Ethics and Form in the Lord of the Rings

2 Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings

Rhetorically, the The Lord of the Rings seems to insist on being read in conjunction with the ‘Silmarillion’ material from Tolkien’s greater legendarium. For reasons specified in Chapter 1 this book draws primarily on the version of Tolkien’s mythology presented in The Silmarillion. Contextual information from the publication history of The Lord of the Rings underscores the necessity of reading these texts together: Tolkien broke his longstanding agreement for publication with Allen & Unwin on the prospect of having The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings jointly published (Scull and Hammond, 2006, p. 542). Drawing on the theoretical and methodological basis presented in the Introduction, this chapter gives a literary analysis of ethical aspects of The Lord of the Rings.1

Narrative voice and perspective

A central voice in The Lord of the Rings is the narrator. In the prologue, the narrator marks his temporal distance from the narrated events by saying that ‘Those days, the Third Age of Middle-earth, are now long past, and the shape of all lands has been changed’ (LotR 2). The narrator is cast in the role of historian, framing the narrative as a past-event historical account. This situates him somewhere in the future with respect to the narrated events – perhaps in the Fourth Age, the Age of Men, and allows him to regard the narrated events in a historical context. It also enables him to furnish the reader with ‘anthropological’ information concerning the racial and cultural characteristics of hobbits. This last point underscores the narrator’s position as that of a scientist and scholar, implying a certain claim on rendering the tale from an objec- tive, disinterested view of events. He also carefully outlines his historical

L. Guanio-Uluru, Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature © Lykke Guanio-Uluru 2015 26 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature sources, which are mainly first-hand witness accounts from the War of the Ring:

This account of the end of the Third Age is drawn mainly from the Red Book of Westmarch.2 (…) It was in origin Bilbo’s private diary, which he took with him to Rivendell. Frodo brought it back to the Shire, together with many loose leaves of notes, and during S.R 1420–1 he nearly filled its pages with his account of the War. But annexed to it, and preserved with it, probably in a single red case, were the three large volumes, bound in red leather, that Bilbo gave him as a parting gift. To these four volumes there was added in Westmarch a fifth containing commentaries, genealogies, and various other matter concerning the hobbit members of the Fellowship. (LotR 14)

The reader further learns in this prologue that both Merry and Pippin kept libraries at their homes, and that Merry wrote several books on the history of Rohan and Eriador, as well as a book discussing the differences between the various calendars of the peoples of Middle-earth. He was assisted in this by the sons of Elrond, who remained in Rivendell. Pippin also collected many manuscripts from Gondor concerning the histories of Elendil, Númenor and the rising of Sauron. Adding to this detailed information in the prologue, towards the end of the narrative the reader learns that Frodo presents Sam with the Red Book after having written his own account of the War of the Ring within it, and says that the last pages are for Sam to fill. This comprehensive account of source material represents the narrator as a meticulous scholar, concerned to account for and render his sources accurately. In addition to commending his reliability, it also accounts for the focalization of the various parts of the tale, which is seen through the eyes of Frodo, Pippin, Merry and Sam in the nature of first hand witnessing. It further builds the credibility of the historical comments of the narrator who places the witness accounts of the War in a larger framework and context. The narrator’s voice and focalization further function as devices for colouring the reader’s value judgements of the story, since the narrator’s voice throughout is firmly anchored on the side of ‘good’. Due to the nature of the historical source material, the subjects of the focalization of the War of the Ring are the Fellowship of the Ring; and particularly the four hobbits. The reader gets little information about the deliberations, thoughts and intentions of the Enemy which – save for the Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 27 overheard bickering of Orcs – is always focalized by the narrator, the hobbits and the Fellowship of the Ring. Through the use of this form of ‘historic’ narration – the recounting of events as having occurred at specific times on a historical continuum – the narrator establishes his fictional tale as ‘real’. The appendices with maps, family trees, calendars and linguistic information all take part in making the mythical realm of Middle-earth seem solid, well established and believable. This emphasis on ‘factual’ information serves to heighten the impact of the tale on the reader, both in terms of closeness of identification as well as in terms of the reader’s investment in the ‘facts’ of the fictional world. In Phelan’s terminology, this prologue fore- grounds the mimetic3 components of the narrative, in order to engage the reader’s interest in the characters as ‘possible people’. A strong narrative identification on the part of the reader would underscore the tendency of the reader to carry over to his or her own life the implica- tions of any value-lessons purported by the tale. The focalization of different parts of the narrative is important to consider in the interpretation of the value system invoked by a narrative as a whole. In The Lord of the Rings the focalization shifts as the story progresses. Books I and II, The Fellowship of the Ringg, are primarily focalized through Frodo, and the reader follows him as he inherits the Ring, learns of its true nature and sets out on the quest to destroy it. How much the reader has become invested in Frodo as the filtering consciousness of the tale only becomes evident when a distinct counterview is set up in the narration: first through Frodo’s encounter with Tom Bombadil, and later through the contrasting outlook of Sam, who, like Bombadil but unlike Frodo, is able to see through the Ring’s illusory projections of total power. Furthermore, as the Fellowship splits up, there is an increase in the number of perceiving entities or focalizers. These focalization shifts are sustained for the duration of up to a book or longer, so that they are significant in the organizing of the narrative as a whole by creating a ‘branching out’ of the narrative’s form. In Book III the narrative follows Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli as they array Boromir for his boat funeral and pursue the Orcs that captured Merry and Pippin. The reader then follows Merry and Pippin as they are captured by Orcs, escape and meet Treebeard the Ent, and eventually as they reunite with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli and compare notes in Saruman’s stronghold Isengard, which has been demolished by the Ents. In Book IV the narrative traces Frodo and Sam as they journey toward Mt Doom guided by Gollum / Sméagol. During this book the focalization shifts from Frodo to Sam. This is 28 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature signalled in the opening sentence of Book IV: ‘“Well, master, we’re in a fix and no mistake,” said Sam Gamgee’ (LotR 603). This shift could be justified in terms of the detailed information provided regarding the narrator’s source material: as Frodo seems to grow steadily wearier and more introvert during the progression through Mordor, Sam’s detailed account of that leg of the journey would be more interesting and comprehensive as a historical source. Thus one learns of the ways in which Sam’s views differ from those of his master: in Sam’s misgivings towards Gollum, for example (he does not share Frodo’s pity for Gollum and several times votes for killing him), or in Sam’s belief that his Elvish rope untied itself as he called to it (Frodo sees this as accidental). Sam’s strong fascination with, and admiration for, Elves associates him with hope and faith where Frodo, who has essentially lost all hope, is carried along above all by a dogged sense of duty. Consequently, the shift in focalization from Frodo to Sam also serves to deepen and elaborate both characters in contrasting their opinions and views. Sam represents the practical and down to earth reactions, but also has a greater curiosity about ‘magic’.4 He is portrayed as a more ‘folksy’ kind of hobbit than his ‘Master Frodo’, who is described by Sam’s father as ‘a very nice well-spoken gentle- hobbit’ (LotR 22), clearly signalling the class difference between the two. His lower social standing does not indicate that Sam lacks nobility of spirit: the reader is several times privy to Sam’s deliberations regarding the supply of food and water, and learns that he deprives himself of both in order to keep Frodo going on larger rations. Even as Book IV is mainly focalized through Sam, so the reader sees and knows pretty much what Sam sees and knows, there are passages where the narrator discloses himself: ‘The Hobbits were now wholly in the hands of Gollum. They did not know, and could not guess in that misty light, that they were in fact just within the northern borders of the marshes, the main expanse of which lay south of them’ (LotR 625). This remark by the narrator further complicates the narrative picture, as it cannot wholly be explained within the framework of the historical sources given above. It is hard to see how Sam or Frodo could have provided the information about being ‘in fact just within the northern borders of the marshes’ even in retro- spect, since the narrator claims that they did not know where they were at the time – and if they guessed about it later, the ‘in fact’ indicates a superior kind of certainty, compared to the ‘probably’ such a guess would entail. Drawing on the terminology developed by Genette (1983), the perspective in the remark quoted above approaches the omniscient view characteristic of zero focalization. The effect of this is that the narrator as a filtering consciousness in this instance is backgrounded. Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 29

The ‘historical’ type of narration used in the prologue is the first indi- cator that the narrator’s scope goes beyond the perspectives of hobbits. Setting, time lapses and local facts and customs are typically narrated in this way. Through being able to give an account of hobbit history and custom the narrator signals a vaster frame of reference that encompasses the world and views of hobbits: the larger context that the hobbit realm is embedded in. The narrator’s remark quoted above signals something more than a historian’s view, however, and is related to the mythological dimension of a sense of destiny or divine presence that is at a deeper plane again, as it is presented as the shaping force of the events of the historical context. Thus the scope and values of the narrator go beyond that of hobbits to include a sense not only of the whole history of Middle-earth, but also of the deeper forces shaping that history. Should one attribute this sense of a divine or supernatural force, which is important to the overall patterns of value presented through this novel, to the narrator of the tale? Upon scrutiny, it is a perspective shared by the implied author. But it is important to distinguish between two embedded levels: while the narrator’s historical point of perception is not fully available to the hobbit protagonists as the story unfolds, the sense of a supernatural agency or presence is one also experienced and commented upon by the characters (as in Gandalf’s remark that Frodo was meant to have the Ring: LotR 151). This sense of a divine will or destiny seems to be shared both by the narrator and his historical informants, thus serving to unify on a cosmological level the experiences of the characters and the historically removed narration of these experiences. The sense of a divine presence serves as a common world view between the characters in the diegesis and the extra-diegetic narrator, and so in this instance the narrative distance signalled by the narrator is reduced or eliminated – a reduction that must be regarded as the value communication of the implied author. The large canvas of the ‘historical’ frame narrator of The Lord of the Rings enables the implied author to position the events in the story- world in relation to the larger context of a (largely mythical) past. This narrative strategy enables him to infuse the text with a richness and complexity that it would be difficult to achieve coherently in another way. At the same time the mythological dimension becomes a link between the multiple temporal perspectives represented by the time of narration (the narrator’s position), the time of the narrated events (the position of the characters in the story world) and the common mythical past linking and giving directional order both to the Third and (‘future’) Fourth Age. 30 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature

A further point to consider in The Lord of the Rings, both as a narrative tool and in relation to the value arguments of the text, is the narrator’s frequent use of reported speech, intermingled with quotations of songs and the exclamations of characters in various tongues; all of which considerably increases the number of ‘voices’ in the tale. This narrative technique resembles the form of an opera or musical, where the narration is interrupted or carried foreword by musical themes. Knowing that Tolkien was deeply interested in the musicality and sounds of language, the intended effect might be read as that of adding to the aesthetic enjoyment of the reader.5 Carl Phelpstead has explored the formal similarities between The Lord of the Rings and Old Icelandic sagas in the mixing of verse and prose. He notes that ‘Tolkien was familiar with prosimetric writings in other languages besides Old Norse-Icelandic: Latin and early Irish are the two most obviously relevant literatures’ (Phelpstead, 2008). The concept of prosimetrum pertains not only to the subject of style but also to form. How is prosimetrum related to narrative levels and to the text’s ethical impact? First, the insertion of songs and verse leads to a plurification of voice and to complication both in answering the question ‘who speaks?’, and in the dimension of narrative time. Second, through the mixing of prose and verse the text alludes to multiple textual traditions with their own implicit value connotations, thus setting up intertextual reverberations that affect the reader’s value judgements. Michael D. C. Drout has argued, for instance, that in his description of Denethor Tolkien alludes stylistically and thematically to Shakespeare’s King Lear (Drout, 2004, p. 155). Drout further holds that the diversity of Tolkien’s stylistic means, ranging from colloquialisms through Anglo-Saxon and archaic forms to the use of biblical syntax is not ‘bad style’ but an effective means of narrating a complicated web of differing cultures and moralities, each reflected and carried through the lexical choices made. Remembering that Tolkien was an accomplished philologist, such a reading is convincing. With reference to the use of prosimetrum in relation to the subject of voice and narrative time, consider as an example the way the news of Sauron’s fall reaches Minas Tirith. Minas Tirith has nearly been destroyed by the Enemy, and the captains of the West have all gone on a desperate mission to assail the Black Gate. News of the victory comes in the form of an eagle, carrying messages from ‘the Lords of the West’:

Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, For the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever, and the Dark Tower is thrown down. (LotR 963) Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 31

Who is speaking here? Does the voice belong to ‘the Lords of the West’ who have sent a winged messenger? With the clear biblical allusions, both in the choice of a winged messenger and in the prose style, which in the third verse especially parallels the twenty-third psalm, the verse creates an allusion to ‘the voice of God’ and the message thus invokes the ‘good news’ of the New Testament, which also heralds the end of evil and a new King. In this manner, these compound references serve to convey also the message of the implied author – an instance that is linked to the overall perspective of the text rather than to the historical narrator or any of the characters in the story world. Even a brief interpretive sketch like this shows the complexities of a narrative value analysis, since the text’s ethical and aesthetic effects on the reader are a compound of lexical, stylistic, inter-textual, thematic and narrative means. Arguably, The Lord of the Rings displays an intensi- fied heteroglossia through the narrator’s use of prosimetrum, through the reliance on oral narrative and reported speech, and through the implied author’s use of multiple languages (some of which are his own invention) to characterize different peoples and cultures – all of which result in considerable stylistic complexity and a plurification of the narrative voice. Given that this text displays such a plurality of voices, and by impli- cation of values, how may the reader discern its value premises? In this book, in terms of its rhetorics, and by regarding the text as the communication of the implied author, the instance who ‘orchestrates’ the novel’s many voices. Furthermore, emphasis is placed on central symbols, since the reader is aided in fusing the multiple voices of Middle-earth through the elaboration of certain recurring symbols and archetypes.

Progression in The Lord of the Rings

Phelan (2007) outlines a model for analysing the way in which the aesthetics of a narrative’s progression influences the ethical judgement of the reader. He scales the progression in terms of beginning, middle and end – each of which has four components: two relative to textual dynamics and two relative to what he calls readerly dynamics. The textual dynamics relate to various ways in which expositions provide information about the narrative, character, setting and events, and to turning points in the text with regard to the progression of its main conflict(s). The readerly dynamics are concerned with the rhetorical transactions between implied author and narrator on the one hand and between real and implied reader (what Phelan terms ‘authorial 32 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature audience’) on the other. Readerly dynamics deal also with the real and ideal reader’s evolving hypothesis about the direction of the narrative, as well as the reader’s response to the narrative’s resolution and his or her overall evaluation of the narrative. Phelan notes that ‘the specifics of any given progression are themselves determined by the overall purpose of the individual narrative’ (Phelan, 2007, p. 21). The exposition (which is everything ‘that provides information about the narrative, the characters, the setting and events’ (Phelan, 2007, p. 17), including such things as the title page, illustrations, epigraphs, preludes and author’s and editor’s introductions) serves to orient the reader in his or her encounter with the narrative. Notably, the fiftieth anniversary edition of The Lord of the Rings has a front page in gold, embossed with silver letters spelling out the title and the name of the author. The front page further carries an illustration, made by Tolkien, of a ring encircling a red eye. The ring is enclosed in a circle of fiery red script. Surrounding the central and larger ring are three lesser rings set with gems. The quality of the cover, with its gold background and silver letters, as well as the mention of a fiftieth anniversary all herald celebration. The choice of gold and silver has the connotation of something precious: having read Tolkien’s narrative we appreciate how accurately the front page reflects key elements of the story. The red eye is the eye of Sauron – the Lord of the Rings – encircled by the One Ring of Power, continuously referred to by Gollum as ‘my precious’, with the fiery letters of the Ring’s inscription around it, as well as the three Elven rings, symbolizing Sauron’s chief opponents in the story. This edition certainly communicates to the reader that the book contains something valuable – also in the sense that the story has lived to be cherished for 50 years and warrants an anniversary issue. The inside flap of the cover contains the inscription of the Ring translated into English, a brief summary of the Ring’s origin and of the nature of Frodo’s ‘perilous quest’ to destroy it. This definitely cues the reader to anticipate and more easily recognize the launch: the introduction of the main track of progression in the story. The front matter also includes a poem about the Rings of Power, a table of contents, a ‘note on the text’ by Tolkien scholar Douglas A. Anderson, a ‘note on the fiftieth anniversary edition’ by Tolkien schol- ars Wayne G. Hammond and Christina Scull, and Tolkien’s foreword to the second edition. The notes and the foreword all serve to impress upon the reader the care that has been taken to present the text accurately and to remove inconsistencies. These notes also serve to anchor the narrative within an existing body of scholarly research, giving it an added stamp of seriousness, weight and authority. Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 33

The narrative proper begins with a prologue in which the hobbits as a race are focalized by the narrator. As mentioned, the narrator clearly signals his temporal distance from the narrated events, while his atti- tudinal distance is less marked, as he appears to share the belief of the story-world characters in a supernatural force that is the mover and shaper of both common history and individual destiny. The prologue serves to establish some ‘basic facts’ about the story world, and posits Bilbo’s story, told in The Hobbitt, as a precursor to the events in The Lord of the Rings: it was Bilbo who found the Ring while he was ‘lost for a while in the black orc-mines deep under the mountains’ (LotR 11), where he first encountered Gollum. In the opening sentence of the prologue the narrator states that ‘This book is largely concerned with Hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history’ (LotR 1). With the emphasis on history and on maintaining and developing a detailed historical account and perspective, this remark seems curious, and, therefore, requires consideration. On reflection, the historical perspective is linked to the history of the whole of Middle-earth, and what one learns about hobbits is related to the fact that the part of this history rendered in The Lord of the Rings is the story of Middle-earth focalized through its hobbit protagonists. The narrator thus considers it a more reliable source of information about hobbit character than about hobbit history. This indicates an emphasis on the constitution of character on the part of the narrator (but also signals his view of their outlook as more limited than his own). This impression is enhanced by his subsequent characterization of hobbits as a race. They are described as ‘an unobtrusive but very ancient people’ that are ‘good-natured rather than beautiful (…) with mouths apt to laughter’ and as ‘being fond of simple jests at all times’ (LotR 1–2). The narrator further claims that the hobbits ‘do not and did not understand or like machines more complicated than a forge-bellows, a water-mill, or a hand-loom’, and adds that ‘in spite of later estrangement hobbits are relatives of ours: far nearer to us than Elves, or even than Dwarves’ (LotR 2). These last remarks dissociate hobbits from the love of mechanized devices that represent one of the distinguishing marks of evil in the tale, and associ- ate them with humans. In making the hobbit’s character and the hobbits’ close relationship to humans the narrative point of departure for his epic narrative about the battle between good and evil forces, the narrator of The Lord of the Rings indicates a concern for virtue ethical questions. He evidently thinks it important that the reader understands certain things about 34 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature hobbit character before being introduced to the events presented in The Lord of the Rings. The narrator draws attention to the constitution (and also the moral constitution) of hobbits, and so invites the reader to ponder, as the story progresses, how the hobbit’s character stands up to and is influenced by the epic struggles at hand. Through the detailed and generally benevolent description of hobbits in the prologue, the narrator sets up a sympathetic resonance in the reader in relation to hobbits. This cues the reader that ‘good’ in the story is what is good or beneficial to hobbits, and that ‘evil’ is what threatens the shy and peaceful hobbit way of life. This sympathetic resonance in the reader is strengthened by repeated reference to the closeness in kind of men and hobbits – as hobbits in the Third Age ‘liked and disliked much the same things as Men did’ (LotR 2). Stressing these links and similarities between the two races, the narrator implies that what affects hobbits could, or even should, affect humans also, and that the predicament of hobbits, therefore, ought to concern the reader. In this way, the prologue serves as the initiation of the narrative, which presents the initial rhetorical transactions between implied author and narrator, on the one hand, and between the real and implied reader on the other. The discrepancy between the narrator’s role as a historian, and his main concern, which is with (moral) character rather than primarily with historical facts, signals that the narrator here functions as the communicative instrument of the implied author. By casting the narrator as a historian, the implied author also indicates that the scope of his concerns go beyond the telling of the story about the War of the Ring. In the first chapter Bilbo and Frodo are focalized both by the narrator and by a fellow hobbit narrating through reported speech. Bilbo is described as ‘peculiar’ by the narrator (LotR 22) and both Bilbo and Frodo are regarded as ‘queer’ by several character-narrators, establish- ing a psychological distance between them and the general report on hobbits made in the prologue. Moreover, the psychological correlation between the narrator and hobbit society underlines the assertion that Bilbo and Frodo ‘stand out’ psychologically. On the basis of the narrator’s disclosure of his historical sources in the prologue, this seems curious: do Bilbo and Frodo see themselves as ‘queer’? (With respect to the narrator’s information in the prologue, they are the most likely historical sources of this account.) Bilbo and Frodo are here focalized by hobbit society – does the narrator have other (historical) informants on hobbit society that he has failed to disclose? Or are Bilbo and Frodo aware of the talk of their hobbit peers, and have considered it significant information when recounting a story about a major war? Unless Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 35 this is the case, this slant in the description of the protagonists seems to violate the picture the narrator paints of himself in the prologue as a historian who is painstakingly accurate in his rendering of his sources. It displays him rather as someone who, though claiming to be accurate, takes poetic licence in the telling. In the terminology of Phelan, this section signals the beginningg of the narrative as it introduces instabilities (unstable relationships) between characters: there is instability between Bilbo and Frodo on the one hand and their fellow hobbits on the other. This instability has to do with their bachelor status (family is generally very important to hobbits), their fortune, their love of foreign languages and culture, and, more implicitly, with their possession of the magical Ring. The beginning of a narrative both sets the narrative in motion and gives it a particular direction. The instability between the hobbits is a local instability, (‘whose resolution does not signal the completeness of the progression’: Phelan, 2007, p. 16), which also is part of the initiation. The global instabilities (‘which provide the main track of the progression and must be resolved for the narrative to attain completeness’: Phelan, 2007, p. 16), are introduced through Bilbo’s reluctance to part with the Ring, causing him to view his friend Gandalf with mistrust, and Frodo’s subsequent discovery of the history of the Ring in chapter two, combined with ‘rumours of strange things happening in the world outside’ (LotR 43). Gandalf returns to warn Frodo of the ‘unwholesome power’ (LotR 48) of the Ring, proving to him by test of fire that it is Sauron’s Ring of Power, and claiming that Frodo was ‘meant to have it’ (LotR 56). He also tells Frodo that the only way to destroy the Ring is to cast it into the Cracks of Doom, and Frodo consequently understands that as Ring-keeper he must go into exile in order to protect his fellow hobbits in the Shire. Phelan sets the boundary between the beginning and the middle of the narrative at the launch, which is the revelation of the first set of global instabilities in the narrative (Phelan, 2007, p. 17). Thus the launch in The Lord of the Rings comes relatively early. Arguably, the launch is concluded in Rivendell, in the second chapter of Book II, as Frodo accepts the burden of becoming Ring-bearer and taking the Ring to the Cracks of Doom: ‘“I will take the Ring,” he said, “though I do not know the way”’ (LotR 270). The second clause in Frodo’s statement signals that assistance will be an important requirement in order for the protagonist to succeed with his task: no quest-hero is complete without helpers. This point in the narrative also signals the entrance – the point where the authorial audience has formed a hypothesis of the direction and purpose of the narrative as a whole.6 36 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature

In one sense, the quest starts twice, and first as Frodo acquires the task of removing the Ring from the Shire, setting out on a journey fraught with peril towards the council in Rivendell. His helpers on this lag of the journey are Sam, Merry, Pippin, Fatty Bolger – and eventually Aragorn, without whom they would not even have reached Rivendell. The journey from the Shire to Rivendell, and the encounters with the Elves and the Black Riders on the way there, serve to inform more precisely both the hobbit protagonists and the reader about what is at stake, as well as the risk involved in Frodo’s decision to become Ring-bearer. The second start to the quest is signalled by Frodo’s acceptance of the monumental task of destroying the Ring, and with the appointment of further helpers on the quest: the Fellowship of the Ring. Due to the first ‘warm-up quest’, the reader now has a better understanding of the nature of the ‘real’ quest, and has developed a deeper sympathy for, and engagement with, the well-being of the protagonists. This initial journey between the Shire and Rivendell also serves to set up a contrast between the Dark Riders of the Enemy and the light of the High Elves, as the darkness and frightening presence of these evil servants of Sauron are contrasted with the light and wisdom of Elves. First the hobbits are rescued by a company of High Elves who are also on their way to Rivendell. Their language is described as ‘fair’ by the narrator (LotR 79), and the same adjective is used by Frodo in the next paragraph: ‘“Few of that fairest folk are ever seen in the Shire.”’ ‘Fair’ means beautiful/ light/ just/ clear/ untarnished, and so all these qualities are emphasized by this double reference. During this encounter, the hobbits ‘could see the starlight glimmering in their hair and in their eyes. They bore no lights, yet as they walked a shimmer (…) seemed to fall about their feet’ (LotR 80). The light of the Elves saves them from a Black Rider, and they get food, a night’s safe sleep and advice on their journey. Their next encounter with Elves is with Glorfindel – sent form Rivendell to assist them. He rides ‘a white horse, gleaming in the shadows’ (LotR 209). Remembering that Sauron dwells in Mordor, the Land of Shadows, the recurrent emphasis on Elves as light sets them up as Sauron’s chief opponents: only light can conquer shadow, and no shadow can live in the light. Glorfindel is described thus: ‘his golden hair flowed shimmering in the wind of his speed. To Frodo it appeared that a white light was shining through the form and raiment of the rider, as if through a thin veil’ (LotR 209). Here Glorfindel’s resem- blance to pure light is made quite explicit, associating the Elves with the primal light. Contrasting the Elves with the Black Riders, there is an Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 37 emphasis here on the derived or secondary nature of evil, since evil is characterized as lack of light. These passages, combined with Sam’s awe of Elves, serve to further cue the reader about the nature and qualities of good and evil in the tale. The development of the global instabilities and tensions is, appropri- ately in this case, termed the voyage, which in Phelan’s model belongs to the middle of the narrative. The exposition of the middle section contains information on the setting, the characters and events; in this tale the chapter ‘The Council of Elrond’ counts as exposition to the voyage. Here all the participants in the Fellowship of the Ring, as well as their opponents, are introduced, and the global politics of Middle- earth is outlined. In this section, Gandalf’s position and authority is fully displayed for the first time by Elrond’s words: ‘these things it is the part of Gandalf to make clear; and I call upon him last, for it is the place of honour, and in all this matter he has been the chief’ (LotR 250). Since the reader is given no reason to mistrust Gandalf, his description of the greater picture of the goings on in Middle-earth and the nature of the quest is accepted at face value. He narrates at length the story of the Ring, and tells of Gollum’s obsession with ‘his precious’, of Sauron’s search to retrieve it, and of Saruman’s treachery, and again holds that their only option is throwing the Ring into the Cracks of Doom to destroy it, since it will morally corrupt all who wield it. The reader has heard parts of this account before, and this fuller version only fills out the picture around known elements of the story. Only Boromir argues against the destruction of the Ring – a signal of his later betrayal of the Fellowship. Boromir’s desire for power and his scepticism towards Aragorn’s claim to be the heir of Isildur also foreshadows his father Denethor’s later refusal to accept Aragorn as the rightful king of Gondor and thereby furnishes the tale with another set of global instabilities. The voyage constitutes the larger bulk of this narrative, lasting up until Sam’s and Frodo’s arrival at the Cracks of Doom. The voyage serves to develop the reader’s hypothesis of the configuration of the whole narrative, and the development of the global instabilities and tensions during the voyage serves to cue the reader’s interpretation of the narrative’s ending. The most significant developments in the global instabilities in the course of the voyage are the loss of Gandalf (which forces Aragorn to step forward as their guide and introduces dissent and uncertainty among the Fellowship); the meeting with Galadriel in Lothlórien (which shows the members of the Fellowship their deepest fears and desires, and adds to the central symbol of the tree its close association with Elves and light); Boromir’s attempt to take the Ring 38 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature and Frodo’s subsequent departure from the Fellowship (which results in the branching out of the narrative perspective); Gollum’s tailing of Sam and Frodo and their ‘taming of Sméagol’ (which develops Frodo’s ability for compassion); Merry’s and Pippin’s encounters with the Ents (which leads to the downfall of Saruman) and with Théoden and Denethor (which pits the culture in Rohan against the one in Gondor); Sam’s rescue of Frodo in the Orc tower with the aid of Galadriel’s phial (which together with the shift in focalization underscores Sam’s role as hero and displays the power of Elvish light); and the attack of the Lords of the West on the Black Gate of Mordor (which provides the distraction of Sauron required for Sam and Frodo to reach the Cracks of Doom and underscores the importance and value of self-sacrifice). The interaction, the ongoing communicative exchanges in the middle section of the narrative between implied author, narrator and audience, has effects on the reader’s developing responses to the characters and events, and to the ongoing relationship between narrator and implied author (Phelan, 2007, p. 20). Consequently, the reader may ask: what are the ethical and aesthetic effects of the branching out of the narrative form, created by the increased number of significant focalizers that are introduced in Book III? Book IV follows Sam and Frodo, but is focalized through Sam, and in Book V the narrative is focalized alternately through Merry and Pippin. This branching out of the focalization makes it possible for the narrator to trace the events of the War of the Ring through the eyes of all four hobbits while effectively keeping up the narrative pace. It is an elegant way of narrating the tale, and generates suspense, since the parties of the Fellowship are divided and ignorant of each other’s fates. The separate chains of events are linked by the historical frame narrator’s presentation of these lines of events along the axis of linear time. This function of the narrator is highly important, since the whole conflict is developed as a race against time: what small chance the Company has lies in speed and timing. Book I is a race between the four hobbits and the Black Riders. In Book II suspense is linked above all to ignorance (on the part of the hobbits) of the scope of the Enemy’s threat, and to their apparent smallness in the face of their task. This is why Gandalf, their guide and chief source of wisdom, has to die in Book II. Consequently, Book II revolves around choice of direction: how to accomplish the quest. In Book III, suspense is generated by the narrator’s interrelation of the separate strands of story established by focalizing the War of the Ring through the four hobbit protagonists. Relating this to the value communication of the implied author, there is thus a fore- grounding of hobbits as the perceiving consciousnesses in the tale. Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 39

A significant narrative change in Book IV is the shift in focalization from Frodo to Sam. This shift also signals the shift from Frodo to Sam as the main hero of the tale. Considering that Frodo to some extent will fail morally at the end of the quest (in claiming the Ring for himself) this shift seems necessary: in this way the subject of the focalization remains firmly and unambiguously anchored on the side of ‘good’. In Book V the narrative branches established in Book III are continued and developed. Merry and Pippin have pledged to serve the king of Rohan and the steward of Gondor respectively. In this manner, the reader can follow from ‘ground level’ the preparations for war in Rohan and the race of the Rohirrim to come to the rescue of Gondor seen through the eyes of Merry, paralleled with the descriptions of events in Minas Tirith and the desperate wait for enforcements as seen through the eyes of Pippin – interchanged with the narration of Frodo’s and Sam’s labori- ous journey toward Mordor. The narration shifting between Merry and Pippin culminates in the terrible battle of the Pelennor Fields, after which the Company (except Frodo and Sam, who follow their own course towards Mt Doom) is reunited in Minas Tirith. The narrative suspense in this book revolves around the question ‘will Gondor fall?’ and is developed through the race of Aragorn along the Paths of the Dead, and that of Merry and the Rohirrim towards Minas Tirith. In Book VI the narrative suspense is generated mainly by Sam’s and Frodo’s efforts to reach Mt Doom in order to destroy the Ring. Frodo has been captured by Orcs, and must be rescued by Sam in order to continue. So dependent does Frodo become upon Sam in Book VI that Sam literally has to carry him up the side of Mt Doom. In a desperate attempt to draw Sauron’s attention away from the Ring-bearer and his quest, the rest of the Company has set out on a sacrificial journey of their own to challenge the Dark Lord head-on by the Black Gate – the entrance to Mordor. They are thus poised on the brink of doom, but rescued as the Ring is destroyed and Sauron’s powers collapse. This signals the narrative arrival, which is the resolution, in whole or in part, of the global instabilities and tensions. In the rest of Book VI the pace slows down in comparison to the action-packed narration of the war. It deals chiefly with the tying up of loose ends as the four hobbits retrace their path back to the Shire, thus providing closure. Having them return to the Shire effectively displays the extent of their growth in the course of the quest: they have out- evolved their fellow hobbits, and the powerful wizard Saruman (though weakened by his previous defeat) is no longer any match for them. In this last part of the story, Frodo briefly reclaims the ground as the tale’s 40 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature moral hero through his insistence on sparing the lives also of their adversaries. This gains him the respect even of Saruman:

Saruman rose to his feet, and stared at Frodo. There was a strange look in his eyes of mingled wonder and respect and hatred. ‘You have grown, Halfling,’ he said. ‘Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness …’ (LotR 1019)

Frodo departs for the Grey Havens with Gandalf and the High Elves carrying Galadriel’s phial: this signals loss of light from Middle-earth. Sam gets to stay and enjoy the fruits of the victory, before passing to the Grey Havens at the end of his life. In this sense Sam gets ‘the best of both worlds’. The concluding exchanges among narrator, implied author and audiences, the farewell, may be the poignant sadness of Frodo’s departure from Middle-earth, focalized through Sam. Alternatively the farewell takes place in the Appendices, where the historical voice of the frame narrator returns with more background information on the rulers, languages and peoples of Middle-earth, as well as on the love story of Aragorn and Arwen, making more explicit an important aspect of Aragorn’s motivation for engaging in the War – to secure Arwen’s hand in marriage. Their relationship underscores the theme developed through Sam’s relationship to Frodo – that of the importance of love as a moral motivation in the fight against evil. The conclusion of the reader’s evolving responses to the whole narrative is termed completion by Phelan. The responses include the reader’s ethical and aesthetic judgements of the narrative as a whole. Completion in The Lord of the Rings is discussed toward the end of this chapter.

Middle-earth: views of good and evil

During the hobbits’ initial journey between the Shire and Rivendell a contrast is set up between the Dark Riders of the Enemy and the pure light of the High Elves. While the benevolent and beautiful Elves are associated with primal light, evil (in the form of the Black Riders and ‘the Shadow’) is characterized as lack of lightt and as darkness, thus emphasizing the derived or secondary nature of evil. Additionally, however, the Ruling Ring is described by Gandalf as all-powerful in its ability to morally corrupt its bearer. Consequently, evil seems to be cast simultaneously as supremely powerful and as ultimately powerless. Tom Shippey (2001) has described this tension running through the narrative between two views on evil as a contrast between the Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 41

Boethian view (that evil is only the absence of good, a shadow) and the Manichean view (that evil does exist and has to be dutifully resisted and fought by all virtuous means). Houghton and Keesee (2005) have argued that the view of evil developed in The Lord of the Rings is consistent with the Augustinian view of evil, inspired by Neo-Platonism. The next section examines these positions, arguing that the tension inherent in the text can be traced back to differences in the two divergent world views upon which Tolkien has based his creation of Middle-earth: the values expressed in Old Norse mythology and the beliefs upheld by the Judeo- Christian tradition.

Boethius, Manes, Augustine and Plato Shippey finds persuasive arguments for the Manichean view, which sees the world as a struggle between the two opposing forces of good and evil, in Frodo’s uses of the Ring, especially on Amon Hen: ‘The two powers strove in him. For a moment, perfectly balanced between their piercing points, he writhed, tormented. Suddenly he was aware of himself again, Frodo, neither the Voice nor the Eye: free to choose, and with one remaining instant in which to do so’ (LotR 401). Elaborating on what he means by the Boethian view of evil with an example from Orc-conversation, Shippey holds that Orcs ‘have a clear idea of what is admirable and what is contemptible behaviour, which is exactly the same as ours’, since they cannot revoke moral law by creating a counter- morality based on evil (Shippey, 2001, p. 133). For Shippey, Orcs thus ‘clearly and deliberately dramatize’ what he terms the Boethian view: that evil is just an absence and the shadow of the good (Shippey, 2001, p. 133). Shippey contends that this contradiction between evil as an absence (‘the Shadow’) and evil as a force (‘the Dark Power’) drives much of the plot in The Lord of the Rings (Shippey, 2001, p. 136). The notion of aesthetics complicates Shippey’s contention that Orcs can recognize the morally good. One may raise doubt about this claim, since the notion of good and evil that is developed in The Lord of the Rings has strong aesthetic components: while what is beautiful in most instances coincides with what is morally good, what is evil is good that has been distorted and so made aesthetically inferior. This perspective is again related to the high moral standing of Elves in the narrative, through their association with light, and their functions as light-bearers and beautifiers of Middle-earth. It echoes Tolkien’s creation myth in The Silmarillion, where the Supreme Creator is associated with harmony and evil with dissonance. Consequently aesthetics (in the sense also of that which is pleasing to the senses) is intertwined with moral judgement 42 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature and approbation in the story world, while one persistent point in the characterization of Orcs is that they are too crude to appreciate such aesthetic qualities. Houghton and Keesee examine both Augustine’s and Boethius’ views of evil in order to back their claim that what Shippey reads as a tension between a Boethian and a Manichean view of evil manifest in The Lord of the Rings is in fact a vision of evil that is consistent with one tradition: the Augustinian view of evil, inspired by Neo-Platonism.7 They stress that Augustine frames his argument in terms of corruption; a description of evil that fits well with the moral corruption undergone by those characters in The Lord of the Rings that come under the evil influence of the Ring. According to Houghton and Keesee, Augustine argues that because to be corrupted is to lose some good, and because if something cannot be corrupted further it has either become incorruptible or ceased to exist, then whatever exists is in some degree good. Hence evil (as a Platonic idea) is not an existing substance. An objection to this line of reasoning is that if the view of evil in The Lord of the Rings does indeed conform to Augustine’s theory of evil as corruption, then Sauron must also to a certain extent (however small) still be good during the War of the Ring, as he is ‘sent back into the void’ and ceases to exist only when the Ring is destroyed. What this small share of goodness might con- sist in the narrative is silent about, since Sauron is presented as ‘pure’ and disembodied evil. According to Houghton and Keesee, Boethius combines elements from both Plato and Augustine, and arrives at this line of argument: if God is omnipotent and cannot do evil, then evil is nothing, since God who can do all things cannot do this (Houghton and Keesee, 2005, p. 135). They admit, however, that their distinction from Shippey’s description of evil in The Lord of the Rings is ‘somewhat Scholastic’. The reference back to Plato and the Neo-Platonic tradition seems particularly relevant to the plot in the Lord of the Rings that may also be regarded as an imaginative exploration of the story in Plato’s Republic about a magical ring, the Ring of Gyges, which renders the bearer invisible and which thus functions as a moral test. In his dialogues, Plato posed this question: if a man did not have to fear the consequences of his actions – would he act morally or from self-interest? The answer provided by the character of Glaucon is that morality is a social construction,8 and that if sanction evaporated, so would virtuous character. The Lord of the Rings also contains a magical ring making the bearer invisible, and here too it functions as a test of moral stamina or virtue. The implied author’s answer to whether there is such a thing as virtue differs from Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 43 that presented by Glaucon, however, in that central characters in The Lord of the Rings remain virtuous even while tempted by power.

Genesis in The Silmarillion Arguably, the dialectic between good and evil that marks Middle-earth is a result of its genesis. The Silmarillion traces a mythology for Earth (Tolkien’s Middle-earth is the Earth proper, set in a fictional era) that spans from the creation of this world as a symphony (orchestrated by Eru through a class of angelic beings, the Ainur) through its initial popula- tion by the Valar, and later by the ‘Children of God’ – Elves, and men. This body of legend covers three Ages: the First, Second and Third Age, which are subsequently further and further removed from the light and brilliance of the God-light. In the first Age some of the Ainur take bodies and descend to Earth as the Valar to prepare it for the coming of the Children of God. They engage in what Tolkien elsewhere (in ‘On Fairy- Stories’) terms sub-creation and infuse the natural environment of the planet with their light and consciousness. This knowledge is important in order to appreciate how geographical places are invested with good or evil consciousness in The Lord of the Rings. Furthermore, The Silmarillion is based on the lore of the Elves, and tells how Eru (or Illúvatar), who was ‘in the beginning’, made the Ainur ‘of his thought’. The Ainur then

made a great music before him. In this Music the World was begun; for Ilúvatar made visible the song of the Ainur, and they beheld it as a light in the darkness. And many among them became enam- oured of its beauty, and of its history which they saw beginning and unfolding as in a vision. Therefore Ilúvatar gave to their vision Being, and set it amid the Void, and the Secret Flame was sent to burn at the heart of the World; and it was called Eä. (S 15)9

Middle-earth was thus created by the song of the Ainur; beings sprung from the thought of Eru. The song was made visible as light – a light that was translated into the unfolding history of Middle-earth. Whereas the Ainur were created from Eru’s thoughts, Elves and men were created by Eru through the Music of the Ainur. It is told that Eru alone created Elves and men as the equals of the Ainur. Dwarfs, on the other hand, were created by one of the Valar (Aulë) in secret because he became impatient in his anticipation of the arrival of the Children of God (S 37). According to Elven lore, the Orcs are Elves that were caught and corrupted by Melkor (the Valar who rebelled against Eru) ‘by slow arts of cruelty’ (S 47).10 44 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature

In The Silmarillion the reader learns that Elves are bound to follow the divine music of the Ainur that shaped the world (S 35). Therefore, the destiny of the Elves is bound up with this music. Men, on the other hand, are given the gift of free will, even though Eru knows that they will not use it ‘in harmony’. By compound references a connection is established between the morality of Melkor and that of men: Eru asserts that all the (inharmonious) deeds of men will, like the dissonance of Melkor, in the end testify to his glory. Simultaneously, the Elves hold men to resemble Melkor. The different natures of Elves and men makes plain the poignant grief associated with the departure of the Elves from Middle-earth at the end of The Lord of the Rings: with the Elves go the beauty and ‘greater bliss’ that was Eru’s gift to Elves, ushering in the Age of Men – who seem to be more like Melkor. A prediction is implied here that the Fourth Age of Middle-earth will be one lacking in harmony, beauty and bliss, where men forge their destiny with a short-sightedness derived from their mortality, and a lack of care for this world because ‘the hearts of men’ seek beyond the world and ‘find no rest therein’ (S 35). In this sense, Tolkien’s mythology seems to progress toward a dystopian rather than utopian vision of the world; unless all eventually is turned to good by Eru. Although both Melkor (and by extension Sauron) and men are associated with dissonance, the dissonance of each is of a different kind: Melkor is not in harmony with the world because he seeks to control it, and even Eru’s designs with it, whereas men are not in harmony with the world because they remain unsettled within it, as they are destined to ‘seek beyond the world’ (rather than to infuse it with beauty as is the lot of the Elves). These different roles and purposes of different races and beings suggest that what is considered good or evil for each will vary in accordance with Eru’s designs, so that evil to the Elves is particularly that which is ugly, dissonant, sorrowful, and destructive of the Earth (to which their life-span is tied). To men, evil is particularly anything that inhibits their freedom to shape and choose their destiny. The close relationship between men and hobbits stressed in the prologue means that the ethical responsibilities and even the ethical responses of hobbits and men are comparable; and also seems to imply that hobbits, like men, have free will. The different God-given predispositions of the different races of Middle-earth bring to mind Aristotle’s notion of telos, in which growth and change is determined by an inner principle. To Aristotle, this inner principle of man is reason. The inner principle of Elves, the way they fulfil their function in creation and live their lives well, is Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 45 by sub-creating beauty in the world. The inner principle of men in Middle-earth, what sets them apart from Elves and Dwarfs, would be the exercise of their free will. On this line of thinking, Sauron’s thwart- ing of the inner principle of Elves by turning them into coarse and ugly Orcs is a strong violation of their telos. The notion of ‘natural law’, or a moral order inscribed in nature, forms part of the description of good and evil in The Lord of the Rings.11 From the First Age of Eä there was a struggle between the Valar and Morgoth, as the latter strove continually to undo the good works of the Valar in order to gain world dominion. Morgoth is described as having ‘grown dark as the Night of the Void’ (S 28), and in his scheming against the Valar having hid in the darkness, underground. This association between Morgoth and the darkness sets up a binary opposition between Eru, the primal Light, and Morgoth, his contester, which as we have seen, is replicated in The Lord of the Rings in the binary opposition between the pure light of the High Elves on the one hand and the Dark Riders and the Land of Shadow on the other. The theme of supreme power opposed by usurpers and abusers of power consequently has a vast historical and mythological backdrop by the time it appears in The Lord of the Rings. Evil’s desire for coercive power is epitomized in the inscription on the Ring of Power: ‘One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them’.

Old Norse myth and Judeo-Christian beliefs It is widely acknowledged that Tolkien’s mythology was inspired by Anglo-Saxon myth, as conceived in Old English epic poetry – most famously Beowulff, which Tolkien both taught and translated. And while The Lord of the Rings was created as a ‘sequel’ to The Hobbitt, Shippey, on philological grounds, considers The Hobbit as the ‘asterisk reality’12 of the Elder Edda (upon which the Prose Edda and the Poetic Edda are probably built). Thus, arguably, the mythological description of evil found in the Prose Edda becomes relevant as a premise for the discussion of good and evil in The Lord of the Rings. The account of genesis found in The Prose Edda tells of the void, Ginnungagap, which existed before the world was created. There is such a notion of the Void in The Silmarillion as well; this is where Eru shows the Ainur the shape of the music they have made (S 6). What first existed according to Old Norse mythology was a region called Muspell, where Surt (Black One) waits with a flaming sword to defeat the gods and burn everything when the end of the world comes (Sturluson, 2005, p. 13). Niflheim (Dark World), which contained the Helgrind (Gates of Hel), 46 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature was made long before the earth was created (Sturluson, 2005, p. 12). In Niflheim flowed many rivers, which froze to ice in the northern part of Ginnungagap. The southern part was lighted by sparks and embers from Muspellsheim. Here the ice thawed and from these flowing drops the first life sprang: Ymir, the frost giant. Consequently, in Norse mythology life emerged from darkness and fire, in the thawing of the ice: an explanation that would seem plausible in a wintery climate. Notably, the frost giants are characterized as evil (Sturluson, 2005, p. 14), so that darkness and evil are primary (in order of creation) in this mythology, rather than, as in Christian belief, light and goodness. In fact, the world is in several stages fashioned from Ymir, who is considered evil; to some degree this must imply that the world is evil also. According to Norse myth, mankind was created by the sons of Bor, and was fashioned out of two trees. The three sons each gave them breath and life, intelligence and movement, speech, hearing and sight. They were also furnished with clothes and given names. The man was called Ask (Ash) and the woman was called Embla (Elm or Vine) (Sturluson, 2005, p. 18). Several echoes of this myth are observable in The Lord of the Rings: both the Elves in Lothlórien and the Ents are in different ways ‘tree-people’. The Ents are quite literally trees given movement and speech, sight and hearing. The myth about the Ents and the Entwives further echoes the Old Norse creation myth where human beings were fashioned from two trees, a male and a female.13 The Prose Edda tells that the sons of Bor set apart a section of the world for mankind to live in, protected from the frost-giants by a great wall fashioned from Ymir’s eyelashes. This place was called Midgard (Middle-earth) (Sturluson, 2005, p. 17). It is also said that the gods created Asgard for themselves. Odin had a high tower there, called Hildskjlf (Watch- tower): ‘when Odin sat in his high seat, he could see through all worlds and into all men’s doings’ (Sturluson, 2005, p. 18). This image of a watchful eye (Odin had only one eye) is certainly familiar to readers of The Lord of the Rings, and a similar symbolism is used in different scenes throughout the narrative: Sauron’s red eye watching all of Middle-earth from Mordor, Saruman looking into his Palantír (which means ‘far- seer’) from his tower in Orthanc, Denethor gazing into his from Minas Tirith, as well as Frodo and Aragorn having far-seeing visions on Amon Hen (Hill of Sight, Hill of the Eye). It should be clear by now how much of the suggestive symbolism contained in Old Norse mythology Tolkien has utilized in his creation of Middle-earth. The idea that knowledge involves peril echoes the Christian fable about the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden, which, simply put, Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 47 teaches that ignorance (and obedience) is bliss. This moral lesson is demonstrated through Pippin’s experiences when he steals the Palantír and looks into it in order to gain knowledge after the firm refusal of this request by Gandalf, and the similar destructive aspects of Denethor’s search for knowledge through another Palantír, which leads to his sui- cide. According to Genesis (Chapters 2 and 3), God banished Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden when they disobeyed him and ate fruit from the Tree of Knowledge,14 so that they would not eat from the Tree of Life as well and become immortal. This fusion of images from Old Norse myth with a Christian ethical vision serves to demonstrate the implied author’s project in The Lord of the Rings: to amalgamate something of the (heroic) boldness permeating the Norse vision of life with the ideal of compassion and self-sacrifice on which the Christian faith is based. What connects these two world views is the symbol of the tree that figures as an important connective symbol in many myths and religions around the world. In Hindu mythology, the ashvattha tree (‘Sacred Fig’) has its roots in the heavens and is a tree of eternal life. In Buddhist texts, there is the Bodhi tree under which Buddha meditated and gained enlightenment. In Old Norse mythology, the Yggdrasil Ash is the world tree, inhabited by eight different creatures and linking several realms. In the poem Grímismál Odin claims that Yggdrasil suffers deeply as deer bite its boughs and worms gnaw on its roots, while it is rotting on the inside (Sturluson, 2005, p. 27). These complaints bring to mind Tom Bombadil’s talk to the hobbits – he lays bare ‘the hearts of trees and their thoughts’ (LotR 130) and shows them that the trees in the Old Forest are filled with vengeance towards other creatures because they are constantly being gnawed and bit without being able to defend themselves: that is, they suffer much like Yggdrasil. Only six lines later Tom describes the Old Willow, saying that ‘his heart was rotten’ (LotR 130). These compound references are hardly accidental. This episode in the Old Forest, where the thoughts of trees are represented, is, moreover, an important preparation for the reader’s acceptance of the walking and talking Ents later in the narrative. An interesting point arises when one considers the focalization of the Old Norse myth versus the Christian account of man’s fall: the myth about Yggdrasil is seen from the view-point of the tree, which suffers. This focalization through trees is paralleled by the episode in the Old Forest when Tom Bombadil translates the thoughts of trees for the hobbits: thoughts which centre on the suffering of trees and their longing for vengeance. The situation is taken one step further as Merry 48 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature and Pippin meet Treebeard in Fangorn Forest: here the trees are given voices and even moral agency, marching to war to punish Saruman, the tree-killer. In the episode in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit, the tree itself is silent and inanimate. It represents awareness of some kind, as Adam and Eve realise they are naked upon eating the fruit, indicating a loss of innocence. When they are banished from the Garden, God tells them that their disobedience will be paid for by suffering: Adam will have to work hard, and Eve will have to endure increased pain in giving birth. Thus both myths feature a sacred tree that is linked to suffering, but while in Old Norse mythology the tree is the sufferer, in the Biblical myth humans are the ones who suffer. Another example of Anglo-Saxon imagery with which Tolkien was undoubtedly familiar is the poem The Dream of the Rood, which is a vision of Christ’s cross. The greater part of the poem is told in the voice of the tree that became the cross and shared in Christ’s suffering as they both were pierced by nails (Alexander, 2008, pp. 37–40). Inviting identification with the tree (by making it the subject of focalization), combined with observation of the tree (by making it the object of focalization), ‘The Dream of the Rood’ draws on pagan imagery to present a Christian vision – as did Beowulff. Arguably, the implied author does something similar in The Lord of the Rings. In this vein, one might read Lothlórien as a parallel to the Garden of Eden: ‘Here is the heart of Elvendom on earth’ says Aragorn to Frodo (LotR 352). In Lothlórien dwell the Galadhrim: the Tree-people. They live on wooden platforms high up under the golden boughs of mallorn trees in a land that remains from the Ancient days, where time seems to stand still and evil has yet no hold. Lothlórien is also at the heart of the narrative, in the sense that in many ways it portrays the essence of good in The Lord of the Rings. Here the association between Elves and light established on the journey between the Shire and Rivendell is developed further, so that trees by their relation to Elves become associated with light – an association deeply embedded in Tolkien’s mythology. The qualities of beauty, nature, health, light, peace and wisdom are emphasized, setting Lothlórien apart from the evil lands that surround it. It is like a piece of Paradise, preserved through the power of Galadriel who wields one of the Elven Rings. But like Adam and Eve, the Elves are about to lose their paradise. The threat of loss reveals how good and evil are intertwined in The Lord of the Rings: Lothlórien too falls when Sauron’s power is broken. This dramatic event indicates that the Elvish longing to preserve things as they were ‘in the Ancient days’ is not altogether Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 49 a good thing. The main point here, however, is that although trees in Lothlórien are important, and beautiful, and impressive, the reader does not gain access to their inner feelings; they are not focalizers in the narrative but the focalized. In the Old Forest and in Old Norse mythology ‘the inner thoughts of trees are laid bare’, and in both the trees suffer. In Lothlórien and the Garden of Eden there is beauty and peace, but it is a paradise that must be abandoned: and in both the trees have the role of serving some human or Elvish need, rather than expressing themselves. In both instances, the listener or reader is invited, through focalization, to sympathise with the party that is suffering. Thus, with respect to the central symbol of the tree, the focalization of different parts of the narrative aligns the story sometimes with the animism of Old Norse mythology and at other times with the anthropocentrism of Christian myth. These focalization shifts add to the plurality of perspective in The Lord of the Rings, complicating the ethical analysis of the tale. Based on these observations, it seems plausible to regard the tension between the two opposing views of evil expressed in The Lord of the Rings to some degree as the tension that exists between the Old Norse view that evil is primary (and also more powerful, because the world will end by being destroyed), and the opposite Christian view that the world was created as good. Mediating these views, in The Silmarillion’s creation myth Eru’s and Melkor’s themes are woven into each other, as ‘two musics progressing at one time’ (S 17). Here, the world is also a product of several creators rather than a single creator, as in the Christian version of genesis. Additionally, it is marred by disharmony even before it takes physical form, again in contrast to the Judaeo-Christian myth in which God’s design for the world is perfect, and where sin and error enter as a result of human disobedience. Furthermore, Tolkien’s mythology is written from the point of view of Elves (the Eldar), and so is nott anthropocentric, a point which Tolkien explicitly makes in a letter to Milton Waldman in 1951 (S xv). The solution in The Silmarillion of having symphonic harmony (associated with the good) and dissonance (evil) flow simultaneously, intermingled, during the process of creation so that both are part of the fabric and texture of the created world is the specificity of Tolkien’s creative vision – one that underscores the aesthetic aspect of his formulation of good and evil.

Fertility myths In addition to sound (harmony and dissonance), the earth itself, natural growth and natural cycles play an important part as the foundation and framework for the fictional world in The Lord of the Rings. In the 50 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature prologue the reader learns that ’All hobbits had originally lived in holes in the ground (…) and in such dwellings they still felt most at home’ (LotR 6). In this sense, hobbits seem almost to grow out of the earth themselves. They ’love peace and quiet and good tilled earth’ as is found in the ‘well-ordered and well-farmed countryside’ (LotR 1). By stressing the good nature of hobbits, as well as their fondness of the earth and its yields, the narrator implies a connection between what is good and what is natural, in the sense of its growing naturally from the earth or from one’s inherent nature. This sense of the existence of a natural order of the world15 displays itself through the images and associations evoked by the text in relation to the distinct qualities of good and evil. On the side of good there is natural growth and fertility, experienced by the characters as abundance of yield, and also as health, wholesomeness and natural beauty. Consider the description of the Elvish heartland Lothlórien as it first appears to Frodo:

It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which his language had no name. All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut, as if they had been first conceived and drawn at the uncovering of his eyes, and ancient as if they had endured for ever. He saw no colour but those he knew, gold and white and blue and green, but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them and made for them names new and wonderful. In winter here no heart could mourn for sum- mer or for spring. No blemish or sickness or deformity could be seen in anything that grew upon the earth. On the land of Lórien there was no stain. (LotR 350–1)

What sets this landscape in Lothlórien apart for the protagonist is that it is qualitatively different – and better – than the world as he knows it: there is a higher quality of light, shape and colour. Furthermore, everything seems timeless: the landscape is simultaneously ancient and new. It is also superiorly perfect in the dimension of health: it is infused with vitality, and there is no sickness or deformity. In its description of Elvish reality this passage brings to mind Plato’s realm of ideas, where things exist on a higher level, in their perfected, untarnished form. The binary opposite quality – that of evil – is described as lacking in relation to the idealized bounty, beauty and health that characterize the good. Evil is thus distinguished by barrenness, lack of growth, sickness and dysfunction. It is also aesthetically inferior or offensive to the Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 51 sensibilities. Mordor, the realm of Sauron and the stronghold of evil, is in one passage described thus:

Mordor was a dying land, but it was not yet dead. And here things still grew, harsh, twisted, bitter, struggling for life. In the glens of the Morgai on the other side of the valley low scrubby trees lurked and clung, coarse grey grass-tussocks fought with the stones, and withered mosses crawled on them; and everywhere great writhing, tangled brambles sprawled. Some had long stabbing thorns, some hooked barbs that rent like knives. The sullen shrivelled leaves of a past year hung on them, grating and rattling in the sad airs. Flies, dun or grey, or black, marked like orcs with a red eye-shaped blotch, buzzed and stung; and above the briar-thickets clouds of hungry midges danced and reeled. (LotR 921)

It is clear here that the evil of Sauron has marked the land itself; it is dying, struggling for life, though not yet dead. Thus evil has not been able, even here, to extinguish life completely but only to thwart and disfigure it. In an important sense, then, ‘good’ refers to the world as it shouldd be and to its natural state and evil defines itself as a threat to the right and natural order of things. Even so, good cannot exist entirely without evil, as is proven by the dependence of even the beauty in Lothlórien on a power derived from Sauron.16 Consequently, the world ‘as it should be’ is not a world where evil is powerless, as is suggested by the Boethian view, but a world where good and evil are entwined – much as they are in Tolkien’s cosmology. In an important sense, however, evil is in this narrative described in terms of its destructive force in regard to the natural world. Also, metaphors that originate from nature, and that imply an inherent nature, are a chief means of describing and distinguishing between good and evil. In the passage about Mordor quoted above, the phrase ‘not yet dead’ spells out the hope that pervades the story that all ills have the poten- tial to be addressed and ‘cured’. According to the ethics of The Lord of the Rings nothing is originally evil in itself, as we learn from the wise elf Elrond: ‘Nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so’ (LotR 266). This statement signals that good, rather than evil, is primary in the narrated world, aligning it with a Christian world view. Thus both Saruman and Gollum are given several opportunities to repent and reform. This is clearly only possible if they are not held to be lost beyond recall or to possess an inherently evil nature. This positive view of the possibility for personal improvement, dependent on 52 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature a distinction between the act and the one performing it goes back at least to Augustine. Both the emphasis on good as the original state, and the possibility held open for moral reform are compatible with – even characteristic of – a Christian moral outlook. Another important feature in the description of Mordor is the use of adjectives and adverbs charged with negative value: nature here is harsh, twisted, bitter, struggling, low, coarse, withered, tangled, stabbing, sullen, shrivelled, grating, rattling, sad, maggot-ridden, grey or black and hungry. The words ‘withered’, ‘shrivelled’ and ‘rattling’ are associated with dead and dyingg (as in the rattling breath of one about to die), and also connote disease, as do ‘twisted’ and ‘maggot-ridden’. The mood of the place is sadd and hostile: stabbing, sullen, hooked barbs that rent like knives. The colour red is the blood that has been spilled in the harsh struggle, thus invoking death by carnage. The colours grey and black further underscore the imagery of death and decomposition, as does the fact that the place is swarming with flies. There is also a reference to the most loathsome creatures in Middle-earth: the Orcs, to whom the flies are compared. Thus the whole passage reads like a compressed mini-narrative of the struggle and bloody battles of the War of the Ring, where the Orcs do indeed swarm like flies. The linguistic descriptiveness also extends to the verbs, which likewise abound with negative connotations: lurked, clung, fought, crawled, sprawled, rent, hung, buzzed, stung, reeled. The first five especially invoke the character of Gollum, who is often described as a crawling, lurking and clinging creature. The impact of the whole paragraph is further enhanced by its rhythmical, almost poetic quality, as well as by the use of contrast and alliterations: ‘not yet dead’ versus ‘struggling for life’, low (trees) lurked, clung coarse grey grass. The binary opposites of good as natural growth and fertility versus evil as barrenness and infertility are brought to the reader in several ways: in the narrator’s descriptions of geographical locations and natural features (such as those of Lothlórien and Mordor mentioned above, focalized through the hobbits), and also through thematic sub- narratives and characterization. One example of such characterization is the portrayal of the shield-maiden Éowyn. She fights valiantly alongside king Théoden at the Pelennor fields and is mortally wounded as she kills the Lord of the Nazgúl, the Captain of the Black Riders. Éowyn is described by several characters as an ‘ice-maiden’ and as ‘touched by frost’ (LotR 866). Brought to the Chambers of Healing in Minas Tirith, she meets with Faramir, the new Steward of Gondor, and consequently starts thawing: ‘as he looked at her it seemed to him that something Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 53 in her softened, as though a bitter frost were yielding at the first faint presage of spring’ (LotR 960). In this way, through metaphor, virtues and vices are described also in terms of climatic change, as these set the preconditions for natural growth or decay.17 When Éowyn eventually accepts the love offered to her by Faramir, her change is described in these terms: ‘Then the heart of Éowyn changed, or else at last she under- stood it. And suddenly her winter passedd and the sun shone on her. (…) I will be a healer and love all things that grow and are not barren’ (LotR 964–5, emphasis added). Another mini-narrative where the same dichotomy between natural fertility as good and barrenness as evil is expressed is in this postscript over king Théoden’s horse, Snowmane: ‘Green and long grew the grass on Snowmane’s Howe, but ever black and bare was the ground where the beast [the mount of the Black Captain] was burned’ (LotR 845). The theme of good as natural growth is also expressed through garden- ing and farming metaphors, such as when Gandalf says in ‘The Last Council’: ‘Yet it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till’ (LotR 879). Add to this the fact that Sam, the ‘hero of both worlds’, is by trade a gardener, and that time in The Lord of the Rings is measured in terms of natural cycles like seasons and moon cycles,18 and it becomes obvious how thorough is the association between what is good and what is related to or serves natural growth. Consequently, it is not an unreasonable suggestion that these natural cyclical patterns are part of the ‘patterns of meaningfulness’ the reader encounters, and perhaps subconsciously responds to, in The Lord of the Rings. Anthropologist James George Frazer’s The Golden Bough exerted considerable influence on myth theories in the early decades of the twen- tieth century – and it is likely to have influenced Tolkien. Based on a model of cultural evolution,19 Frazer traced ritual practices from all over the globe, based on the hypothesis that these practices had evolved precisely to secure bountiful harvest and natural fertility and avoid the evil of barrenness. Throughout history, Frazer argued, human beings had sought to accomplish this end by various means of ritualized sacrifice, human or otherwise. This tendnecy, which Frazer regards as deeply embedded in the collective human psyche, seems to be present in the presumptions of The Lord of the Rings also, where the barrenness represented by Mordor and Sauron (and by Saruman’s destruction of nature’s beauty and bounty) are countered by several acts of ‘ritual’ sacrifice: by 54 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature throwing a golden ring into a particular fire, by Frodo’s sacrifices of his own health and happiness as he toils towards Mordor (interestingly, Sam – a gardener and thus a promoter of a fertile earth – loses neither), and by the self-sacrifice of the Lords of the West as they offer themselves up as bait for Sauron before the Black Gate. This ritual notion of sac- rificing one to save all also underlies the Christian belief that Christ is sacrificed in order to redeem all of humanity.

The mastery of Bombadil A potent example of the power of being in tune with nature comes in the compelling form of Tom Bombadil, who rescues the hobbits from Old Man Willow, when they are swallowed up by the ominous Old Forest at the start of their quest outside the Shire. Shippey holds that Bombadil ‘could almost be omitted without disturbing the rest of the plot’ (Shippey, 2003, p. 105). However, when read as a thematic character, Bombadil adds a significant morall dimension to The Lord of the Rings. Shippey’s view that Tolkien was ‘dismissive’ of Bombadil’s narrative role is based on a sentence in Tolkien’s letter to Naomi Mitchison of 25 April 1954: ‘Tom Bombadil is not an important person – to the narrative’ (Shippey 2003, p. 367, cf. Carpenter, 2006, p. 178). In the very next sentence, however, Tolkien goes on to say ‘I suppose he has some importance as a “comment”’, and adds that Bombadil

represents something that I feel important, though I would not be prepared to analyze the feeling precisely. I would not, however, have left him in, if he did not have some kind of function. I might put it this way. The story is cast in terms of a good side, and a bad side, beauty against ruth- less ugliness, tyranny against kingship, moderated freedom with con- sent 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. (Carpenter, 2006, p. 178, emphasis added)

This ‘something important’ that Bombadil represents in The Lord of the Rings is that he is an exponent of most of the qualities that are implicitly valued by the narrative’s implied author. Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 55

First, the startling thing about Bombadil as the hobbits encounter him in the story is that he is wholly unaffected by the Ring’s power and consequently appears as a vivid contradiction to Gandalf’s view that the Ring is supremely powerful – the view which has set the whole quest in motion and upon which the logic of the whole plot depends. Bombadil may not be important to the plot; but he is important to the implied author’s overall narrative communication because he represents that point ‘beyond’ towards which the movement of the whole narrative attempts to direct the reader through his or her emotional involvement with the plot. As a representation of values, Bombadil is quite multi- faceted, however. In contrast to the sullen and ominous Old Forest, Bombadil is cheer- ful and merry. He speaks in rhythms and rhymes and communicates easily with trees. In his house there is song and nourishment in abundance: he seems to be brimming with an inexhaustible energy and vitality, drawn from his deep connection with the natural world. To Frodo’s question ‘Who is Tom Bombadil?’ Goldberry’s first answer is: ‘He is’ (LotR 124). Elaborating on this, she adds: ‘He is the Master of wood, water and hill. (…) He has no fear’ (LotR 124). Frodo also learns, however, that even if Bombadil is the ‘master’, all things ‘growing or living in the land belong each to themselves’ (LotR 124). In this way, the mastery of Tom Bombadil is distinguished from ‘mastery over others’: that which Sauron desires above all. Consequently, Bombadil’s mastery is mastery over himself. And this lack of desire to be master over others must be the reason why the Ring of Power has no effect on him. In this sense, Bombadil appears as the antithesis to Sauron – much more so, in fact, than Gandalf, who does not dare to take the Ring because he knows he will be tempted by its promises of power, albeit the promise of power to do good. Bombadil is cast as a rescuer. When the hobbits are trapped by the Barrow Wight and nearly die, they are saved by Frodo’s courage and his invocation of Bombadil. This is the second time Bombadil saves them, and his ability to dispel the horrifying Wight, and even call Sam, Merry and Pippin back from (a state close to) death further underscores both his power and his mastery. Bombadil’s power is spiritual rather than physical, since both the Old Willow and the Wight obey his commands without any physical struggle. However, in spite of his ability to raise the hobbits ‘from the dead’, Bombadil’s is not cast as an absolute power. During the Council in Rivendell, Bombadil becomes a topic of discussion, and Gandalf argues that there are definite limits to the power of Bombadil, even though he is his own master: ‘he cannot alter the Ring 56 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature itself, nor break its power over others (…) if he were given the Ring, he would soon forget it, or most likely throw it away. (…) He would be a most unsafe guardian’ (LotR 265). Asking whether Bombadil alone could defy the power inherent in the Ring, Glorfindel answers: ‘I think not. I think in the end, if all else is conquered, Bombadil will fall, Last as he was First; and then Night will come’ (LotR 266). Galdor seconds this opinion: ‘Power to defy our Enemy is not in him, unless such power is in the earth itself. And yet we see that Sauron can destroy the very hills’ (LotR 266). The three speakers all agree that Sauron’s power ultimately will destroy Bombadil. Gandalf describes him as lacking care and concern for issues of power and politics, whereas Galdor associates his power with the power of the earth itself: a power that ultimately is no match for Sauron’s destructive abilities. Consequently, even though Bombadil is powerful in the sense that he is unaffected by the Ring, can dispel Wights, and is his own ‘master’, the discussion of Bombadil in Rivendell presents the view that although Bombadil does not concern himself with politics and power-struggles, the outcome of such struggles will ultimately affect his way of life. Implicitly, the narrative seems to say: it would be nice to be fearless and careless like Bombadil – but when push comes to shove, Bombadil’s fate too is determined by the outcome of the War of the Ring. The next time Bombadil is mentioned, albeit briefly, is in Fangorn, when Merry and Pippin tell Treebeard about themselves and their adventures. His name is invoked again by Sam as he and Frodo are trapped in Shelob’s lair: ‘“I wish old Tom was near us now” he thought’ (LotR 719) – at which point he seems to see a light, and suddenly remembers Galdriel’s phial, her gift to Frodo. This association between Bombadil, light, and the Elves occurs twice in the narrative, and both times the association is linked to Sam. Keeping watch over Frodo in Mordor, Sam suddenly sees a white star twinkle:

The beauty of it [the star] smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach. (…) putting away all fear he cast himself into a deep untroubled sleep. (LotR 922)

The effect of this flash of insight is similar to the shock and shattering of illusion created through the episode in the Old Forest where Bombadil laughingly makes the Ring vanish and spots Frodo even as he is wearing Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 57 it. So much emphasis is put in the narrative on the power of the Ring that these two suddenly glimpsed revelations that the power is not indeed absolute have the effect of making the carefully woven illusion of the Ring’s total power crumble. These episodes also illustrate how effectively Frodo’s outlook is influenced and obscured by Sauron’s evil will which emanates from the Ring: the restrictive nature of his vision is only revealed by contrasting it to those of Sam and Bombadil, both of whom are able to see through the Ring’s distorting illusions and reject its promise of absolute power.20 Sam’s rejection of the Ring is attributed to his deep love for Frodo, but why is Bombadil unaffected by the Ring? ‘He has no fear’, says Goldberry. This too, is mirrored in Sam’s moment of truth in Mordor. Without fear, the power of Sauron has no hold on his mind. But like Bombadil’s physical fate, Sam’s worldly well-being is still affected by this power. Ultimately, Bombadil’s position – as a master of himself and as one who stands outside the battle – is reinforced, since it is duplicated in Frodo. I have analysed Frodo’s developing pacifism in relation to the concepts of pacifism and just war theory in great textual detail elsewhere (see Guanio-Uluru, 2013b). Here it suffices to note that Frodo’s pacifist tendencies reach their climax in ‘The Scouring of the Shire’, when he is attacked by Saruman / Sharky and refrains from fighting back. By withdrawing from the struggle, it may be argued, Frodo’s moment of total pacifism, like Bombadil’s mastery, ‘nullifies’ the distinction between good and evil as opposing sides in a struggle for power. Turning Saruman the other check is an act of self-mastery that to a degree redeems Frodo morally by displaying the extent of his compassion, even as Saruman attempts to kill him. On this view, the pacifist stance in The Lord of the Rings is linked to a sense of moral or spiritual competence: both Bombadil and Frodo stand out from their sur- roundings because they ultimately refrain from engaging in moral and physical battles. In this sense, there is a transcendental21 element in the portrayal of Bombadil – and this element of transcendence is later mirrored by Frodo as the culmination of his moral growth during his long journey. It is enhanced by the fact that Frodo has ‘outgrown’ the Shire and leaves for the Elvish ‘paradise’ Valinor via the Grey Havens. On this basis, it is fair to say that there is a thematic sub-current in the narrative that points the reader towards a plane beyondd the morality and worldly concerns of Middle-earth, and that this sub-current is tied to ideas of pacifism, compassion and self-mastery. So while fearlessness in battle is an ideal found in the Old Norse warrior culture, pacifism is closely associated with Christ’s admonition to turn the other check. Thus, the 58 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature emphasis on a counterview depicted as morally superior to armed battle aligns the narrative with Christian values – an alignment underscored by the importance of self-sacrifice in the fight against evil. A different interpretation is also possible, however: both Bombadil and Frodo are ultimately powerless against Sauron, and so such a pacifist stance, even if regarded as morally laudable, is not regarded as able in the final instance to conquer evil. Pacifism refuses the fight – but sometimes, the implied author seems to argue, this fight must still be fought. In a sense, Frodo’s negation of killing in ‘The Scouring of the Shire’ is set up as a contrast to the descriptions of heroic struggle narrated in other parts of the text. The Men of Gondor and Rohan, who are on the ‘good’ side in the war, engage in horrible battles and mass-slaughtering of the enemy. Even the Returning King of Gondor, whose resumption of rule draws heavily on the Christ myth in several ways, engages fully in bloody battles. The values invoked in these descriptions refer to the glorification of battle and war found in Old Norse culture, in medi- eval chivalric traditions,22 and perhaps the crusades.23 Frodo’s clear stance against killing at the end of the book functions as a negation of these traditions and their glorification of battle and war. Added to this is the negation produced by the connection between the title of the book and its conclusion. The Lord of the Rings most obviously refers to Sauron, the evil power of Middle-earth. When the Ring is destroyed, Sauron falls and his powers are nullified. This is a major negation of the narrative’s one-thousand-page emphasis on battle, power-struggles and war: in the end this evil is stemmed and the flowering Shire is left to prosper in peace. Pitted against this optimism and the miraculous healing of the Shire’s natural bounty, however, is the realistic strain of the cost of war shown by the marred existence of Frodo. Even as he has grown morally, he is physically damaged. While Bombadil is linked to pacifism, he also embodies the concepts of memory, tradition and longevity, all of which are valued by the implied author of The Lord of the Rings. To the hobbits, Bombadil describes himself thus: ‘Eldest, that’s what I am. Mark my words, my friends: Tom was here before the river and the trees; Tom remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn’ (LotR 131). Being ‘Eldest’, Tom Bombadil has seen peoples and rulers come and go: his long perspective connects him with that which has endured in spite of power struggles and fights over control that have taken place throughout time – the kind of struggle for power that is concentrated in and enhanced by the Ring. To Bombadil such fluctuations seem minor compared to the unfolding life of the earth itself. This ability to perceive life as unfolding Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 59 in a very long perspective is perhaps partly derived from Tolkien’s philological competence. Through tracing the beliefs and ways of life hinted at by ancient word forms, his work was a continual mental journey through various times and customs, expanding his perspective to encompass many human life-times. This developed sense of perspective on Tolkien’s part may help explain the emphasis on ecology that perme- ates The Lord of the Rings: without the earth itself and its regenerative force, life would cease in Middle-earth, regardless of who held power or dominion. Recalling Tolkien’s words from his essay ‘On Fairy Stories’ (OFS) that proper fairy stories have the ability to satisfy certain ‘primordial human desires’ such as ‘to survey the depths of space and time’ and ‘to hold communion with other living things’ (OFS 326), Tom Bombadil also seems a clear response to and embodiment of both these ‘primordial’ desires. In his merriment, and in Goldberry’s statement ‘he is’, Bombadil is associated also with pleasure, and with ‘being in the moment’. Tolkien said of Bombadil that he takes ‘delight in things for themselves’ and that it is partly this quality that makes him immune to the lures of power and dominion. Taking delight in things for themselves is easily connected to noticing and appreciating the aesthetic quality of things. It is a way of being with and experiencing things for their own sake rather than for selfish gain. Thus two other fundamental aspects of good and evil as portrayed in The Lord of the Rings, merge in the character of Tom Bombadil: he is one with nature’s abundance and fertility, and he takes infinite delight ‘in things for themselves’, seemingly with no other agenda, witnessing and enjoying the unfolding of Eä. It should be clear that this ‘aesthetic standard for morality’ is one that is associated above all with the Elves, who are the sub-creators of beauty in Middle-earth. This perspective seems all-pervading in The Lord of the Rings due to the numerous references back to the First and Second Ages, the descriptions of which come from the annals of the Elves. Their annals consequently show the passing of history in Middle-earth from an Elvish perspective. This ‘Elvish’ perspective is prominent also because the implied author seems to be equipped with a sensibility towards and an appreciation for Elvish beauty that is paralleled by several of the characters: Sam, Frodo, Aragorn – and Gimli not least. The Elves’ ideal of nurturance of and communion with nature is also underscored by Bombadil’s easy conversation with his natural environment. In The Lord of the Rings an ideal ‘essence of good’ therefore coalesces in the character of Tom Bombadil: he is associated with the power of the earth, with nature, with pacifism, with merriment, poetry and rhymes, and with Elves, light and hope – as 60 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature well as with aesthetic enjoyment and pleasure. In addition, he is (like Aragorn, Gandalf and the Elves) cast in relation to the narrative’s hobbit focalizers as a saviour and protector.

The significance of the tree

In The Book of Trees (2013) Manuel Lima has catalogued how the image of the tree has been, and is, used as a symbol for visualizing branches of knowledge – a use spanning the centuries from the ‘cradle of civiliza- tion’, represented by the early Sumerians, Akkadians and Babylonians, up to today. According to Lima, trees have had such immense significance to humans that most cultures have invested them with ‘lofty symbolism’ and frequently with celestial and religious power (Lima, 2013, p. 16). Says Lima: ‘The veneration of trees, known as dendro- latry, is tied to ideas of fertility, immortality and rebirth, and is often expressed by the axis mundi (world axis), world tree, or arbour vitae (tree of life)’ (Lima, 2013, p. 16). In this chapter it has been noted how the symbol of the tree serves to bridge images from Old Norse myth with references to Judeo-Christian beliefs: in Old Norse mythology Yggdrasil is the axis mundi, connecting several realms, while in the Judeo-Christian tradition is found the arbour vitae at the centre of the Paradise myth. There are further significant aspects of the connective role performed by symbolic trees in The Lord of the Rings. On the plot level, repeated references to The White Tree of Gondor serve to unify the many voices and cultures of Middle-earth in the vision of Sauron’s defeat and the restoration to Gondor of its proper regent – an aim that corresponds to Gandalf’s vision and mission for Middle-earth. The White or Silver Tree of Gondor is first mentioned at the council of Elrond, where Elrond traces its ancestry back to Erasseä, the haven of the Eldar, and before that back to ‘the Uttermost West in the Day before days when the world was young’ (LotR 244). Next, it is referred to by Boromir, who is recounting the lore of Gondor concerning Isildur24 and how he planted the last sapling of the White Tree in Minas Anor in memory of his brother (LotR 252). Later in the journey Aragorn, the legendary king who is predicted to return to Gondor with the re-forged ‘sword that was broken’, mentions the Silver Tree in song as the Fellowship follows the Orcs that captured Merry and Pippin:

Gondor! Gondor, between the Mountain and the Sea! West Wind blew there; the light upon the Silver Tree Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of old. (LotR 423) Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 61

The next mention of the White Tree is also in the form of song. This time the singer is Gandalf:

Tall ships and tall kings Three times three, What brought they from the floundered land Over the flowing sea? Seven stars and seven stones And one white tree. (LotR 597)

In this manner, references to the White Tree of Gondor and the legend of its ancestry are woven into the story at regular intervals, like a leitmotif. The next mention of the White Tree comes from Gollum, indicating how wide this legend has spread: ‘“Tales out of the South,” Gollum went on again, “about the tall Men with the shining eyes, and their houses like hills of stone, and the silver crown of their King and his White Tree: wonderful tales”’ (LotR 641). The careful reader notices that each time the White Tree is mentioned it is brought to attention by a different character, so that the various voices, cultures and purposes in the text are united by common reference to the same mythical Tree. Faramir is next, speaking of it to Frodo as they meet near Ephel Dúath: ‘“For myself,” said Faramir, “I would see the White Tree in flower again in the courts of the kings, and the silver crown return”’ (LotR 671). This remark indicates that unlike his power- hungry brother Boromir, Faramir acknowledges the rightful power of Aragorn, and is prepared to hand over the government of Minas Tirith to the king when he returns. These cumulative references to the White Tree pave the way for the reader’s first glimpse of the tree itself in Gondor, focalized through Pippin. The leit motif of the White Tree also serves as a persistent allusion to Tolkien’s greater legendarium, even as the tree further symbolizes the rightful ruler of Gondor. This connotation of the White Tree is brought out as Aragorn comes to the rescue of Minas Tirith just as the battle is looking like a lost cause:

upon the foremost ship a great standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she turned towards the Harlond. There flowered a White Tree, and that was for Gondor; but Seven Stars were about it, the signs of Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count. (…) Thus came Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar, Isildur’s heir, out of the Paths of the Dead, borne upon a wind form the Sea to the kingdom of Gondor. (LotR 847) 62 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature

Here several recurring motifs are brought together as the rightful king returns: the White Tree, the seven stars, Isildur – and the King, returning ‘from the dead’. Evidently, the White Tree is linked to ancestry: it heralds back to ‘the Day before days’ and only lives as the rightful King, through lineage, reigns. This idea is connected to the narrative’s thematic strand concerned with the use, abuse and rightt to power. Rightful power (Aragorn as the rightful heir to the kingdom of Gondor) is portrayed as beneficial – also, as will become clear, in terms of its being beneficial to ‘growing things’. Un-rightful power (such as Boromir’s attempt to seize the Ring) is judged as lacking in virtue. Abuse of power (attempting to gain power over others through coercion or using power in a destructive way) is what characterizes evil in the forms of Melkor, Sauron and Saruman alike. In an important sense, rightful power is tied to nurturance of nature. When Aragorn returns to claim the throne, the dead tree in the courtyard in Minas Tirith is replaced by a new sapling, planted by the new king. There is a noticeable parallel here between Sam and Aragorn as ‘kings’ and healers of the land25: while Aragorn heals Gondor through finding a sapling of the White Tree, Sam, who becomes Mayor, heals the Shire with earth and seeds from Galadriel’s garden, substituting the molested Party Tree in the centre of town with a golden mallorn from Lothlórien. The substitution of the Party Tree for the Elvish mallorn also alludes to the moral growth the hobbit protagonists have experienced during their service with the Fellowship of the Ring. Learning that Tolkien considered Sam the main hero of The Lord of the Rings (Carpenter, 2006, p. 161), the theme of protection and care for trees and for the natural beauty of nature is emphasized further. Sam is a gardener: his chief concern is precisely to care for growing things. Compare this to Treebeard’s accusation of Saruman, the ‘tree-killer’, and the opposition between good and evil as nurturance versus destruction (of nature in general and trees in particular) is underlined. This opposition is a vital part of the subtext of environmentalism running though the narrative – a subtext that has been discussed by among others Dickerson and Evans (2011). Basing their discussion on the Christian notion of stewardship, Dickerson and Evans describe and compare the hobbit’s agrarian society (‘which uses the environment for food’), with the horticulture of the Elves (in which the aesthetic quality of the world is cultivated for beauty), and with the feraculture of the Ents, ‘which sets portions of the environment apart from use to preserve its wild character’ (Dickerson and Evans, 2011, p. 31). It is this last type of attitude that comes closest to the position of Deep Ecologists such as Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 63

Arne Næss and George Sessions, who have advocated the adoption of a non-anthropocentric position in regard to the earth and its resources (Næss and Sessions, 1984). The emphasis on environmentalism as work that must be undertaken to care for or restore the environment (a feature of the Christian notion of stewardship) diverges from Deep Ecology in the sense that the latter emphasizes non-interference with the natural environment. While Dickerson and Evans base their analysis of environmentalism in The Lord of the Rings on a consistently Christian reading of the text, Patrick Curry has pointed to the elements of pagan polytheism in Tolkien’s mythology and to what he calls the ‘active animism’ of The Lord of the Rings (Curry, 1997, p. 98). Certainly, there is a distinction in the narrative between the notion of stewardship and the deep connection (to the point of identification) with nature that is also an important element in the text: Bombadil reads the thoughts of trees, making them available to the reader; the powers of the Elves wax and wane with the beauty of nature and Ents are literally animated nature. Narratively, the distinction is made clear through the difference between trees as the subjects and as the objects of focalization, which, it has been argued, is a guide to distinguishing between the different mythological sources for the story. This type of distinction, through its environmental aspects, opens the text also to readers of non-Christian persuasions. The symbolic significance of trees in The Lord of the Rings extends beyond issues of environmentalism, however, since the symbolic role of trees in Middle-earth is compound and, therefore, complex. It has been noted that light is closely associated with the good in Middle-earth. In fact, Middle-earth is lighted by trees, both by day and night. According to The Silmarillion, the first light in Middle-earth (two lamps called Illuin and Ormal) was struck down by Melkor, darkening Middle-earth.26 The Valar consequently moved west, where they created a new dwelling- place called Valinor, more beautiful than Middle-earth. In Valinor, they built a city; Valimar. It had a green mound before its western gate, where grew the Two Trees of Valinor. From the countless flowers of these two trees, Telperion with dark green and silver leaves, and Laurelin with light green and gold leaves, there poured silver and golden light, each waxing and waning in seven hours. Thus with the alternating rhythm of silver and golden light began the Count of Time. In Middle-earth trees consequently represent light, but also time. The Valar working with light was Varda, ‘the Lady of the Stars’, known as Elbereth among the Elves. She took dew from Telperion to make new and brighter stars in Middle-earth before the coming of the 64 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature

Elves. The Firstborn awoke to the light of these new stars, and since then stars were of particular significance to the Elves. The star-shaped flowers that are so abundant in Lothlórien are mentioned several times in The Lord of the Rings as a signifier of Elvish energy, and stars in general are throughout the text a symbol of hope. As has been noted, one telling instance occurs as Sam is keeping faithful watch over his sleeping ‘Master Frodo’ in Mordor: suddenly he sees a white star twinkle and realizes that the seemingly all-encompassing Shadow is but a ‘small and passing thing’ (LotR 922) – again associating light with the passing of time, and with hope. In its title, The Silmarillion refers to the Silmarils, three great jewels in which Fëanor managed to capture the blended light of the Two Trees of Valinor before they too were destroyed by Melkor. Stealing the Silmarils, Melkor fashioned a crown for himself, set with the jewels, naming himself King of the World (so that evil paradoxically wears a crown of brilliant light – the light from the Two trees of Valinor). Fëanor and his seven sons vowed to pursue all who came between them and the jewels. In their pursuit of Melkor, Fëanor and his line (the Noldor) took the ships of another clan (the Teleri) by force, and many were killed on either side. This incident is known to the Elves as the Kinslaying, and Fëanor’s obses- sive pursuit of the Silmarils is a precursor to Sméagol’s obsession with ‘his Precious’ in The Lord of the Rings: Gollum also obtains the Ring through ‘kinslaying’. Fëanor was killed in the pursuit of Morgoth, but laid it upon his sons to avenge him. Finally, one of the Silmarils was recovered by Beren and Lúthien27 and later taken by Eärendil to the Valar, who set it as a star in the skies. Thus the light of Eärendil’s star was the light from one of the Silmarils containing the pure light from the Two Trees of Valinor. Valinor is consequently the Elvish equivalent to the Garden of Eden: the exile of the Noldor from Valinor heralded the Kinslaying and the fall of the Elves. The star of Eärendil is associated with hope because it was set in the skies by the Valar as a sign that they had not forsaken Middle-earth: at the plea of Eärendil they came to the aid of Elves and men, destroying Morgoth. The star is, however, also associated with the passionate love story of Beren and Lúthien who retrieved it from Morgoth, and with the long, bloody and tragic vendetta caused by the oath of Fëanor and his sons to fight any and all who kept the Silmarils from them. The poignancy of this story is great when one remembers that Galadriel was one of the original Noldor who abandoned Valinor along with Fëanor: the light of Eärendil’s star has cost many lives. Galadriel offers Frodo her crystal phial containing the reflection of the light of Eärendil’s star with the words: ‘May it be a light to you in Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 65 dark places, when all other lights go out’ (LotR 376). When Sam and Frodo are about to be devoured by the giant spider Shelob, Sam recalls Galadriel’s words and they escape by the light of the phial. In the heat of action, Frodo hands the phial to Sam, and Sam is thus able to use the phial once again to rescue Frodo as he is captured by Orcs and put in a guard tower on the border of Mordor. The phial later allows them both to escape the tower, and it is perhaps the influence of its presence that gives Sam his moment of star-lit hope in Mordor as Frodo sleeps. Galadriel’s phial serves Sam and Frodo well on the journey, but as they reach the Cracks of Doom even this light is extinguished, as Sam discovers when he reaches for it once more: ‘it was pale and cold in his trembling hand and threw no light into that stifling dark’ (LotR 945). This discovery directly precedes the incident where Frodo claims the Ring for himself, implying that the light from Galadriel’s phial has sustained Frodo’s will thus far. When Sauron falls the phial is rescued, along with Frodo and Sam, and the last Sam sees of his beloved ‘Master Frodo’ is the glimmer of Galadriel’s phial as it goes into the west with Frodo, Elrond and Galadriel,28 leaving Sam to the earthly paradise of the Shire. This development further underscores the deep association in the narrative between Elves and starlight. It should be clear from the account from The Silmarillion that the source of light in Middle-earth, both by day and night, is derived from trees, underlining the association between trees and the good. However, in so far as Eälendil’s star (which is of particular relevance in The Lord of the Rings) is one of the Silmarils, it also has, through the bloody history of the line of Fëanor, deep associations with error, horror, confusion and death – not to mention greed, desperation and possessiveness; something that reveals the complex set of associations invoked by the central symbols in The Lord of the Rings. On the symbolic level, values may be expressed without conscious ethical reflection. Analysis of the ethical deliberation of The Lord of the Rings’ characters in their situations of choice serves to clarify the more conscious credo upon which the narrative is based.

Characters’ deliberations: situations of choice

In the broadest sense, the difference between good and evil in The Lord of the Rings when it comes to decision making is the difference between tyranny and informed, benevolent rule. Sauron attempts to coerce and manipulate all to serve his own ends. In contrast, the ‘good’ side holds council and weighs different testimonies against each other 66 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature before reaching a conclusion, such as during the council of Elrond,29 when it is debated what to do with the Ring, and during the several days long Entmoot, when the Ents debate whether or not to go to war against Saruman. Bearing in mind this overall framework for decision making, this section looks at certain moral choices that are of particular significance in The Lord of the Rings: Frodo’s decision to take the Ring, Gandalf’s choice not to take it, and the choice of self-sacrifice made by Frodo in carrying out the mission, parallelled by that of the Lords of the West as they assail the Black Gate. Furthermore, the characters’ ethical deliberation when attempting to choose their ‘right’ path in Middle- earth is analysed. In The Lord of the Rings a discussion of self-interest versus virtue is tied up with the notion of free will, which obviously is an important factor in determining moral responsibility. Frodo’s decision to carry the Ring to Mount Doom is only debatably his own, as he seems to be influenced by some greater force, that speaks through him ‘as if some other will was using his small voice’ (LotR 270). This is an interesting point in itself, considering Eru’s intention that men (and by extension hobbits) should have free will. The narrator further claims that Frodo spoke the words ‘I will take the Ring’ with an effort, and that he was ‘wondering to hear his own words’. His part in the matter is further obscured by Gandalf’s earlier remarks that ‘Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you were also meant to have it’ (LotR 56). Gandalf corroborates this remark in his later statement to Frodo that ‘you have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have’ (LotR 61). These elements of chosenness and destiny have become staple features of the quest fantasy. We remember Eru’s statements to Melkor that he is but an instrument of Eru’s will – part of the order of things that Eru later extends to men: ‘These too shall find that all they do redounds at the end only to the glory of my work’ (S 36). Consequently, it seems probable that Frodo’s destiny as Ring bearer is the work of a divine will, and that it forms part of Eru’s design for turning all dissonance in Middle-earth (that of Melkor and that of men) eventually into ‘things more wonderful’ that they ‘have not imagined’. This raises the problem of theological determinism: how can Frodo have free will if Eru has determined (the outcome of) his actions in advance? The answer is implied by Gandalf’s last remark: Frodo’s destiny is not of his own making – where he gets to choose is in the use of ‘such strength and heart and wits’ as he has. In other words: his task is a given, but his performance and interpretation of this task are his own. It is also clear from Frodo’s words to Sam as Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 67 they walk towards Mount Doom that he sees his actions as influenced by powers greater than his own will:

‘It’s my doom, I think, to go to that Shadow yonder, so that a way will be found. But will good or evil show it to me? What hope we had was in speed. Delay plays into the Enemy’s hands – and here I am: delayed. Is it the will of the dark Tower that steers us? All my choices have proved ill.’ (LotR 604)

Frodo’s reasoning here reveals the belief that ‘good or evil’ powers may steer his course – a proposition akin to that which Shippey terms the Manichean view of evil. In this paragraph Frodo sees good or evil as forces external to himself. An interesting point is that although Gandalf uses destiny as an argument that Frodo should take the Ring, he does not refer to it when he refuses to take the Ring himself. He does not say: ‘No, Frodo, I cannot take the Ring, because you were obviously meant to have it, and so that would be going against divine will or fate.’ Rather, he declines the burden of the Ring on the grounds that it would tempt him to wield it through his disposition for pity, and thus become like Sauron:

‘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 through pity, pity for weakness and the desire 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.’ (LotR 61)

Gandalf’s reasoning indicates that although he regards Frodo as bound by destiny, he sees himself as able to choose whether to go against Frodo’s destiny or not. His actual choice is in alignment with Frodo’s destiny to carry the Ring, but Gandalf’s arguments are not based on the same kind of reasoning for himself as for Frodo. This difference might plausibly stem from their dissimilar positions in the hierarchy of being – although free choice should in theory be the lot of hobbits too. Notably, Frodo expresses doubt in his own ability to choose the right path. This doubt is an echo of the doubt previously voiced by Aragorn when he tries to decide whether to follow Frodo on his mission or make haste to Gondor: ‘All that I have done today has gone amiss. What is to be done now?’ (LotR 414). Upon scrutiny, while strength and wit is use- ful in Middle-earth, the most reliable guide to making the right choice 68 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature is a feeling that touches the heart.30 Aragorn can be seen to verify his own decisions by reference to the feeling in his heart:

‘Let me think!’ said Aragorn. ‘And now may I make a right choice and change the evil fate of this unhappy day!’ he stood silent for a moment. ‘I will follow the Orcs,’ he said at last. ‘I would have guided Frodo to Mordor and gone with him to the end; but if I seek him now in the wilderness, I must abandon the captives to torment and death. My heart speaks clearly at last: the fate of the bearer is in my hands no longer. The Company has played its part.’ (LotR 419)

Hearing his heart ‘speaking’, Aragorn chooses to not abandon Merry and Pippin to ‘torment and death’, and his doubt leaves him. Frodo too heeds his heart against the council of Boromir when he decides to leave the company and go on with the Ring alone: ‘“I think I know already what council you would give, Boromir,” said Frodo. “And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning of my heart”’ (LotR 397, emphasis added). The things that Frodo’s heart warns him against are also significant: it warns him ‘against delay. Against the way that seems easier. Against refusal of the burden that is laid on me. Against – well, if it must be said, against trust in the strength and truth of Men’ (LotR 397). The implicit ethical stand behind these observations on the part of Frodo is that what is right is not necessarily what is easy – and it is not always aligned with ‘the right of the stronger party’ or the socially sanctioned ‘truths’ governing men. In fact, based on his heart’s warning Frodo here denounces ‘the strength of men’ – a phrase that may be interpreted in several ways. Morally, ‘the strength of men’ is their ability to shape their own destiny through free will. In conjunction with Frodo’s acceptance of ‘the burden that is laid’ on him, this statement has implicit connotations of advocating obedience to divine will as a virtue. Further, reliable guidance to this divine will comes through his heart. The same idea, that one ought to trust the guidance of one’s heart over logical arguments, recurs as Sam struggles in Mordor with the monumental choice of whether to stay with Frodo (whom he believes dead), or to take the Ring and proceed toward Mount Doom alone: ‘Go on? Is that what I’ve got to do? And leave him?’ (LotR 730). This decision does not sit comfortably with Sam’s heart. He weeps, and is unable to proceed. Then it dawns on him that he should take the Ring and ‘see it through’, because ‘the errand must not fail’ (LotR 732, emphasis added). However, the thought of taking the Ring frightens him, and he feels unworthy. Sam too has doubts about his own skills in moral decision Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 69 making. He takes the Ring, and leaves Frodo behind, but doubt about his decision nags him:

‘I’ve made up my mind,’ he kept saying to himself. But he had not. Though he had done his best to think it out, what he was doing was altogether against the grain of his nature. ‘Have I got it wrong?’ he muttered. ‘What ought I to have done?’ (LotR 733)

He suddenly hears Orc voices, and slips the Ring on for protection. When the Orcs reach Frodo, Sam’s indecision vanishes, and he runs back to be at his master’s side. Following his heart rather than his deliberation, Sam tails the Orcs and learns that Frodo is unconscious but still alive, prompting this internal comment: ‘You fool, he isn’t dead, and your heart knew it. Don’t trust your head, Samwise, it is not the best part of you’ (LotR 740, emphasis added). Sam is unable to move when his heart is not in accord with his thoughts – but when he heeds his heart he makes the right decision because it knows better. Once his thoughts catch up with his heart, his doubt leaves him: ‘He no longer had any doubt about his duty: he must rescue his master or perish in the attempt’ (LotR 897). Consequently, the reasoning of all the main characters, Aragorn, Frodo and Sam, when faced with a difficult decision conform to the same pattern: doubt in one’s own ability to choose, fol- lowed by a process of deliberation – and lastly a verification of the decision against the feelings of one’s heart. With reference to the pattern of moral deliberation set up as a standard for Roman Catholics (see Crook, 2006, p. 29), all these characters take recourse to natural law,31 which is available thorough human reason. They further draw on their own conscience – perhaps informed by ‘the inner voice of the Holy Spirit’. It is important to note that both Aragorn and Sam choose to follow and rescue their friends over securing the errand that ‘must not fail’, perceiving this as their primary duty, though the fate of Middle-earth depends on the destruction of the Ring. This is possible because only Frodo is charged with the responsibility of destroying the Ring: the others may abandon the quest when they see fit, as Elrond makes clear before their departure from Rivendell. This aspect of Middle-earth morality indicates that the characters are guided not by consequentialist ethics but rather by notions of duty and obligation, and by bonds of service to and friendship with others, so that personal relationships have importance over and above the ‘quest’. In short, good Middle-earth characters do not abandon their friends, even ‘for the greater good’. This last point associates the decision making of the main characters 70 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature with deontological theories of ethics. Deontologists hold that the right should not be defined in terms of the good, and reject the idea that the good is prior to the right, in contrast to consequentialist or teleological theories where the right is defined as that which maximizes the good, and where the good is defined independent of the right (Davis, 2006, p. 206). Thus, a deontologist may refuse to harm the one (an innocent child, for instance) in order to save the many (even the rest of the world), if the harming of that innocent child can be said (and known) to be wrong. A consequentialist would be obliged to harm the child to save the world, as this would maximize the overall good. To the deontologist, the agent is more responsible for the thing that he or she intends than for the consequences of his or her actions, because the agent is not held to be fully the agent of all such consequences (Davis, 2006, p. 209). In the case of both Aragorn and Sam the refusal to abandon their friends, which would be wrong, here takes precedence over the good: the task that must not fail. Thus their decision making reflects the deontological mode of moral reasoning. The word ‘deontological’ is derived from the Greek deon, which means ‘duty’. Frodo is undeniably carried forward on his quest by a sense of duty. Throughout the perilous journey, Frodo doggedly persists with his appointed task although his personal desire is severed from the duty placed on him. (He desires more than anything to stay in Rivendell with Bilbo and rest.) Sam too sticks to his duty, but in his case (as with Aragorn) his perceived duty (to stay with Frodo) is aligned with the love of his heart. Gandalf also invokes duty, when speaking to the Lords of the West, counselling them to use themselves as bait for Sauron in order to enhance Frodo’s chances of destroying the Ring: ‘This, I deem, is our duty’ (LotR 880). What these instances have in common, is that there is a link between self-sacrifice and duty: doing one’s duty requires one to sacrifice one’s own life or at least one’s own happiness. One indication that Frodo leads a morally good life in accepting his duty as a Ring-bearer is that his suffering allows him to grow morally and to develop the virtue of compassion. This morally good life may clearly be distinguished from Frodo’s own personal sense of a good life, however. An important facet of deontological constraints is that they are usually framed in the negative, as prohibitions (Davis, 2006, p. 208). The ‘Thou shall nots’ of the Bible’s Ten Commandments are typical examples of such deontological restraints. The most important such ‘commandment’ in The Lord of the Rings is ‘Thou shall not use the Ring’ – or as Gandalf says to Frodo before he departs from the Shire: ‘Let me impress on you once more: don’t use it!’ (LotR 67). Gandalf is easily the Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 71 strongest moral authority in the narrative. Even when he is absent, Frodo looks to him as a moral yardstick on his own behaviour. It is, therefore, possible to read Frodo’s attention to Gandalf’s admonitions not only within the framework of virtue ethics (Gandalf models virtue for Frodo) but also as an expression of deontology. Gandalf seems to take up this duty less reluctantly than does Frodo, and to struggle less with his decision making than the other characters. However, Gandalf relies on his heart no less than do the others. The feelings of his heart frequently serve as premonitions, as when he predicts that Gollum’s fate is connected with 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 faith of many – yours not least’ (LotR 59). In the same section Gandalf also links wisdom to kindness of heart: ‘The wood-elves have him in prison, but they treat him with such kindness as they can find in their wise hearts’ (LotR 59). During the council of Elrond, Gandalf again refers to premonitions given by his heart regarding Gollum: ‘”From the first my heart misgave me, against all reason that I knew,” said Gandalf, “and I desired to know how this thing came to Gollum and how long he had possessed it”’ (LotR 251, emphasis added). Here, Gandalf’s heart alerts him ‘against all reason’ – much in the same way that Sam’s heart is reluctant to leave Frodo in Mordor although ‘all reason’ says he should take the Ring and head for Mount Doom. The link between moral choice and the feelings of one’s heart is emphasized further in Lothlórien, ‘the heart of Elvendom on earth’, when Galadriel scrutinizes each member of the company, testing their dedication to the quest against the bribe of receiving their hearts’ desires. Her words afterwards are biblical: ‘“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” she said’ (LotR 357), in a direct quote from the Gospel of John. In John, this exact phrase occurs twice. John 14:1 reads: ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.’ These are the words of Jesus to his disciples. In John 14:27 Jesus says: ‘Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.’ In The Lord of the Rings, Galadriel’s words are closest to the second quote, as she immediately adds: ‘Tonight you shall sleep in peace’ (LotR 357). To anyone familiar with the Bible, it is easy to fill in the rest of the lines from the quote, and thus the allusion to the protection promised by Christ to the disciples in a time of dire need is very strong in this passage. Such moral and physical protection is extended to the company by the Elves throughout their journey; by their provision of lembas, 72 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature which sustains both their physical bodies and their moral courage, of rope, which aids their progression towards Mordor, and of the phial of Galadriel, which allows them to escape from their capture by Orcs. This is how Sam experiences Galadriel’s scrutiny:

‘If you want to know, I felt as if I hadn’t got nothing on, and I didn’t like it. She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with – with a bit of garden of my own.’ (LotR 358)

Here, a distinction is made between what the heart of each individual desires and the moral strength required to stick with the quest in the face of temptation. There are instances when the ‘right’ moral choice is not in alignment with the desires in a character’s heart – highlighting the cost to personal preference that doing one’s moral duty may entail. Galadriel’s test functions on the same logic as that of Gandalf’s deliberations when he refuses to take the Ring: the important point is to resist temptation, although having what one desires seems a good. This emphasis on resisting temptation echoes Christian morality. Furthermore, the importance of the heart in moral decision making is linked with that virtue which is advocated as the single most important one in Middle-earth: the ability to feel pity or compassion – which also depends on a moral emotion that reaches the heart. The successive chain of pity that keeps Gollum alive all the way through the story until he falls into the Cracks of Doom with the Ring comes across as a clear moral admonition to be compassionate. This admonition may be attributed to the implied author of The Lord of the Rings. Pity or compassion is the single most redemptive moral virtue, as Gandalf early on makes clear to Frodo: ‘Be sure that he [Bilbo] took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he begun his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity’ (LotR 59). Directly afterwards, Gandalf has the premonition that Bilbo’s pity ‘may rule the fate of many’. The impact of Gandalf’s admonitions on Frodo is clear: Frodo eventually ends up so compassionate that he turns Saruman the other cheek even as Saruman attempts to stab him. A related and striking aspect of important situations of choice in The Lord of the Rings is that they often involve self-sacrifice in the specific sense of volunteering to face an overpowering force with little hope of success. This is true of Frodo’s choice to become Ring-bearer and challenge Sauron’s stronghold Mordor as well as the corruptive powers of the Ring. It is also true of Gandalf’s choice to stay behind to fight the Balrog Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 73 in Moria so that the rest of the company can escape. He seems to die in this struggle, but perhaps because he is an Istar he is ‘sent back’, even mightier than before. This pattern of self-sacrifice also returns during the last stage of the war, when Gandalf councils the Lords of the West, stressing that a victory against Sauron cannot be achieved by arms:

This war then is without final hope, as Denethor perceived. Victory cannot be achieved by arms, whether you sit here to endure siege after siege, or march out to be overwhelmed by the River. (…) We must walk open-eyed into that trap, with courage, but small hope for ourselves. (...) But this, I deem, is our duty. (LotR 878–80, emphasis added)

According to Gandalf here, evil has to be faced, and with courage, though there is little hope of escaping alive. Clearly, moral courage in the face of expected defeat is emphasized in this situation. In the Prose Edda, the events during Ragnarök are predicted in detail, reflecting a fatalistic world view. This myth reflects the beliefs of a warrior culture, where fighting is done also for sport, and readiness to battle must be a chief virtue. According to Shippey (2001), Tolkien admired the courage he read into the Old Norse world view: to know that the world will end in disaster, and yet face the fight, with no prospect (like that offered by Christian myth) of salvation. In Shippey’s view, Tolkien attempted to recreate this sense of ‘long-term defeat and doom’ (Shippey, 2001, p. 150) in The Lord of the Rings in order to push his characters to what he saw as a moral achievement: the ability to fight for the ‘right cause’ with no hope of reward.32 In The Lord of the Rings, this bold course of action is tied to the concept of duty. The situations of the Lords of the West and that of Frodo and Sam are very much akin: they have to sacrifice themselves, with little hope of success, in the hope that the sacrificial act will lead to evil’s demise. The stress put by Gandalf on the words ‘we cannot achieve victory by arms’ underlines that moral courage to the point of self-sacrifice rather than physical prowess is the only thing that can successfully challenge evil. This emphasis on moral stamina or virtue is present in the text from the very beginning. There is a focus in the narrative on strength or weakness of characterr, which is signalled already in the book’s opening sentence in the prologue.

The Middle-earth notion of virtue Modern virtue ethical theory has been developed during the last 40 years, and could not have influenced Tolkien in the 1940s, but the notion of 74 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature virtues and vices is important both in Ancient Greek philosophy and in Christian ethics, influenced by Greek sources. Modern virtue ethical theory may influence modern readers of Tolkien, but in order to understand the modern form of virtue theory we must still look back to its Greek sources and to its Christian elaboration. Aristotle’s starting point in The Nicomachean Ethics (2004) is that the object of life is happiness (Aristotle, 2004, p. 27). In Aristotle’s view, virtue is not a feeling or a faculty, but a disposition. According to Aristotle, feeling pity is not a virtue, because we are not praised or blamed for our feelings, nor do we choose our feelings, whereas we are praised for our virtues and virtue also implies choice. This means that insofar as ‘pity’ in The Lord of the Rings refers to a ‘feeling’ in the Aristotelian sense, then the account of virtue in The Lord of the Rings does not correlate with Aristotle’s notion of virtue. The analysis in the previous section, where ‘pity’ was described as a ‘feeling in the heart’ suggests that there is a discrepancy in views here. Aristotle describes virtue as ‘human excellence’, and excellence as that which ‘enables its possessor to function well’ (Aristotle, 2004, p. 39). One’s functioningg is, for Aristotle, under- stood in relation to one’s place in the wider society; in the fulfilment of one’s social role or obligations. This social aspect of functioning well is one that is very important to the notion of virtue displayed by the characters in Middle-earth. Thomas Aquinas synthesized Aristotelianism and Christian theology, and added faith, hope and charity to the main Greek virtues of courage, temperance, wisdom, and justice, giving a theological rather than a secular justification for virtues by appeal to God’s existence and nature (Pence, 2006, p. 252). It seems clear that both hope and charity are pro- moted as positive virtues in The Lord of the Rings, as is moral courage. The character of Faramir in particular embodies a sense of justice based on careful deliberation. In a Roman Catholic approach to virtue ethics, Harrington and Keenan stress the concept of the Kingdom of God33 as the goal of ethics (Harrington and Keenan, 2002, p. 23). According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC), the Kingdom of God is extended when Christians live and think like Christ, and by promoting peace and justice (CCC 25, 26). Frodo’s quest succeeds largely because of Sam’s love and loyalty to him, and the quest as a whole succeeds due to the willingness on the side of good to self-sacrifice, mirroring the sacrificial act of Christ. According to Frazer, the Greek and Roman civilizations were ‘built on the conception of the subordination of the individual to the Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 75 community’, but were undermined by the influence of Oriental religions ‘which inculcated the communion of the soul with God and its eternal salvation as the only objects worth living for’ (Frazer, 2009, p. 359). In The Lord of the Rings, both the concerns of the wider community, that of Middle-earth, and each individual’s moral choices are stressed, because in the narrative as a whole there is an emphasis on showing that the outcome of great events often hinges on the fate of the seemingly small and insignificant: Sauron is destroyed first and foremost by the bravery of ‘Halflings’, who are frequently mistaken for children by other races in Middle-earth; the Lord of the Nazgûl is killed by a woman and a Halfling; and Isengard, the stronghold of the powerful wizard Saruman, is destroyed by walking trees. Thus, rather than setting up a dichotomy between the interests of the community and the aim of the individual soul, these purposes are presented as interdependent and intertwined, as the fate of the whole community is shown to also depend on the virtues and moral choices of individuals. This model resembles the Christian solution epitomized in the notion of a ‘Kingdom of God’. A major focus in the narrative is on the corruptive power of the Ring, and its ability to make inborn or ingrained character dispositions disintegrate. This disintegration of character is particularly evil in Middle- earth because here the movement of the course of history depends on the ability of individuals to display virtue. Virtue matters because individual character so vitally affects the whole: individual choice is seen to have collective consequences. Again, this representation of virtue is consistent with the notion of the Kingdom of God, in the view of which each individual’s moral choices matter because such choices either help extend or hinder the rule of God. Furthermore, the narrative emphasis on hope and charity – two of the Christian virtues added to the moral theory of the Ancient Greeks by Aquinas – further underscores the Christian elements of the text’s morality. When this emphasis is seen in conjunction with the deontological structure of the moral reasoning displayed by the main characters, the narrative’s compatibility with, or even affinity for, Christian values is highlighted.

The role of emotion

A further aspect of evil in The Lord of the Rings, which implies that the proper functioning of the moral faculty requires an emotional input, is that Sauron has a depressing and demoralizing effect on those who come under his sway. This can be felt above all by the oppressive influence of the Black Riders that strike fear ‘into the hearts of men’. It is 76 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature several times implied that depression mars judgement, both in the case of king Théoden (who must be shaken out of his gloom by Gandalf in order to stand up and fight evil) and in the case of Denethor, who succumbs to the evil influence of Sauron’s vision and takes his own life in a sense of defeat. This moral role played by the quality of emotions is underscored by its binary opposite: the feeling of light, joy and effortlessness inspired by Elves and all things Elvish – most notably by lembas, which nourish not only the body but also the spirit. The moral importance of joy and lightness is emphasized in the prologue, where the narrator says in his description of hobbit character that they are ‘fond of simple jests at all times’. In the character of Tom Bombadil, the power of joyful exuberance is developed into a striking form, underscored by his easy dismissal of the Ring’s power. It is further enhanced by Pippin’s observation of Gandalf’s emotional constitution, even at the outbreak of war:

Pippin glanced in some wonder at the face now close beside his own, for the sound of that laugh had been gay and merry. Yet in the wizard’s face he saw at first only lines of care and sorrow; though as he looked more intently he perceived that under all there was a great joy: a fountain of mirth enough to set a kingdom laughing, were it to gush forth. (LotR 759)

Pippin here suggests that the lines of care and sorrow on Gandalf’s face are superficial marks, compared to his real nature: a great joy that lies beneath it all. This description of Gandalf has associations with the merry nature of Bombadil – an association that is picked up at the close of the narrative, when Gandalf leaves the hobbits near the Shire and says he is off to visit Bombadil. All of this indicates a connection made by the implied author between taking things too seriously and the likelihood of falling prey to evil influences. What is implied is that to withstand the disruptive power of Sauron requires one to take things lightly and to be joyful. Joy is thus connected to a certain sense of moral perspective. This association induces the reader to link the hobbits’ fondness for jests with their moral stamina and endurance when con- fronted with evil. Indeed, laughter seems to be an antithesis to Sauron’s power. The relief from oppression supplied by laughter recurs several times in the narrative. Frodo laughs at Amon Hen when he realizes that Sam is determined to come with him on his journey into Mordor. Later, he laughs as they climb the stairs of Cirith Ungol when they have their meta-conversations about stories and Sam says: ‘I wonder what sort of Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 77 tale we have fallen into?’ Here Sam effectively shifts their outlook on the quest by wondering what sort of story people will tell about it afterwards. In this instance, the ability to see things ‘from the outside’ and to pit their own struggles as part of a web of stories, gives Frodo relief from his epic burden. After Sauron’s fall, Sam wakes up to Gandalf’s laughter:

‘A great Shadow has departed,’ said Gandalf, and then he laughed, and the sound was like music, or like water in a parched land; and as he listened the thought came to Sam that he had not heard laughter, the pure sound of merriment, for days upon days without count. It fell upon his heart like the echo of all the joys he had ever known. But he himself burst into tears. Then, as a sweet rain will pass down a wind and the sun of spring will shine out the clearer, his tears ceased, and his laughter welled up, and laughing he sprang from his bed. (LotR 951–2)

When seen in conjunction, both these paragraphs describing the joy and laughter of Gandalf bring to mind Tolkien’s ideas in ‘On Fairy-Stories’ about a ‘joy, poignant as grief’ which is characteristic of ‘eucatastrophe’ – a term Tolkien coined to describe the ‘sudden joyous turn’ that he saw as a mark of ‘true fairy tales’. This subtle emphasis on joy is all the more powerful because Gandalf plays the part of Frodo’s moral guide, and his council is generally respected and esteemed by the ‘good’ characters in Middle-earth. Furthermore, when these glimpses of deep joy are combined with the narrative emphasis on the symbol of the star, which is a potent image of hope, and both are seen in relation to Tolkien’s own theories about the nature of fairy tales, the deep current of Christian faith that underpins Tolkien’s writing, and which is there ‘consciously in the revision’ (Carpenter, 2006, p. 172), becomes clear. Tolkien stresses that eucatastrophe comes as ‘a catch of the breath, a beat and lifting of the heart, near to (or indeed accompanied by) tears’. He adds that this effect is not easy to achieve in the reader, since it ‘depends on the whole story which is a setting for the turn, and yet it reflects a glory backwards’ (OFS 385). When these words are considered in association with Sam’s experience of Gandalf’s laughter, which brings tears to his own eyes and then eventually makes him laugh as well, the passage reads like an echo of Tolkien’s theory of the emotional effect of fairy-tales. Its significance is enhanced by the fact that Sam has been the focalizer of the last part of the quest, so that the reader’s identification with his perspective is firmly established. 78 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature

All of this signals that the reader is meant to co-experience Sam’s eucatastrophe here, as he wakes up safe in Ithilien next to a peacefully sleeping Frodo: ‘Gandalf! I thought you were dead! But then I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad going to come untrue? What’s happened to the world?’ (LotR 951). Matthew Dickerson (2003) has noted the emphasis on sorrow and loss in Tolkien’s writing, pointing to the loss of the Entwives, Galadriel’s loss of Lothlórien, Elrond’s loss of Arwen and the loss of the Elves from Middle-earth. Dickerson describes The Silmarillion as ‘an even more deeply sorrowful piece’, with its emphasis on the fall of all the major Elven kingdoms and on the evil that arises from the curse of Fëanor (Dickerson, 2003, p. 213). He refers to Shippey’s contention that this all-pervading sadness is the sadness that must be experienced by the pagan who lives without the hope of Christ (Dickerson, 2003, p. 216). Arguably, this dual emphasis on sorrow and hope is an aesthetic necessity, if one takes seriously Tolkien’s instruction to regard the whole story as ‘a setting’ for the joyous turn; such a ‘turn’ can only be achieved by contrast, in much the same way as the stars only show their brilliance against the darkness of the night sky. There are other ways, too, in which the reader’s emotional responses are triggered and engaged. The importance in the text of the archetypal symbols of the tree and of light has been noted in this chapter. An essential feature of archetypes is their ability to activate the emotions. According to Jung, when archetypes appear in practical experience ‘they are images and at the same time emotions’ (Skogemann, 2009, p. x). When such an image is charged with numinosity, or psychic energy, ‘it becomes dynamic and will produce consequences’ [in the individual] (Skogemann, 2009, p. x). Jung also describes the archetypes in this way:

The archetype is essentially an unconscious content that is altered by becoming conscious and by being perceived, and it takes its colour from the individual consciousness in which it happens to appear. ( … ) That people should succumb to these eternal symbols is entirely nor- mal, in fact it is what these images are for. They are meant to attract, to convince, to fascinate, and to overpower. They are created out of the primal stuff of revelation and reflect the ever-unique experience of divinity. (Jung, 2009 [1959], pp. 5, 8)

There are several important points here, not least the one that the archetypes, though they are eternal symbols common to the psyche of all humans, are perceived differently by each individual. It is also Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 79 significant in this context that the archetypes generally impact the individual on an emotional level, and that consequently they have the ability to stir deep responses in people. A further aspect of the aesthetics of The Lord of the Rings that is connected to emotion is that of sound – and music. This significant facet of Tolkien’s text has received comparatively little attention (but see Steimel and Schneidewind, 2010 and Smith, 2006). Philosopher Susanne K. Langer has argued that ‘music reflects the morphology of feeling’ (Langer, 1957, p. 8).34 Thus, the implied author’s use of prosimetrum and the inclusion in the text of songs, poetry and rhymes may also serve to engage the reader’s emotions. All his life, Tolkien was intensely engrossed in what one might call ‘word-music’, basing his own invented languages on Welsh and Finnish, the sounds of which gave him the most pleasure. In contrast to the dominant language theories of Saussure and Chomsky, Tolkien argued for a connection between sound and sense; a connection now receiving backing by both linguists and neuro-scientists (see Smith, 2006). The Lord of the Rings thus includes un-translated Elven verse in invented languages, supposedly from the conviction that the reader could somehow distil their meaning from sound alone, since the appendices contain guidelines for their pronun- ciation (LotR, 1113–17). Furthermore, according to The Silmarillion, Middle-earth was created as a symphony, where events seem to play themselves out as recurring themes in a sequence of movements: the Three Ages. Thus, if he sought above all to give his readers an experience of ‘eucatastrophe’, ‘a fleeting glimpse of joy, poignant as grief’, the implied author’s choice of a narrative technique that combines an emphasis on sound, metre and verse with emotionally evocative archetypal symbols seems particularly apt to achieve this end.

Completion in The Lord of the Rings

The narrative’s completion involves an assessment of the ethics of the implied author’s overall narrative purpose as well as an evaluation of this purpose (Phelan, 2007, p. 13). The assessment is tied to aesthetics in the identification of the nature of the work’s narrative project, and in the analysis of how skilfully this project is executed. Arguably, a narrative can develop and unite several ‘purposes’ simultaneously, much like a symphony (to stay with the mythological underpinnings of Middle- earth) that may be comprised of several themes and movements. What is noticeable in the analysis in this chapter is that the research questions have served to bring out different ethical qualities that 80 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature all pertain to the text. The first set of questions, which relate to the characterization and narrative presentation of good and evil, has led to an emphasis on the mythological and symbolic elements woven into the plot. The symbolic elements have proven to be connected in complex webs and sets of associations, pertaining to ingrained (and perhaps to a degree subconscious) ritualistic and archetypal patterns. Most prominently, the emphasis on evil as responsible for a barren and ster- ile world, and the close association between the good and that which makes natural beauty and bounty flourish both have roots in ancient fertility myths; as does the link forged between the health of the land (Gondor) and the rule of the new and rightful king (Aragorn). Significant mythological and symbolic aspects of the text render it ethically ambiguous or open, in that images from Old Norse mythology are combined with story elements drawn from the Judeo-Christian tradition. Materials inspired by Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon mythology typically feature trees as subjects and focalizers (in line with an animistic world view), whereas in material inspired by the (monotheistic) Judeo-Christian tradition trees are inanimate objects of focalization. Acknowledging both these influences in the text, this chapter has argued that the tension between two views of evil – evil as powerless (a shadow) and evil as powerful (a force) – may, to a degree, be regarded as a tension between the opposing cosmologies of these two traditions. While in Old Norse cosmology evil is primary (in the order of creation) and powerful, in Judeo-Christian cosmology good is primary and evil ultimately powerless (since final judgement rests with God). Genesis in The Silmarillion combines these views by having good and evil (in the aesthetic form of harmony and dissonance) flow simultaneously and intermingled during the creative act. This chapter has also stressed the thematic and synthetic importance of the character of Tom Bombadil. Due to his deep unity and communion with the natural environment, his aesthetic attitude of appreciation for growing things, his pacifism, his merriment, his self-mastery, and his status as ‘eldest’, Bombadil serves as an embodiment of many of the deeper levels of valuing in the tale – not least its ecological subtext. In his unaffected response to the Ring of Power Bombadil further serves an important function by representing a point ‘beyond’ the necessity for the quest initiated by Gandalf. In The Lord of the Rings the many embedded references to the mythical past of the First Age, consistently developed through the motif of the White Tree of Gondor, further con- tribute to this embedded sense of the ‘beyond’, as does Frodo’s gradual distancing from the war through a developing pacifist stance and his Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 81 eventual departure from all worldly concerns. Another element in this orchestration of a movement ‘beyond’ the contemporary events in the diegesis is the poignant sadness created by the departure of the Elves from Middle-earth. This experience of sadness is developed through the narrative association between Elves and the good, founded on the connection between Elves, light and stars. The Elves are also linked with trees, which again are cast as the source of light in Middle-earth. (This last association is only available when The Lord of the Rings is read in conjunction with The Silmarillion). The deeper significance of this strong movement in the narrative towards the ‘beyond’ is most read- ily explicable through (extra-textual) reference to Tolkien’s concept of ‘eucatastrophe’, which testifies to his faith that a proper fairy story may reflect the true ‘fairy story’ of the Christian promise of salvation. The Christian subtext of this narrative movement towards the ‘beyond’ comes quite clearly into view as response to the second set of research questions, in the analysis of the main characters’ moral deliberation: they all utilize a deontological pattern of moral reasoning, corre- sponding to a Roman Catholic emphasis on natural law. Thus, analysis of the more conscious ethical deliberation in the text ‘closes’ the text ethically in that it corresponds quite seamlessly to a particular system of belief. Another important feature in the text linking it to a deontological pattern of moral reasoning is the implied commandment: ‘Thou shall not use the Ring’ – a ‘commandment’ that formulates the main moral test depicted in the narrative. The Ring is a symbol of Sauron’s will and power; a will that seeks to dominate and subjugate all creatures in Middle-earth. Opposed to free will, it connotes tyranny as well as obsession and moral corruption. Because evil is described in terms of moral corruption, there is also an emphasis in the text on moral character, moral stamina and moral discernment, which echoes the emphasis on virtue in modern virtue ethical theories – most of which are founded on neo-Aristotelianism. In contrast to the Aristotelian notion of virtue, however, the most redemptive virtue in the text is that of compassion or ‘pity’, dependent on a ‘feeling in the heart’. When this is put together with the notion of a Community of God, implied in the text by having individuals cooperate to achieve a joint ‘higher’ vision, these elements together underscore the narrative’s Christian slant. Although the narrative portrays what seemingly are chance events, these have reference back to the (unfathomable) will of a divine force that pulls the threads of the web in which individual fate is embedded, and this throws into relief the restricted nature of free will as the concept is applied here. This is counterbalanced, however, by the weight placed on the 82 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature importance of the small and un-regarded, who through their display of moral virtue help turn the wheels of historical destiny. In focalizing the tale of the War of the Ring through the four hobbit protagonists, the narrator effectively aligns the perspective on the war with the eyes of the ‘common folk’. This narrative strategy plays down the tale’s epic elements, and encourages the reader to identify with the moral choices of the ‘everyman’ rather than with the great and noble (epic) hero represented by Aragorn. The sense of ethical ‘closure’ experienced by analysing the character’s moral deliberation and the nature of virtue in Middle-earth is undermined by an important plot movement; the uprising of the Ents (in which trees march to war to defend themselves), which underlines the animistic note of the tale. The complexity of associations related to the tree as a symbol further marks the text as interpretively open. In The Silmarillion, the light of the Two Trees of Valinor is associated not only with the good but also with suffering through their link with the Silmarils. This element of suffering is underlined in The Lord of the Rings by the departure of the wounded Frodo who leaves Middle-earth clutching Galadriel’s phial – which contains light from Elendil’s star. This suffering is a part of the process of refraction that symbolizes the steadily increasing separation from the primal light that Verlyn Flieger (2002) sees as a basic premise in Tolkien’s mythology. Thus, the light from Elendil’s star invokes hope (this is visible in The Lord of the Rings), but also suffering (which is highlighted when The Lord of the Rings is read in conjunction with The Silmarillion). This combination of hope and suffering becomes even clearer to the reader who takes into account ‘On Fairy Stories’, where Tolkien outlines his philosophy of sub-creation and of eucatastrophic story-moments. One may thus read The Lord of the Rings as an attempt to give the authorial audience an experience of eucatastrophe, a ‘joy, poignant as grief’, where joy as well as suffering and grief play their part. The ‘double vision’ comprised of joy and grief is also evident in the choice of developing a double set of heroes: Sam and Frodo. There is a sense in which they represent fantasy and mimesis. Sam is the untroubled, harmonious fairy tale hero: all his wishes come true, from the one of seeing Elves to finding water in Mordor. He lives ‘happily ever after’ with Rosie, but is also allowed to follow his beloved Frodo to the Grey Havens eventually. He is unharmed and unscathed by the War and his burden of supporting Frodo, and even free from any effects of carrying the Ring. Frodo, in a more realistic strain, is the casualty of War. He is damaged beyond repair and unfit for life in the Shire when the war Ethics and Form in The Lord of the Rings 83 ends. He has failing health, no family or beloved, and a troubled mind weighed down by Shadow. He has to ‘seek beyond the world’ since he ‘find[s] no rest therein’. His life has been marred by the dissonance of Middle-earth, introduced by Melkor into the divine music. Thus, Frodo functions as the dyscatastrophic element in the implied author’s creation of eucatastrophe, while Sam represents the hope and essential joy and fulfilment of the ‘evangelium’. The climax of The Lord of the Rings is Frodo’s eventual claiming of the Ring, Gollum’s fall into the Cracks of Doom with it, and Sauron’s subsequent destruction. Before the climax, the focalization has shifted from the idealistic Frodo to the more pragmatic but deeply faithful Sam. The effect is to mute the reader’s identification with Frodo and to strengthen his or her identification with Sam as Frodo finally caves in and claims the Ring for himself. When this climax is regarded on the terms set up in The Lord of the Rings, there is a sense of failure to Frodo’s role in the quest. And both his and Gollum’s part become morally problematized: while Frodo has doggedly held to his duty, but ultimately fails in spite of tremendous sacrifices, Gollum in a sense is ‘redeemed’35 by eventually becoming the means to Sauron’s destruction. When this resolution is viewed in conjunction with The Silmarillion, a different picture emerges. In light of the premise set up in The Silmarillion by Eru’s words to Melkor (that he will turn all evil to good in the end) this climax takes on a different moral meaning: the fact that the resolution is dependent on Gollum becomes proof of Eru’s ability to turn all evil into a testimony to his own glory. This course of events is founded on Frodo’s developing sense of compassion: had he not spared Gollum, the Ring could not have fallen into the Cracks of Doom with him. If one asks, with Phelan, what interpretive reconfigurations the reader has to make at the end of the narrative, the most poignant reconfigu- ration relates to Frodo, and his development of a pacifist stance and a striking sense of compassion. However, he seems definitely a scapegoat, having to carry the burden of evil so that others may live and prosper; even if his acceptance of this burden results in moral growth. Because the focalization shifts away from Frodo in Book IV, the internal process necessary for this growth is unknown to the reader. The ethos of turning the other cheek, as he does, even as Saruman tries to stab him, ranks high as a Christian virtue – but because his normative position is undercut by his ill health through the implicit valuing in the narrative of natural health and fertility as a good, its effect as a moral example is somewhat muted. The reader has to rank self-sacrifice very highly in order for Frodo’s association with the Christ to trump the premise of the 84 Ethics and Form in Fantasy Literature rest of the text – as perhaps the implied author does, having Gandalf as well as the Lords of the West sacrifice themselves. In my view there are two main rhetorical strands in the narrative. I regard The Lord of the Rings both as an attempt to explore the stance of pacifism in a context of total war, and as an attempt to develop in the reader a yearning for what lies ‘beyond’ the worldly and politi- cal concerns of the Third Age of Middle-earth and, by extension, our own. In a narrative where health and fertility are closely associated with the good, there is a link between the implied author’s portrayal of Frodo and Bombadil in that both of their normative positions are undercut. Although Bombadil is powerful in himself, and an emblem of natural health, merriment and fertility, the discussion at the Council in Rivendell suggests that Bombadil, even though unaffected by the lures of the Ring, would still be susceptible to the outcome of the war. When Bombadil’s susceptibility to Sauron’s destruction is read in conjunction with Tolkien’s comment in one of his letters that Bombadil represents a ‘natural pacifist view’, it implies an interpretation of pacifism as an ‘impotent’ moral stance in situations of total war. The implied author thus argues simultaneously that the compassion necessary for the total pacifist view is morally laudable, but also that the pacifist view is realis- tically ineffective when faced with the threat of war. The narrative project of moving the reader towards a longing for the ‘beyond’ is masterfully executed, aesthetically speaking. The story is told in a way that gives the reader ample room to ponder the ethical significance of the narrative, and to draw on his or her emotional experiences in that process. The plurification of the narrative voice (created by an emphasis in the narrative on oral transmissions through reported speech, through the use of prosimetrum, and through the stylistic use of various languages to portray different cultures) adds to the reader’s sense of interpretive space. This chorus of voices is united through the use of prominent recurring symbols, which work to engage the reader in interpretation and feeling. The many levels of connotation attributed to the tree in particular lend a sense of complex unity to the narrative – a unity aided by the extra-diegetic narrator’s voice, as well as by reading the text as representing the value argument of an implied author who orchestrates the narrative and its communicative means.