{"id":653,"date":"2020-12-29T12:15:22","date_gmt":"2020-12-29T17:15:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gmbaker.net\/?p=653"},"modified":"2022-08-19T07:00:43","modified_gmt":"2022-08-19T11:00:43","slug":"the-charm-silliness-and-virtue-of-the-lord-of-the-rings","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gmbaker.net\/the-charm-silliness-and-virtue-of-the-lord-of-the-rings\/","title":{"rendered":"The Charm, Silliness, and Virtue of The Lord of the Rings"},"content":{"rendered":"
The Lord of the Rings<\/em> is controversial in both literary and Catholic circles. At the literary level, critics dismiss it while the public loves it, regularly voting it high on various best books lists. Catholic opinion is similarly divided, some seeing it as the great Catholic novel of the 20th century while others dismiss it as boring nonsense. Both judgements miss something. The Lord of the Rings<\/em> is a big, messy, and sometimes silly book, but it has a streak of genius running through it.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n (This off-the-cuff blog post<\/a> was prompted not by a recent re-reading, though I have read it several times, but by observing a twitter spat on the subject, so if it get the names and incidents mixed up in what follows, I pray your indulgence.)<\/p>\n The tale grew in the telling, Tolkien said of it. Would that someone had taken pruning shears to it. A developmental editor worth their salt might have pointed out:<\/p>\n And one could go on. It is a big, messy, sometimes silly book.<\/p>\n There is nothing wrong with big, messy, sometimes silly books — books that get by largely on charm and invention. Some others of that ilk have done quite well since The Lord of the Rings<\/em>. (Yes, I am referring to a certain boy wizard.) But big, messy, silly books that get by on charm and invention don’t deserve permanent places in the literary canon on their charm and invention alone, however much they may catch the attention of the public in a given moment.<\/p>\n On the other hand, these characteristics are not inherently disqualifying. There are big, messy, sometimes silly books full of charm and invention that do deserve a permanent place in the literary canon. (Yes, I mean Dickens.)<\/p>\n They deserve it because there is something else there. At least part of what is there in Dickens (and not in Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings<\/em>) is sheer exuberant humanity. Most over the top characters in literature are less than human. Dickens’ are more than human. Hagrid and Aragorn are archetypes and they do their jobs well enough. But they don’t have the sense of vivid reality of a Miss Havisham or a Sam Weller or a Uriah Heep. One does not read Hagrid or Aragorn and feel that one has met them — quite the opposite, one feels one has never met them, and perhaps one regrets the fact. But when one reads Miss Havisham or Sam Weller or Uriah Heep, one feels that one has, of course, met them, and met them many times and in many guises.<\/p>\n If there is any character remotely like that in The Lord of the Rings,<\/em> it is Sam, and only Sam. The rest are more archetypes than people. There is nothing wrong with that. Populating a book with archetypes is perfectly respectable literary practice. But for such a book to be considered of particular note or merit, it should do something with those archetypes that points to something human.<\/p>\n And The Lord of the Rings<\/em> does just that. Woven through all the ponderous mythmaking is a reflection on the nature of temptation which deserves serious attention, both from the literary community generally and from Catholic readers in particular.<\/p>\n And understanding the book in this way explains why the one scene that so many fans would have left out of The Lord of the Rings<\/em> — that Peter Jackson in the movies does leave out — is actually key to this theme.<\/p>\n There have been many attempts over the years to identify the ring with various specific evils. The one that Tolkien specifically denounced was identifying it with the atomic bomb. This identification was chronologically impossible — the ring had been in Tolkien’s imagination and in the drafts of the book long before the bomb went off. But to identify the ring with any specific evil is, I think, to miss the point. The ring is simply the McGuffin — the thing that everyone wants. In other words, it is an object of universal temptation. It is not a question of what it stands for, but of what it stands in for — for every object of desire that is beyond our power to resist. It is the wanted thing we should not have, whatever that may be. Its simplicity and lack of clear properties or function make it not a specific device or a specific evil but simply the avatar of desire.<\/p>\n It is in this respect that the book is particularly Catholic. To the secular world, temptation is merely a psychological phenomenon to be overcome by will power. But The Lord of the Rings<\/em> insists over and over again that temptation cannot be overcome by will power alone. The wise and mighty of will — Gandalf, Aragorn, Elrond, Galadriel — all refuse to touch it, knowing that it will master them. Frodo is not chosen as ring bearer because of his strength but because of his humility. All the same, Frodo does not master the temptation of the ring. It is beyond his power to do so. Instead, on the cusp of Mount Doom, he claims it for his own.<\/p>\n Only three characters give up the ring voluntarily.<\/p>\n Catholic (Christian) teaching is that we, as fallen creatures, cannot overcome temptation by the exercise of our own unaided will. Like Frodo on the cusp of Mt. Doom, we will always turn back from the edge and claim our vices for our own. To triumph over temptation, we need something more than will power. We need grace.<\/p>\n Grace can take strange forms. In The Lord of the Rings<\/em> it takes the form of Gollum, equally in the thrall of the ring, biting off Frodo’s ring finger and then plunging into the volcano, thus sending the ring to its destruction.<\/p>\n There is a critique of the nature of evil in this scene. The ring is undone by its own contradictions. Its only means of persuasion is covetous desire, and in the end it is the covetous desire of the creatures that it has corrupted that leads to its destruction.<\/p>\n But Gollum is only there to play this part in the destruction of the ring, and thus the saving of Middle-Earth, because earlier Frodo had spared Gollum’s life when Sam (with eminent justification) was about to kill him. This act of mercy, which seems mere foolishness at the time, is the act that actually saves the day.<\/p>\n One cannot, in literature, show grace operating in the world as a kind of outside force moving the pieces around to change the outcome of the story. This is Deus Ex Machina and it is death to the story form. (Nor do we see grace acting in such a blatant way in real life either.) But what one can do is provide the evidences of grace, to suggest its presence without delineating its operation. This is what Frodo’s act of mercy to Gollum does.<\/p>\n Sam illustrates another Catholic theme in the resistance of temptation: obedience. Sam is, from the beginning to the end, a servant. He never wavers in this role. He never seeks to take the lead or to exalt himself in the fellowship of the ring. He is Frodo’s servant. He loves his master and is obedient to him. And thus, very much against his judgement, he spares Gollum at Frodo’s command. In obedience he takes up his master’s quest when his master can carry it no further. In obedience he returns the ring to Frodo when Frodo is able to take it up again. His love for, and obedience to, his master, enables him to part with the ring which has corrupted every other creature.<\/p>\n\n
\n