gollum, and he is representative of the surprising strength of Hobbits, “Soft as butter they can be, and yet sometimes as tough as old tree-roots. I think it likely that some would resist the Rings far longer than most of the Wise would believe” (I/2). But the fading of his will had begun, and the counterfeit immortality took a toll on his spirit, which further demonstrates Gandalf’s point that “neither strength nor good purpose will last.” This is another way in which Hobbits trouble the counsels of the Wise and Great, for we will see some among the Wise and Great who will not resist Sauron’s influence (even minus the Ring) like Bilbo could or Frodo and Sam will. Such is the combination of common and special grace given to the Hobbits would need it for the One’s ultimate purpose for the Ring. But we will have more to say about that later.
Sauron’s Vindictive Viciousness
As indicated earlier, Sauron had entirely overlooked Hobbits. There had been no reason for him to take notice of them. By the time he had returned to Mordor, they lived on the opposite side of the continent from his realm. Before that, they were even more obscure, and so he had no reason to seek them out. They had no power, prowess, or special skill for him to exploit. They were of no utility to him, being as insignificant to his designs as an ant in Arnor. But as soon as he knows them, he hates them, for Gandalf warns, “your safety has passed. He does not need you—he has many more useful servants—but he won’t forget you again. And hobbits as miserable slaves would please him far more than hobbits happy and free. There is such a thing as malice and revenge” (I/2).
Sauron is not absolute evil, but he is the chief embodiment of the powers of evil at the time of this story, and so it is appropriate that he embodies such naked malice and the desire to enslave for the sake of enslavement. We have already noted that it is a major function of sin to enslave those under its power for the sheer sake of domination (Rom 6:15–23). As Sauron, like Satan and his demons, cannot be the Creator and giver of life, he settles for the counterfeit of the worship due to the Creator that he enforces by domination, destruction, and corruption of what is good. Tolkien says of Sauron in Morgoth’s Ring, “He did not object to the existence of the world, so long as he could do what he liked with it. He still had the relics of positive purposes, that descended from the good of the nature in which he began: it had been his virtue (and therefore also the cause of his fall, and of his relapse) that he loved order and coordination, and disliked all confusion and wasteful friction.”16
The Hobbits thus doubly enraged him. On the one hand, they were unworthy of his notice for all his years in the world, and so being made aware of them—and their lack of usefulness to him—would upset his sense of proper order in the world. If the situation had been otherwise, he probably would have enslaved them just to satisfy his own sense of where they fit. On the other hand, precisely because he was among the Wise who overlooked them, he could not have fathomed that the object of his desire should have come into the possession of such an insignificant creature. But now these people he had overlooked were his obstacle to possessing the Ring. Now he would enslave them for sheer malice and petty revenge.
Time and Responsibility
After Gandalf explains more about what the Ring is to Frodo, about Sauron’s desire for it, and how he has arisen again to seize it, we have one of the most well-known exchanges from LOTR:
‘Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again.’
‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.
‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, ‘and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.’” (I/2)
All of this well exemplifies Tolkien’s philosophy of history, which I have addressed elsewhere. In the normal course of history, there is no final victory. All of that waits for the eschaton, and Tolkien’s hope is eschatologically informed by the Christian expectation of the Lord’s coming again and all the other events that will follow thereafter. There are hints of eschatology in Tolkien’s work, and he struggled with how to balance such expectation with the setting of this work in an imaginary time before the coming of Christ and even before Israel. But until that final victory, every person of every time has the same responsibility of deciding what to do with the time given to them.
A similar principle is behind the commands to be vigilant in the NT (Matt 24:42–43; 25:13; Mark 13:34–35, 37; Luke 12:37–39; 21:34–36; 1 Thess 5:2–6; 1 Pet 5:8). As I have argued elsewhere, the point of such instructions is not about looking for signs to see if the time is near. After all, Jesus himself said to his disciples before his ascension, “It is not yours to know times or seasons that the Father has established by his own authority; but you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, all of Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:7–8). Vigilance has to do with being vigilant about one’s conduct in doing what needs to be done regardless of the time one finds oneself in. Final victory is not in our hands, but what is in our hands is the same responsibility to decide what to do with the time that is given to us and to be vigilant in doing what is right. And as with the heroes of this story, we may participate in “samples or glimpses of final victory” (Letter #195) by this vigilance.
The Tragedy of Sméagol
Gandalf then tells Frodo more about the history of the Ring and how it has come to be in Frodo’s possession, which requires him to tell the story of Sméagol (and Déagol). After Frodo hears the story of Sméagol, he calls him loathsome. Gandalf is not so hasty: “I think it is a sad story … and it might have happened to others, even to some hobbits that I have known” (I/2). Gandalf is of one mind with Bilbo when the time came that he had a chance to kill Gollum to protect himself:
He must get away, out of this horrible darkness, while he had any strength left. He must fight. He must stab the foul thing, put its eyes out, kill it. It meant to kill him. No, not a fair fight. He was invisible now. Gollum had no sword. Gollum had not actually threatened to kill him, or tried to yet. And he was miserable, alone, lost. A sudden understanding, a pity mixed with horror, welled up in Bilbo’s heart: a glimpse of endless unmarked days without light or hope of betterment, hard stone, cold fish, sneaking and whispering. (5)
This pity, motivated by the compassionate thought of what Gollum’s life must have been like for years beyond Bilbo’s reckoning, is something of the natural theological equivalent of “there, but for the grace of God, go I.” And that is what Gandalf similarly conveys to Frodo, as he knows even better than Frodo that other Hobbits could well have become a Gollum.
This pity is grounded in Tolkien’s own formation by Scripture and observance of the Mass. In the case of the former, despite its frequent misuse for rebuking any negative statement not affirmed by the person using the text, one text that likely resonates here is Matt 7:1–2: “Do not judge, so that you should not be judged; for in the judgment you judge you will judged, and in the measure you measure it will be measured to you.” Similarly, Rom 3:9–18 (as well as the more famous 3:23) speak to the common lot of sin that enslave all of humanity, so that neither Jews nor gentiles are immune. Paul also reminds us of how we will all appear before the judgment seat of God in Rom 14:10.
In the case of the latter, Tolkien’s Letter #250 to Michael Tolkien is particularly apropos. His son had written to him to express the struggles he was having with his faith and with the Church. One ought to read the letter as a whole for the insight it gives into Tolkien’s faith and his specifically Roman Catholic devotion. One can see in it how Tolkien was, at least in this way, like his written character. First, he compares the Church to the academy, which should no doubt still resonate today for how much people continue (both rightly and wrongly) to bemoan the states of both institutions, even suggesting they should be done away with:
The devotion to ‘learning’, as such and without reference to one’s own repute, is a high and even in a sense spiritual vocation; and since it is ‘high’ it is inevitably lowered by false brethren, by tired brethren, by the desire of money, and by pride: the folk who say ‘my subject’ & do not mean the one I am humbly engaged in, but the subject I adorn, or have ‘made my own’. Certainly this devotion is generally degraded and smirched in universities. But it is still there. And if you shut them down in disgust, it would perish from the land — until they were re-established, again to fall into corruption in due course. The far higher devotion to religion cannot possibly escape the same process. It is, of course, degraded in some degree by all ‘professionals’ (and by all professing Christians), and by some in different times and places outraged; and since the aim is higher the shortcoming seems (and is) far worse. But you cannot maintain a tradition of learning or true science without schools and universities, and that means schoolmasters and dons. And you cannot maintain a religion without a church and ministers; and that means professionals: priests and bishops — and also monks. The precious wine must (in this world) have a bottle, or some less worthy substitute. For myself, I find I become less cynical rather than more – remembering my own sins and follies; and realize that men's hearts are not often as bad as their acts, and very seldom as bad as their words. (Especially in our age, which is one of sneer and cynicism. We are freer from hypocrisy, since it does not ‘do’ to profess holiness or utter high sentiments; but it is one of inverted hypocrisy like the widely current inverted snobbery: men profess to be worse than they are.)
The fact that the Church is composed of humans makes problems inevitable, for the Christian faith entails a communion not only between us and God, but also between us and others who were made in God’s image, though fallen like ourselves. This is nothing new to Church history for anyone who has even a passing knowledge of it. Indeed, problems appear all across the NT, and problems are often the occasions for writing the various letters. Wrongs have been committed under the name of Christ from the earliest days, and it can be quite easy to find oneself off the path of wisdom to treat all of these things in a cynical fashion (which is often adopted as a defense mechanism because it is easier not to be disappointed with this mindset). But cultivating an awareness of one’s own sins, for which the practice of confession is helpful (Jas 5:16; 1 John 1:9), goes a long way in curtailing this mindset and attitude towards the Church. This returns, again, to Jesus’s teaching on judgment and the need to examine oneself first (Matt 7:1–5), not as a means of eschewing all criticism, but as a means of cultivating a proper perspective on how sin affects us all and operating in light of that awareness. Furthermore, Jesus also teaches in the Lord’s Prayer and subsequent teaching that forgiveness of our own sins is tied to the forgiveness we extend to others (Matt 6:9–15). This same point is conveyed vividly in the Parable of the Unmerciful Servant after Peter asks how many times to forgive a brother who sins against him (Matt 18:21–35). In light of such teachings and the habits of thought and action that they cultivate, one ought to become less cynical, not more, towards the Church and cognizant of how the Holy Spirit has been at work in surprising ways in this community of broken people.
Second, Tolkien notes that scandals caused by others are problems, of course, but he reminds us:
‘Scandal’ at most is an occasion of temptation – as indecency is to lust, which it does not make but arouses. It is convenient because it tends to turn our eyes away from ourselves and our own faults to find a scape-goat. But the act of will of faith is not a single moment of final decision: it is a permanent indefinitely repeated act > state which must go on – so we pray for ‘final perseverance’. The temptation to ‘unbelief’ (which really means rejection of Our Lord and His claims) is always there within us. Part of us longs to find an excuse for it outside us. The stronger the inner temptation the more readily and severely shall we be ‘scandalized’ by others. I think I am as sensitive as you (or any other Christian) to the ‘scandals’, both of clergy and laity. I have suffered grievously in my life from stupid, tired, dimmed, and even bad priests; but I now know enough about myself to be aware that I should not leave the Church (which for me would mean leaving the allegiance of Our Lord) for any such reasons: I should leave because I did not believe, and should not believe any more, even if I had never met any one in orders who was not both wise and saintly. I should deny the Blessed Sacrament, that is: call Our Lord a fraud to His face.
He then tells his son that the only cure for “sagging or fainting faith” is the Communion/Eucharist. He even tells him to take it in circumstances that affront his taste, including with priests he does not like, people who annoy him, and others who might make him ask “what are thy doing here?” Indeed, he says, “It could not be worse than the mess of the feeding of the Five Thousand – after which [Our] Lord propounded the feeding that was to come.” All of this helps to remind us who we worship, who we are (as someone our Lord came to bring into his kingdom), who others are (as those our Lord came to bring into his kingdom), and to participate in that same grace by how we interact with others.
As Gandalf reminds us, we are not so beyond the potential for falling as we might think, and others are not so far gone as we might think, “Even Gollum was not wholly ruined. He had proved tougher than even one of the Wise would have guessed—as a hobbit might” (I/2). This is another reminder of how the Hobbits can trouble the Wise and the Great, for they not only defy their expectations, but they exceed how they would have done in similar situations. Given the wrong situation, it is their very wisdom and power that can make them more susceptible to the influence of the Ring than those who are not among the Wise and Great. And because Gollum was not wholly ruined, he still had one of his wills and one part of his mind that was not so entirely consumed by the Precious that he could not recall his past. That was what Bilbo, as a fellow Hobbit, brought to him in their conversation, as he heard for the first time in centuries a kindly voice, “bringing up memories of wind, and trees, and sun on the grass, and such forgotten things” (I/2). Light was able to enter his mind from outside, even if only “as through a chink in the dark” (I/2).17
After all, the darkness and isolation that Gollum drove himself into, in part out of exploratory interest, had only promoted his hatred when he found so much emptiness beneath the mountains he inhabited. As Gandalf says, “he hated the dark, and he hated light more: he hated everything, and the Ring most of all” (I/2). Indeed, “He hated it and loved it, as he hated and loved himself. He could not get rid of it. He had no will left in the matter” (I/2). The last sentence in particular shows how Bilbo was at risk of reaching that same despairing end. He had a hard enough time giving up the Ring after he possessed it for a much shorter time than Sméagol, and he could not have brought himself to do as he did without the insistent help of Gandalf. Gollum had reached a point of having split his personality and will, but one was largely obsequious to the other, and in the matter of his Precious it was completely so. As with the man dominated by sin that Paul portrays in Rom 7:14–25, part of him knows what he ought to do, but he cannot do it. That is at least part of what motivated him to hate himself, as he was too weak to be rid of the Ring and to change his life for the better. In turn, he hated the Ring because he knew it did this to him by that power it had over him that he never had the knowledge of lore to define. But at the same time, he is where he is because he loved the Ring that he hated most of all, so that he called it his Precious, even loving it as he loved himself, for the Ring allowed him to prolong his existence. The longer he possessed it, the more it came to possess him so that an internal voice and will was implanted in him, and the Ring became part of him, so to speak.
The Strangest Event in the History of the Ring
At this point, Gandalf must speak about the transferal of the Ring in what he calls “the strangest event in the whole history of the Ring so far: Bilbo’s arrival just at that time, and putting his hand on it, blindly, in the dark” (I/2). It seemed to have happened “by accident,” but it was not so. The power of the Ring was at work in this. As it had betrayed Isildur and Déagol, it now abandoned Gollum in the hopes of being brought back to its master who was bending his thought to it. But it could not have intended for a Hobbit, a race its master had completely overlooked, to pick it up.
Since Bilbo did not intend to find it, and he came upon it at just the right time without realizing it, Gandalf declares, “Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you were also meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought” (I/2). I did not add the italics. Those emphases are Tolkien’s own. It is an example of what is traditionally called the “divine passive” construction. That is, there is no stated agent of a passive verb (as would be the case in “Bilbo was meant to find it by X,” where the “by” facilitates the identification of the agent), but there is implied agency that God, specifically, is exercising in the action of the verb (thus, I prefer to call the construction more precisely an agentless passive construction in which, in many cases, God is the implied agent only because “divine passive” has associated baggage that it would be better to be rid of).18 This construction focuses on the action itself, though in its own fashion it brings to the hearer’s/reader’s mind the matter of who could be the agent. Since Gandalf is speaking of “another will,” he is obviously referring to a person. This other will is powerful enough to envelop Sauron’s designs into his own and thereby thwart them. And this other will has a plan for it that spanned so many years that not only was Gollum in the right place at the right time for Bilbo to find the Ring on his way to somewhere far away, but that Bilbo should possess it for long thereafter in order for Frodo, ultimately, to have it (even though Frodo would not be born for twenty-seven more years after Bilbo found the Ring). And this is an encouraging thought because this will is of One who is good. What other will could this be but the will of the One, the All-Father? And thus, what else could we be talking about here but the work of divine providence? Tolkien used this very text as an example in Letter #156 when he says, “I have purposely kept all allusions to the highest matters down to mere hints, perceptible only by the most attentive, or kept them under unexplained symbolic forms. So God and the ‘angelic’ gods, the Lords or Powers of the West, only peep through in such places as Gandalf's conversation with Frodo: ‘behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker's’; or in Faramir's Númenórean grace at dinner.”
Eru Ilúvatar himself had said in the account of the Ainulindalë—the music he composed for the angelic spirits of the Ainur by which he created the world—to Melkor, Sauron’s master, when he set forth the vision of what music had wrought, “And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my desire. For he that attempteth shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.”19 This encompassing statement about the history of the world propounded in the Music—known in its entirety only to the One—sets the framework for understanding this set of events in the history of the Ring as the providential work of the One. This yet another instance in which we can see why Tolkien wanted The Silmarillion published alongside LOTR, not only for the hundreds of links between them, but also for how it provides the framework for LOTR (albeit imperfectly, since Tolkien never finished his revisions of what his son would publish as The Silmarillion).
Pity
In any case, Frodo ultimately does not find encouragement in what Gandalf says, since he does not have Gandalf’s broader and higher perspective on these events. He cannot yet imagine what good could come of this; he is mostly just baffled that he should have such a thing in his possession and that it should put him in such danger. After Gandalf then explains to Frodo how Sauron has been made aware of the name “Baggins” via Gollum, Frodo at first only thinks of it as a pity that Bilbo did not kill Gollum when he had the chance, as that would mean he would not be in the predicament he is in now with Sauron knowing the name. Gandalf once again attempts to give Frodo a different perspective: “Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity” (I/2).
The capitalization is noteworthy. It appears to signify that it is the result of an external power addressed as a proper person. The way the event is described in The Hobbit likewise signifies providential action. God’s providence comes by internal influence as well, where something can come upon a character as if from within. Yet the description of that influence maintains the impression that its ultimate source is from something or someone other than the character. We have seen one example of this in how Bilbo was saved by “luck” in having the right answer come to him at the right time in the riddle game. And from the same part of the story, when Bilbo considers killing Gollum, there is this description: “A sudden understanding, a pity mixed with horror, welled up in Bilbo’s heart: a glimpse of endless unmarked days without light or hope of betterment, hard stone, cold fish, sneaking and whispering. All these thoughts passed in a flash of a second” (5). Fleming Rutledge has analyzed this latter text rather well; thus, I will quote her exposition here:
Note the phrasing: “A sudden understanding … welled up in Bilbo’s heart” and “as if lifted by a new strength and resolve.” These are early examples of a syntactical technique that Tolkien will use repeatedly throughout his epic. He does not write “Bilbo suddenly understood,” or “Bilbo acquired a new strength.” Bilbo is not the acting subject. Understanding and pity well up; a new strength and resolve lift him; they are active agents. Grammatically, Bilbo is the passive recipient of understanding and pity, strength and resolve. They come to him from outside himself. We will see this sort of thing happening over and over again throughout the Ring saga, and it is of the greatest importance. Bilbo is enabled to put his new gifts to work, so that we admire what he does; but he is not the author either of the gifts or of the consequent actions. The actions flow out of the gifts.20
Tolkien sees “pity” as a word of “moral and imaginative worth” (Letter #153). Properly speaking, “Pity must restrain one from doing something immediately desirable and seemingly advantageous” (Letter #153). Elsewhere, he says pity “is also an absolute requirement in moral judgement (since it is present in the Divine nature)” (Letter #246). In that same letter he says in a footnote that pity “to be a true virtue must be directed to the good of its object. It is empty if it is exercised only to keep oneself ‘clean’, free from hate or the actual doing of injustice, though this is also a good motive.”
Such is the virtue that supplied a sort of inoculation for Bilbo. Bilbo could not escape the effects of the Ring for as long as he possessed it. But the fact that he began his ownership of it with pity—a virtue beyond the ken of the Ring or its master and completely inimical to both, a virtue which welled up within him from the influence of the other will at work here—is why the effects on him were not as severe as they could have been.
Moreover, when Frodo insists that Gollum deserves death for what he has done (as he has been made aware only now of the story of how Gollum came to possess the Ring), Gandalf acknowledges that he does, but:
Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it. And he is bound up with the fate of the Ring. My heart tells me that he has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before the end; and when that comes, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many—yours not least. (I/2)
In case it was not obvious how important this and the larger exchange of Frodo and Gandalf is, some portion is repeated in The Two Towers (IV/1) and The Return of the King (VI/3). When Frodo’s own chance comes when he has the advantage over Gollum and it would seem in his best interest—as he thought it was in Bilbo’s best interest—to kill Gollum to prevent him from causing further trouble, he will instead make the harder and (to Sam as to Frodo himself when considering Bilbo’s decision) seemingly ill-advised decision to let him live. Frodo could not have imagined at the time how true Gandalf’s words would be, which he could only appreciate in retrospect, that “the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many—yours not least.” Because Bilbo, and then Frodo, exercised the divine virtue, divine providence then took up their actions to bring this story to its divinely planned end. In such ways, one can become in a participant in the same grace by which God brings salvation (this is akin to what I have noted here about Phil 3, here about the Sermon on the Mount, as well as here and here about texts of participatory victory).
The Choices of Frodo
Despite all that Gandalf has said, Frodo remains convinced that matters are less complicated than he presents them. He wonders why the Ring has not been destroyed and that he would have done so if Gandalf had simply warned him to this point. But when Gandalf challenges Frodo’s certainty, Frodo attempts the simple matter of throwing it away. When he takes it out of his pocket, he begins examining it and admiring its beauty. He had intended to throw it into the same fire that had revealed the inscription on the Ring, “But he found now that he could not do so, not without a great struggle. He weighed the Ring in his hand, hesitating, forcing himself to remember all that Gandalf had told him; and then with an effort of will he made a movement, as if to cast it away—but he found that he had put it back in his pocket” (I/2). Frodo had never even used the Ring to this point, yet despite having a better understanding of what the Ring was than Bilbo did when he first possessed it, his will has already been compromised by the Ring. That which seems so easy when the responsibility is put on others is suddenly shown for the difficulty it is for one whose judgment has not yet been tempered with pity and mercy.
He thus asks why the Ring should come to him—i.e., why this other will should mean for him to have it—and why he was chosen. While Frodo does not know the agent behind the passive verb “chosen” like Gandalf does, he now puts the question back to Gandalf, albeit in more succinct and indirect terms, of, if [God] indeed chose him, why [God] would choose him to have the Ring. Gandalf responds, “Such questions cannot be answered … You may be sure that it was not for any merit that others do not possess: not for power or wisdom, at any rate. But you have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have” (I/2).
As people have reflected on biblical stories over the years, the same questions have been asked. Why, of all people in the world, were childless Abram/Abraham and Sarai/Sarah chosen? Why was Moses chosen? Why were Deborah, Gideon, and Manoah and his wife chosen? Why was David chosen? Why was Jeremiah chosen? Why was Mary chosen? Why were the apostles chosen, especially when one of them was to betray Jesus? Such questions could be multiplied indefinitely for anyone God chose for certain tasks, for delivering certain messages, for having certain ministries, and so on. Sometimes speculations have been offered to attempt to make various people appear “worthy” of their callings. But in the end, Gandalf’s answer is the wisest. We cannot know, there is no reason to think it has anything to do with one’s inherent or acquired qualities, and it is not important (besides, if we knew the reasons, would we arrogate ourselves a basis for disputing them?). What is important is the simple fact that one has been chosen for the purpose and one must respond accordingly. That includes using what one has—which is itself already a gift from God, as we have seen already—and trusting that if anything else is needed, it will be provided. That is the ultimate decision everyone listed above had to make.
Attempted Shifting
Naturally, Frodo struggles with the idea that he should have such a responsibility, since he has little of the qualities Gandalf has just listed. He thus offers the Ring to Gandalf, thinking him to be more worthy of being chosen for this task than him. Gandalf must set him straight:
‘No!’ cried Gandalf, springing to his feet. ‘With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly.’ His eyes flashed and his face was lit as by a fire within. ‘Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself. Yet the way of the Ring to my heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good. Do not tempt me! I dare not take it, not even to keep it safe, unused. The wish to wield it would be too great for my strength. I shall have such need of it. Great perils lie before me.’ (I/2)
Ralph Wood insightfully comments:
Tolkien understands the odd danger posed by virtue cut off from the Good. Over and again, he demonstrates his fundamental conviction that evil preys upon our virtues far more than our vices. Our very strengths and assets—whether intelligence or bravery, diligence or loyalty or beauty, but especially righteousness—may dispose us either to scorn those who lack such virtues, or else to employ our gifts for our own selfish ends. Even Gandalf, the noblest of all the characters in The Lord of the Rings, is subject to such temptation. His outstanding virtue is pity, and he knows that it makes him the least capable bearer of the Ring. On the one hand, the Ring would give him the power to protect the weak so completely that they would never grow strong. On the other hand, the Ring’s absolute power would enable him to forgive all evil, thus loosening the necessary tie between mercy and justice, pardon and repentance.21
Similarly, in Letter #246, after pursuing a hypothetical in which one of the powerful among the Free Peoples had come to possess the Ring and met Sauron in direct confrontation and assuming the conclusion that Gandalf defeated Sauron with his own Ring, Tolkien states, “Gandalf as Ring-Lord would have been far worse than Sauron. He would have remained ‘righteous’, but self-righteous. He would have continued to rule and order things for ‘good’, and the benefit of his subjects according to his wisdom (which was and would have remained great).” He also adds in the margin, “Thus while Sauron multiplied [illegible word] evil, he left ‘good’ clearly distinguishable from it. Gandalf would have made good detestable and seem evil.”
Frodo’s Resolve
At this point, it is finally apparent to Frodo that either he must bear the Ring for a while longer and take it away from the Shire, or everyone and everything he knows and loves will be destroyed when the Enemy reclaims his Ring. He is the only one who can do it for now, and so he makes his sacrificial resolution:
I should like to save the Shire if I could—though there have been times when I thought the inhabitants to be too stupid and dull, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them. But I don’t feel like that now. I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.
Of course, I have sometimes thought of going away, but I imagined that as a kind of holiday, a series of adventures like Bilbo’s or better, ending in peace. But this would mean exile, flight from danger into danger, drawing it after me. And I suppose I must go alone, if I am to do that to save the Shire. But I feel very small, and very uprooted, and well—desperate. The Enemy is so strong and terrible. (I/2)
I will save more extensive commentary on this for later when it comes to fruition, but I wanted to note it here for my readers as the moment at which the seed of the narrative and character resolution is planted. As Tolkien says in Letter #148a to Katharine Farrer, “In fact I was delighted that you stressed the ‘morality’. I think actually it is that which gives the story its ‘realness’ and coherence – which my critics seem to feel – rather than any pictorial vividness. It was not ‘planned’, of course, but arose naturally in the attempt to treat the matter seriously; but it is now the foundation.” That is, Tolkien did not necessarily plan the moral picture that he will present through Frodo’s actions and character arc, but it flowed naturally from the author who was formed as a Christian that one of his heroes, the hero who bears the Ring for most of the story, should need to make such a sacrificial resolution. We will revisit this in more depth later at the resolution of the plot and the resolution of the story.
Traveling Providence
After this discussion with Gandalf, and accompanied by the eavesdropping Sam, as well as Pippin, Frodo sets out on his journey, which he tells others is to Crickhollow (which is true, but necessarily incomplete). Even early in this journey, he gets a sense of the danger ahead with the Black Riders searching for him. In one particular case, we see a marker of Providence. When the company hears a horse on the road, Frodo at first wonders if it is Gandalf, “but even as he said it, he had a feeling that it was not so, and a sudden desire to hide from the view of the rider came over him” (I/3). It is like an external feeling he received from another source. This is an interesting way of describing one of the subtler works of Providence, but it is, of course, quite crucial. Who knows how the situation would have gone if the Hobbits stayed in place and waited, thinking it was Gandalf? Instead, this sudden feeling saved his life and their lives.
Another marker of Providence early in this journey is the comment from Gildor, whose company of Elves encountered the Hobbits on the road. He says, “Our paths cross theirs [Hobbits’] seldom, by chance or purpose. In this meeting there may be more than chance; but the purpose is not clear to me, and I fear to say too much” (I/3). This comment shows how the work of Providence can resemble chance but constitutes something “more than chance.” He himself does not try to claim too much, but he clearly has the sense that something significant is happening here. But without a clear notion of the purpose, he stops short of saying what he thinks would be too much. That is what differentiates him from Gandalf who has a better—but still hardly complete—understanding of the purpose and agent at work here.
Elbereth
The conversation with Gildor also features the first of what will be several invocations of Elbereth: “May Elbereth protect you” (I/3). Elbereth or Varda is, besides being the Queen of the Valar, one of Tolkien’s Marian figures. He notes in Letter #213 how “I am a Christian (which can be deduced from my stories), and in fact a Roman Catholic. The latter ‘fact’ perhaps cannot be deduced; though one critic (by letter) asserted that the invocations of Elbereth, and the character of Galadriel as directly described (or through the words of Gimli and Sam) were clearly related to Catholic devotion to Mary.” This is not to say that Elbereth is a one-to-one correspondence for Mary, as that does not make sense in Tolkien’s mythology, but in some ways, she is reminiscent of Mary, particularly in how she is invoked. He also says in a footnote of Letter #153:
For help they may call on a Vala (as Elbereth), as a Catholic might on a Saint, though no doubt knowing in theory as well as he that the power of the Vala was limited and derivative. But this is a ‘primitive age’: and these folk may be said to view the Valar as children view their parents or immediate adult superiors, and though they know they are subjects of the King he does not live in their country nor have there any dwelling.
Elbereth is the Vala most frequently invoked in this way, and it will be worth observing other times when she is called upon, for her invocation is something Frodo learns from the Elves.
Providential Companions
Divine providence takes many forms, as we have established. Sometimes God’s providential work manifests in who is placed in relation to oneself. Frodo would not be here if Bilbo, who had earlier found the Ring, had not returned to the Shire and adopted Frodo after his parents died. He would not have been Bilbo’s heir, and thus he would not have had the Ring. And he would also not be able to complete his Quest without those he was related to as friends and family.
Consider Sam. While it is possible that they may have ended up being friends otherwise, they would not have grown together in their particular situation where Sam was a gardener to him as his Gaffer was to Bilbo. If not for that situation in life, he would not have been in a position to eavesdrop under the thin guise of trimming the grass. If he had not thus been eavesdropping, he would not have been volunteered by Gandalf to accompany Frodo. If he had not been in this position, neither would his other Hobbit companions have been able to join him as they did. And the Quest would have ultimately failed without Sam, the chief hero (Letter #131).
As a result of the meeting with the Elves, something Sam dreamed of doing for a long time, Sam’s resolve is reinforced. It is here where he first says he was told by the Elves, “Don’t you leave him!” and he responds, “I never mean to.” Sam does not yet comprehend, since Frodo does not, that the Quest will end up taking them all the way to Mount Doom, but that does not perturb Sam or upset his will. In his own words, “I know we are going to take a very long road, into darkness; but I know I can’t turn back. It isn’t to see Elves now, nor dragons, nor mountains, that I want—I don’t rightly know what I want: but I have something to do before the end, and it lies ahead and not in the Shire. I must see it through, sir, if you understand me” (I/4). Sam, too, was chosen for his task. He does not put it in quite those terms, but everything about his story to this point signals it.
The next chapter reveals that he was a conspirator with other Hobbits as well who Frodo grew up with and knew well, including Merry, Pippin, and Fatty Bolger (the one who would stay behind). When Frodo arrives at Crickhollow and converses with these friends and relatives, he learns that they knew a surprising amount of his secret business. They are not nearly as insightful, knowledgeable, or power as Gandalf, but they know enough to know that Frodo needs help, and they refuse to be daunted:
‘You do not understand!’ said Pippin. ‘You must go—and therefore we must, too. Merry and I are coming with you. Sam is an excellent fellow, and would jump down a dragon’s throat to save you, if he did not trip over his own feet’ but you will need more than one companion in your dangerous adventure.’
‘My dear and most beloved hobbits!’ said Frodo deeply moved. ‘But I could not allow it. I decided that long ago, too. You speak of danger, but you do not understand. This is no treasure-hunt, no there-and-back journey. I am flying from deadly peril into deadly peril.’
‘Of course we understand,’ said Merry firmly. ‘That is why we have decided to come. We know the Ring is no laughing matter; but we are going to do our best to help you against the Enemy.’ (I/5)
[From Merry:] You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin—to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours—closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly afraid—but we are coming with you; or following you like hounds. (I/5)
“No one has greater love than this, that one should lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Not only is this principle exemplified here, but we are reminded again how Providence has long been at work here, only more immediately having the right people in the right places at the right times for this conspiracy to be formed and Frodo to be compelled to bring these most valuable companions with him on his Quest to his relief.
One could similarly consider the story of the book of Ruth. By Providence, Naomi and her husband were brought to live among the Moabites to avoid the famine in Israel. They had married their sons off to Moabite women, but her daughters-in-law were widowed without children, and she also was widowed. She tried to send both of these daughters of hers who shared in his tragedy away, and if she had her way, her last days would have indeed been consumed in unmitigated bitterness. But God had put in her life a young woman named Ruth who simply refused to be parted from her, as she was willing to make Naomi’s people her people and Naomi’s God her God. When they returned to the land of Israel together, it also happened that Naomi had a still-living relative through her late husband, who was named Boaz. The rest of the story unfolds so that Boaz and Ruth get married and have children, which also means that Naomi is blessed to nurse and help raise a son through this daughter-in-law she sought to dismiss in her grief and destitution. Not only that, but this son would be the ancestor to none other than King David. All of this happened because of the subtle work of Providence before, during, and after this short biblical story.
In this case, furthermore, not only is Providence at work in how these people should be related to Frodo and have known him for so long, as well as their forming a conspiracy; the work is also seen in another case of being in the right place at the right time. In the midst of this chapter, Merry tells of how he was in a spot to see Bilbo use the Ring to escape the Sackville-Bagginses, though he kept it a secret. And that was his cue to start keeping an eye out and his ears open for anything related to the business of this Ring, only acting on it when he needed to with Gandalf’s visit in the spring, for which he had intel from Sam. And it is Merry who attempts to take the lead of the group through the Old Forest on to Bree, though that stage in the Quest met plenty of hiccups, which leads us to our next subject.
Tom Bombadil
Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow and an odd one at that. Although various theories have been and will continue to be proffered about who and what he is, by Tolkien’s own account, he is an intentional enigma (Letters #144, #153). He describes what Tom represents thusly in Letter #144:
The story is cast in terms of a good side, and a bad side, beauty against ruthless ugliness, tyranny against kingship, moderated freedom with consent against compulsion that has long lost any object save mere power, and so on; but both sides in some degree, conservative or destructive, want a measure of control. but if you have, as it were taken ‘a vow of poverty’, renounced control, and take your delight in things for themselves without reference to yourself, watching, observing, and to some extent knowing, then the question of the rights and wrongs of power and control might become utterly meaningless to you, and the means of power quite valueless. It is a natural pacifist view, which always arises in the mind when there is a war. But the view of Rivendell seems to be that it is an excellent thing to have represented, but that there are in fact things with which it cannot cope; and upon which its existence nonetheless depends. Ultimately only the victory of the West will allow Bombadil to continue, or even to survive. Nothing would be left for him in the world of Sauron. (Cf. Letter #153)
We can see, then, how Tolkien puts a particular spin on the presentation of monastic pursuits and their value through the narrative incorporation of Tom Bombadil, a character he had written about quite independently in his poems, some of which compose The Adventures of Tom Bombadil (which was published much later). There is a purity and simplicity about him that makes him uniquely immune to the influence of the Ring (I/7). But that is also what would make him a bad keeper or bearer of the Ring, as he would be neglectful of it and would not venture far from the Old Forest where he is master (II/2).
Frodo first encounters him when he desperately cries for help in the Old Forest after Old Man Willow captures and threatens to kill Merry and Pippin. The efforts Frodo and Sam make to free them prove vain, but in this final counsel of desperation, they find one who can subdue Old Man Willow with a song. He then invites them to stay a while with him and his wife, Goldberry. When Frodo inquires whether Tom came in response to his call or if it was mere chance that they met when and where they did, Tom says, “Did I hear you calling? Nay, I did not hear: I was busy singing. Just chance brought me then, if chance you call it. It was no plan of mine, though I was waiting for you” (I/7). Thus, this meeting is another arrangement of Providence. As with other suggestive texts we have seen to this point that qualified reference to accident, luck, and chance, so too does Tom here say, “if chance you call it,” clearly implying that he is simply using the established parlance here, though one could just as well say that it was not chance. The event simply resembled chance. He was waiting for the Hobbits, but it was not by any plan of his that he should just happen to be where he was when he was there to be able to help the Hobbits. Another will was at work to arrange this meeting that saved the Hobbits.
The Barrow-downs
After a respite, the Hobbits leave Tom’s house with warnings about the Barrow-downs. Unfortunately, despite his warnings, the Hobbits are trapped there by the Barrow-wights. Frodo awakes while the others are kept in a deep sleep. Although Frodo has shown courage to this point, this is the first time since he set out that he must show it more actively by attempting to free his friends. The narrator tells us that it is such final and desperate dangers that cause “a seed of courage” that is hidden in the heart of every Hobbit to grow in him (I/8). This is reminiscent of what we have already observed about the “spirit of courage” Tolkien saw among his forebears and how it is embodied in the Hobbits. This is part of the common grace Eru Ilúvatar has given to the Hobbits that such jovial and soft creatures can, when put to it, show remarkable bravery to do what must be done.
Even so, there is a point at which he wavers when he sees a fiendish arm reaching for his friends to enact a demonic ritual. It appears as if he is dealing with a power here beyond his comprehension, and he already has one of those, plus his chief servants, threatening him. But the immediacy of the threat means that he can only do what he can with what strength he has, as Gandalf told him at the outset that he would need to do, and so, “resolve hardened in him,” and he hews the hands off the creeping arm while the sword he used was entirely splintered (I/8).
This is a reminder of the nature of courage. Peacefulness does not consist in simply being nonviolent, as one can simply be harmless, but one who is capable of great violence and chooses the way of peace is the one who is truly peaceful. In the same way, courage does not consist of the absence of fear; that is simply fearlessness, and that can be dangerous for oneself and others who depend on one just as cowardice is similarly dangerous. Rather, courage works in the face of fear and what inspires it (danger, the unknown, and so on), overcoming fear with resolute acts of will, not allowing what is feared to control oneself. Courage is a virtue that upholds other virtues in supplying the resolution to do what must be done in the face of obstacles. And in its fullest exercise, it is a virtue that is itself upheld by others like faith, love, and hope. This is part of that fusion of horizons Tolkien has described elsewhere when the gospel came to the northern Europeans. Thus, various expressions for courage in the Bible involve being strong/strengthened (Num 13:20; Deut 1:38; 3:28; 31:6–7, 23; Josh 1:6–9, 18; 10:25; Judg 7:11; Ruth 1:18; 2 Sam 10:12 // 1 Chr 19:13; 1 Kgs 2:2 // 1 Chr 28:20; 1 Chr 22:13; 2 Chr 32:7; Ezra 10:4; Dan 11:32; Mic 3:8; Zec 8:9, 13; 1 Cor 16:13; Eph 3:16), resolution in heart (Pss 27:14; 31:24; Isa 35:4; Jer 51:46; Hag 2:4; John 14:27; Acts 11:23; 2 Thess 2:17; 2 Tim 3:10–11; Jas 5:8), being comforted in the face of trial (1 Sam 23:16; John 16:33; Acts 23:11; 27:22, 25; 2 Cor 5:6, 8; 10:12; Heb 13:5–6), and speaking/acting with freedom (Acts 4:13, 29, 31; 9:27–28; 13:46; 14:3; 18:26; 19:8; 26:26; 28:31; 2 Cor 3:12; Eph 6:19–20; Phil 1:20; 1 Thess 2:2; Heb 3:6; 10:35).
Tom Bombadil’s Note of Final Victory
Of course, while Frodo has been given strength to do what he needs to do to face the immediate problem, he cannot ultimately solve the larger problem on his own. At this point, he remembers the song Tom gave the Hobbits to sing if they needed to call on him for help. This shows one of the links between faith and courage, as he must trust that this will work. And indeed it does. Tom not only saves the Hobbits; he also banishes the Barrow-wights from these lands once and for all. And he does it, of course, with a song:
Get out old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended. (I/8)
On the one hand, the description of where Tom banishes the wight to is reminiscent of where the rebellious are held for judgment in 2 Pet 2:4 and Jude 6 (cf. Rev 20:1–3). On the other hand, the last line is especially interesting. The banishment to this place until the world is mended implies that there will be a final reckoning, a final judgment. And this will be tied in with the world being restored, mended, and healed. That is the expectation that has been declared since the narration of the Ainulindalë, as the Music of the Ainur by which Eru Ilúvatar created Eä will be surpassed by the Second Music that will also involve the Children of Ilúvatar. This refers to the hope of new creation, or the healing of creation, which is also the biblical hope (and which I have examined in Tolkien’s works at various points in the links above). The hope is for the world to be made complete, not for its abandonment.
The Will of Bondage Strikes Back
While Frodo was in Tom Bombadil’s house, the Ring appeared less threatening. After all, Tom put it on with no effect, and he could see Frodo plain as day even after he put it on to become invisible. As long as the Ring stayed in the domain where Tom was master, it did not seem to be so perilous as early indications would have it. But when Frodo makes it to Bree and he can no longer rely on the security of Tom, the threat becomes reestablished. The Ring has a will of its own, after all. And so just as divine providence can manifest as an external force, as something “coming over” the recipient of the action, and even as something coming from within the recipient, the counterfeit—whether the Ring or the powers of sin and death—can work in ways that are superficially similar. We saw already in Bilbo’s finding of the Ring how two opposing wills were at work in that event, one of which was the Ring’s.
And so it is when Frodo comes to Bree. When he feels uncomfortable speaking in front of the crowd at the Prancing Pony, “quite unaccountably the desire came over him to slip it on and vanish out of the silly situation. It seemed to him, somehow, as if the suggestion came to him from outside, from someone or something in the room.” (I/9). Frodo is initially able to resist the temptation and redirect his mind to his remarkable song and dance performance. But as he loses himself in that performance, drawing attention to himself when secrecy was supposed to be the name of his game, he slips and finds that the Ring is on his finger, which alerts the agents of the Enemy and eventually brings the Ringwraiths. Frodo wonders if the Ring played a trick on him to get him to this point.
For as much as Frodo’s struggle is against a physical object and an embodied Enemy, it is nevertheless also a spiritual struggle. And for as strong as Frodo is, and for as much heroic courage as he has already demonstrated he has, this event makes clear that he cannot carry this Quest alone left to his own devices. As with our spiritual struggles, he is not to confront his all alone. Companions and community are crucial for each individual’s struggles. The counsel is never to do it all oneself. Because even with good intentions, sometimes unintentional errors like this can cause problems.
Aragorn
It is also at Bree that we first meet the last of the major characters who will provide christological echoes and be a christological type: Strider, later revealed to be Aragorn son of Arathorn. One way in which Aragorn echoes and anticipates Jesus is in that he is part of a long of kings that has long since lost the throne. Aragorn is of the line of Isildur who was supposed to rule over all the Dúnedain, although his line was ultimately reduced to reigning over the lesser northern kingdom of Arnor until it fell. Jesus was of the line of David who did rule over the united kingdom of Israel, although his line was ultimately reduced to reigning over the smaller southern kingdom of Judah until that kingdom fell. In both cases, the line did not fail, but the heirs of the respective thrones must operate incognito until their time comes. Of course, it is important to remember that Aragorn is an echo of Christ and not a Christ figure himself. His reign has a climactic role in the story of The Lord of the Rings, but it is not the everlasting kingdom/reign of God, and it is not inaugurated by the equivalent of the major gospel events, for there is no true equivalent of the major gospel events in Tolkien’s story, since there is no incarnation of the One as yet, even if there are more distant echoes.
Part of what aids being incognito is that, like the Servant spoken of in Isaiah 53:2, he is lacking in any sort of majestic form or appearance, not least because of his many years in the wilderness and traveling across the continent awaiting his time, not unlike Jesus waiting until he is around thirty years old to begin his ministry. Frodo even remarks that he felt that Aragorn was not an agent of the Enemy because he thought they would look fair and feel foul, though he is polite enough not to say outright the obverse of that statement and what it says about Aragorn (I/10). Of course, the verse that goes with Aragorn’s name illustrates much the same:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king. (I/10)
We later learn that Bilbo composed these lines for Aragorn (II/2). It reflects the hope he has for Aragorn and that Aragorn has for himself, that after generations of disinheritance he will be the one to inherit the throne of his ancestor, as will be true also of his anti-type.
Similarly, when Strider reveals his identity as Aragorn, something of a transfiguration takes place before he declares his name and promises to do what he can to save Frodo by life or death. It is not so phenomenal as the Transfiguration that in each of the Synoptic Gospels follows Peter’s affirmation of Jesus’s identity, but it is similar in concept and only foreshadows others to come. For the narrator tells us, “He stood up, and seed suddenly to grow taller. In his eyes gleamed a light, keen and commanding” (I/10). This is similar to what we saw earlier with Gandalf in Bag End. And it is another example of the dynamic of transfiguration whereby something of the greater glory of a person is revealed.
Surprising Courage
Even as Frodo and the Hobbits are surprised to learn who Strider is, Strider has his own turn to be surprised by the Hobbits. Merry had been out during the conversation of this chapter, and he came close to a Nazgûl without being detected. Thus, the two characters have this exchange:
Strider looked at Merry with wonder. ‘You have a stout heart,’ he said; ‘but it was foolish.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Merry. ‘Neither brave nor silly, I think. I could hardly help myself. I seemed to be drawn somehow.” (I/10)
This is another case of the subject being rendered passive by the action of another in a way that suggests divine providence. Merry “seemed to be drawn” because another will was at work to bring this about. And it is a significant event, as this prevents the Nazgûl from getting the drop on Strider and the Hobbits.
A Knife in the Dark
The story then follows the expanded group with Strider in the lead to Weathertop. While there, they are detected by the Ringwraiths. There is no avoiding them this time. Strider simply tries to prepare a defense as best he can, but he cannot stop the Lord of the Nazgûl (otherwise known as the Witch-King of Angmar) from facing down Frodo. Frodo once again feels a sudden temptation to put on the Ring:
The desire to do this laid hold of him, and he could think of nothing else. He did not forget the Barrow, nor the message of Gandalf; but something seemed to be compelling him to disregard all warnings, and he longed to yield. Not with the hope of escape, or of doing anything, either good or bad: he simply felt that he must take the Ring and put it on his finger.… He shut his eyes and struggled for a while; but resistance became unbearable, and at last he slowly drew out the chain, and slipped the Ring on the forefinger of his left hand. (I/11)
Besides the words of Gandalf and his cited example of Bilbo, this experience may be the most significant influence on Frodo eventually acting graciously towards Gollum. We have seen already that he initially regarded Gollum as loathsome, condemned him, and spurned Gandalf’s attempts to warn him that other Hobbits he knew could well have become Gollum. He even thought it would be a simple matter to get rid of the Ring and destroy it. He had experienced some strong temptations to put on the Ring and was able to overcome them when they came, save a seemingly accidental lapse. But despite his courage, despite the warnings of Gandalf that he could not forget, in the end the will and power of the Ring, amplified by the presence of the Ringwraiths, was simply too much for him. This is some tragic foreshadowing, for Frodo does not fail morally here. He simply is not capable of resisting such a force. In turn, this will give him a more compassionate and generous perspective on those who have borne it longer and also found themselves being cowed into submission to the will of the Ring. In a hard way, he is learning the wisdom of Jesus’s teaching in Matt 7:1–5, so that his judgment will now be tempered with pity and mercy.
Invoking Elbereth
Of course, when Frodo puts on the Ring, it does not hide him from the Ringwraiths. In fact, they can see him more clearly, even as he can see them more clearly. One of them, who is later said to be the Lord of the Nazgûl, bears down on him with a sword in one hand and a knife in the other. Having no other recourse, Frodo summons his courage and throws himself forward while crying “O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!” and strikes at the Nazgûl’s foot with his Arnorian blade (I/11). As will be said (indirectly) later, this courage proves providential not only because it was a grace given to Frodo, but also because if Frodo had not taken action, the wound would have been more severe from the Nazgûl’s aim at his heart, but he has instead stabbed him in his shoulder.
This is also another case in which Elbereth is invoked like Mary. This is something Frodo learned from the Elves. Strider also says that the name of Elbereth was more deadly to the Nazgûl than the sword stroke (I/12). He says this in a context of noting that the stroke did not do much damage to the Nazgûl, but the fact that he says it was “more deadly” indicates that the invocation does have some measure of power. The one who is the Enkindler was, after all, the Vala that Melkor, Sauron’s master, hated and feared the most. She saw through his darkness and her beauty was an effect of her face radiating the light of Eru Ilúvatar himself.
Made of Sterner Stuff
The rest of my comments for Book I will be on rather brief texts. First, Strider echoes what Gandalf said earlier about the strength and durability of Hobbits that would surprise the Wise. In his words, “Your Frodo is made of sterner stuff than I had guessed, though Gandalf hinted that it might prove so. He is not slain, and I think he will resist the evil power of the wound longer than his enemies expect” (I/12). This speaks to the common grace given to the Hobbits that surprise those who do not know them better, as Gandalf had established earlier. But it also speaks to the special grace the One has given Frodo, for we have been told elsewhere, “indeed, though he did not know it, Bilbo (and Gandalf) had thought him the best hobbit in the Shire” (I/8). We will discuss later some important comments from Tolkien on the grace given to Frodo for his Quest.
Estel
Strider also has some interesting bits of dialogue in this chapter that demonstrate his virtue of hope. As we will see again later, one of Strider’s names is Estel, one of the Elvish words that can be translated as “hope.” But this particular variety is a deeper, more significant one that has the sense of “trust.” It is not some vague optimism trusting that things will go well in the end. Rather, it is trust in Eru Ilúvatar and that his designs will be for the good of his Children, whom he loves. This is a paraphrase of how Finrod explains the concept in “Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth,”22 but it is notably similar to Rom 8:28: “Now we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to [his] purpose.” Early in his life, Strider is named Estel to signify that he is an instrument of such hope, the instrument of Eru Ilúvatar in bringing his designs for his Children (including both Men and Elves) to fruition, at least up to a point, as the coming of the Messiah he is a type of is still far in the future.
With the awareness that he is an instrument of hope, he can say confidently that though his heart is in Rivendell (since Arwen is there), “it is not my fate to sit in peace, even in the fair house of Elrond” (I/12). For he knows that he has a much different purpose, a place in a story much bigger than his own, which has been composed by an Author far higher than him. And he has already decided to submit to that purpose, though the timing and circumstance of when his fate will be fulfilled remain mysterious to him.
Later, as Frodo’s condition worsens, he informs Sam that the poison of the Morgul blade is beyond his skill to heal, yet he says, “But do not give up hope, Sam” (I/12). This is something Strider will continue to do throughout this story: he enkindles hope where he can. He trusts that the One’s designs for Frodo—and Strider is one who is definitely aware of the One—will not end here, perhaps not least because of the signs of God’s grace he has already seen in Frodo and his mission. And his words do not prove empty either. Not long after this, they meet Glorfindel, who, quite beyond the designs of Strider himself, was out looking for the group. And not only does Glorfindel supply the horse Frodo needs to outrun the Black Riders, but he also proves crucial in driving these enemies away. Glorfindel himself is an instrument of Providence, considering how he was sent back to Middle-earth for such purposes as this. But that is something we will have to address later.
Finally, there are two more points to observe from the end of Book I. One, after Frodo crosses the Ford of Bruinen, he keeps telling the Ringwraiths to go back. His voice weakens as they beckon him to surrender. While his strength is failing, he says, “By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair … you shall have neither the Ring nor me” (I/12). This is similar to the almost Marian invocation we have seen previously. But now with the addition of Lúthien, it further resembles invocations of the saints. Such an invocation gives him the strength he needs for one last effort.
Two, as Frodo is on the verge of fainting, he sees across the river “a shining figure of white light; and behind it ran small shadowy forms waving flames, that flared red in the grey mist that was falling over the world” (I/12). This shining figure is Glorfindel transfigured in Frodo’s sight. To explain why this is so, we will wait until next time.
Similarly in Letter #181 (to Michael Straight), he says:
It is a 'fairy-story', but one written – according to the belief I once expressed in an extended essay ‘On Fairy-stories’ that they are the proper audience – for adults. Because I think that fairy story has its own mode of reflecting ‘truth’, different from allegory, or (sustained) satire, or ‘realism’, and in some ways more powerful. But first of all it must succeed just as a tale, excite, please, and even on occasion move, and within its own imagined world be accorded (literary) belief. To succeed in that was my primary object.
But, of course, if one sets out to address 'adults' (mentally adult people anyway), they will not be pleased, excited, or moved unless the whole, or the incidents, seem to be about something worth considering, more e.g. than mere danger and escape: there must be some relevance to the ‘human situation’ (of all periods). So something of the teller's own reflections and ‘values’ will inevitably get worked in. This is not the same as allegory. We all, in groups or as individuals, exemplify general principles; but we do not represent them. (emphases original)
This letter is available online at: https://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Letter_to_G.S._Rigby_Jr.
Similarly, his daughter Priscilla noted that her father rarely spoke of his theology in an intellectual/abstract way, “In fact, I do not think it was ever in his heart to write or speak of religion didactically: his mode was to express religious themes and moral questions through the medium of storytelling.” Priscilla Tolkien, quoted in Andrea Monda and Wu Ming 4, “Tolkien as Catholic Philosopher?,” in Tolkien and Philosophy, ed. Roberto Arduini and Claudio A. Testi, Cormarë 32 (Zurich and Jena: Walking Tree, 2014), 86. Likewise, in Letter #211 (to Rhona Beare), he says, “But since I have deliberately written a tale, which is built on or out of certain ‘religious’ ideas, but is not an allegory of them (or anything else), and does not mention them overtly, still less preach them, I will not now depart from that mode, and venture on theological disquisition for which I am not fitted.”
See Acts 14:15–17; 17:22–29; Rom 1:18–20; Justin Martyr 1 Apol. 20–23; 44; 46; 59–60; 2 Apol. 8; 10; 13); Tatian, Or. Graec. 21; Clement of Alexandria Strom. 1.4–5, 13, 19–20; Eusebius of Caesarea, Praeparatio evangelica/Preparation for the Gospel; Basil the Great, Address to Young Men; Augustine of Hippo, Civ. 8.1; Doctr. chr. 2.25.
Austin M. Freeman, Tolkien Dogmatics: Theology Through Mythology with the Maker of Middle-earth (Bellingham, WA: Lexham, 2022), 240.
Clyde S. Kilby, Tolkien & The Silmarillion, (Wheaton, IL: Shaw, 1976), 56.
J. R. R. Tolkien, “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics,” in The Monsters and the Critics, ed. Christopher Tolkien (London: HarperCollins, 2006), 18.
Ibid., 20 (emphasis original).
Ibid., 21.
Ibid., 20, 21.
Ibid., 28.
J. R. R. Tolkien, trans., Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Pearl, and Sir Orfeo (New York: Ballantine, 1980), 58.
We will revisit this point later, but Tolkien says in Letter #183 that the conflict in LOTR “is not basically about ‘freedom’, though that is naturally involved. It is about God, and His sole right to divine honour. The Eldar and the Númenóreans believed in The One, the true God, and held worship of any other person an abomination. Sauron desired to be a God-King, and was held to be this by his servants; if he had been victorious he would have demanded divine honour from all rational creatures and absolute temporal power over the whole world.”
As Tolkien said, this is a world of monotheistic natural theology (Letter #165; cf. Letters #153, #156, #181).
J. R. R. Tolkien, Morgoth’s Ring, vol. 10 of The History of Middle-earth, ed. Christopher Tolkien (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1993), 396.
Fleming Rutledge compares this description to the situation of the Gerasene demoniac (The Battle for Middle-earth: Tolkien’s Divine Design in The Lord of the Rings [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004], 60–61).
That is, it has been suggested that such passive constructions were used as a reverential circumlocution to avoid saying “the divine name” or some other such inaccurate claim.
The Silmarillion, “Ainulindalë.”
Rutledge, Battle, 27 (emphases original).
Ralph Wood, The Gospel According to Tolkien: Visions of the Kingdom in Middle-earth (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2003), 62.
Tolkien, Morgoth’s Ring, 320.