“The Complete Philosophy of The Lord of the Rings” (Like Stories of Old)
The dutch Tom van der Linden is the author of the video-essay below, published in his YouTube channel “Like Stories of Old”.
The text that follows is an unofficial transcription of his video-essay. For educational purposes only.
Enjoy the reading.
Introduction
I think most of us can remember when we first discovered the Lord of the Rings, whether you were introduced through the films or through the books, the feeling of being transported so completely to a world beyond our own is not easily forgotten. It is undeniably one of the great stories of our time, not only because it serves as well-written escapism, but also because it touches on something deeper, something essential that clearly touched the hearts of many.
When creating the world of Middle Earth, Tolkien was heavily inspired by the myths of old, taking influences from Norse paganism as found in, for example, the poetic Edda and the Anglo-Saxon epic Beowulf. But it was his own Christianity that ultimately shaped The Lord of the Rings into what he himself believes to be a fundamentally religious and Catholic work, unconsciously so at first, but consciously in the revision.
At first glance, we indeed find a lot of Christian imagery in The Lord of the Rings. There are angels and demons, Heaven and Hell, temptation, resurrection, and a clear distinction between a physical and spiritual reality. This, however, does not mean the story is a Christian allegory. In fact, Tolkien famously disliked allegories, stating he rather prefers history, be it real or fictional. He was particularly fond of Mythology, especially fairy tales, because, in his words,
“… they open the door on Other Time, and if we pass through though only for a moment we stand outside our own time, outside Time itself, maybe”.
When written successfully, such journeys beyond our own world allow us to glimpse at deeper meanings that are not bound by any time or place, but that are universal to all. There is indeed no better medium for moral teaching than the good fairy story, and this is what made The Lord of the Rings such a phenomenal success. As one author comments, exploring Tolkien’s world was not just interesting, it was not even just fascinating, it was sheer joy, for we knew that here we had touched the truth. This book was a homecoming. This book broke our hearts. Here was a world that was real, in fact more real, more solid than the one we left behind when we opened the covers of that book.
In his ambitious task of translating The Lord of the Rings to film, Peter Jackson understood the mythological essence of Tolkien’s work, approaching it not as whimsical fantasy but as actual history. He said,
“Look, we’ve been given the job of making The Lord of the Rings, but I want to, from this point on, I want to think that Lord of the Rings is real, that it was actually history, that these events happened. And more than that, I want us to, to imagine that we’ve been lucky enough to be able to go on location and shoot our movie where the real events happened.”
On top of that, he was able to use the specific qualities of Cinema to not only adapt but also expand on Tolkien’s mythology. Most notably, by using New Zealand’s natural beauty to give Middle Earth the strong sense of place that makes it feel both otherworldly as well as intimately familiar, and by composing a vast soundtrack that uses musical leitmotifs to enrich the various cultural histories and ground us even further into this world as one that actually exists. To me, these are elements that have since become inseparable from Tolkien’s work and perhaps even vital to understanding it in its fullness.
And so today, I want to use both Tolkien’s worldview and Jackson’s cinematic vision to explore the underlying truth that The Lord of the Rings reveals and examine its deeper workings and power as a mythology. My interpretation is mainly based on the books, “Following Gandalf: Epic Battles, and Moral Victory in The Lord of the Rings”, by Matthew Dickerson; “J.R.R. Tolkien’s Sanctifying Myth: Understanding Middle Earth”, by Bradley Birzer; and “The Philosophy of Tolkien: The World View Behind The Lord of the Rings”, by Peter Kreeft.
Although these sources are about Tolkien’s writing and not Peter Jackson’s adaptation of that riding, the essence of the important themes are considered to be preserved well enough, and so I will discuss the books and films interchangeably, unless the differences are significant enough to be worth mentioning. With that in mind, let’s begin our journey into the vast landscapes of Middle Earth. Immerse ourselves in the sights and sounds that gave it life and explore the deeper meanings that turned an epic adventure into a mythology for the ages.
I. Sanctifying History
We begin in Rohan with the people who most resemble the Anglo-Saxons and their cultural aesthetics and musical themes. When we first entered the city of Edoras, we find a land in decline that has lost its glory and spirit, and whose king is but a pale shadow of the man he once was. It captures the bleakness that was at the heart of many pagan mythologies, a vision of a doomed world, soon to be destroyed by the gods or by time.
Yet, it is in this struggle with mortality that Tolkien, very much like the poet who wrote Beowulf, finds the Pagan’s most noble virtues: courage and raw will. Indeed, much of the main story arc of the people of Rohan is centered around reclaiming these virtues. When we first meet Theoden, his mind is corrupted by Saruman, but even after he is released from his spell, his spirit has not been fully restored. He still finds himself self-trapped, he is still afraid to face death and mortality, and so instead of facing his enemies head-on as Gandalf urges him to — “You must fight!” — , he retreats his people to Helm’s Deep to be locked away in a giant fortress. “I know what it is you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war.”
It is only after being besieged by the Uruk-hai, at the very last moment, when death is upon him and his people, that Theoden rediscovers the spirit of his ancestors — “Ride out with me.” — and faces his doom with courage: “For death and glory.”
But his journey does not end here. As Tolkien believed that the best qualities of the Pagan world shouldn’t be merely adopted, they should be appropriated and recontextualized into Christianity, and in that process, be sanctified. The most important aspect of this was to separate these virtues from the glorification of war and death in battle that is found in so much of the language and literature of the Anglo-Saxons. Although Tolkien valued the will to fight and the courage to sacrifice oneself, he did not believe in achieving glory through great deeds of violence or death in battle. And so, Theoden is spared from death at Helm’s Deep. The restoration of his spirit is not yet complete, but before we continue his character arc, I think it’s useful to consider that of Eowyn, who perhaps best exemplifies Tolkien’s sanctification of the Pagan’s noble virtues.
“Who knows what you’ve spoken to the darkness, when all your life seems to shrink, the walls of your power closing in about you.”
When we meet Eowyn, she too is trapped by fear, but unlike Theoden, it is not death that scares her. “What do you fear, my lady?” “A cage. To stay behind bars until you’re of old age, accept them, and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire.” And the cage is exactly what she finds herself in, but it is not necessarily because she was forced to take care of Theoden or because she is excluded from warfare due to her gender. Now, her cage is to believe that real honor is only found in battle. “I’m to be sent with the women into the caves.” “That is an honorable charge.” “To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the men return. What renown is there in that?” As author Matthew Dickerson puts it, “while her uncle is so afraid of death that he has become shameful, she is so afraid of shame that she seeks death.”
Aragorn does represent the battle-hardened heroism that Eowyn admires, and she becomes attracted to him, but Aragorn eventually rejects her, making it clear that the image she projects onto him, and by extension, the ideal of honor in battle, is mistaken. “It is but a shadow of a thought that you love.” And so, while breaking out of her gender role to take part in the war is definitely part of her character arc, it’s not its final destination. Which is why, after finally riding into battle and slaying the Witch-King, a deed that is certainly great enough for her to die with honor, she too is spared from death.
II. Military Victory Vs. Moral Victory
As briefly mentioned in the beginning, Middle Earth is separated into a physical and spiritual reality, and it is this latter one that was most important for Tolkien, and where we find the essence of his sanctification. What he wanted from his characters was not a great deed in battle, nor a glorious death, for those would reach their conclusion in the physical world. Instead, he wanted them to use their courage to achieve a victory in the spiritual realm. He wanted them to have a moral victory.
Theoden achieves that victory when he shows courage not only for his own people but for those of Gondor as well. “Gondor calls for aid!” “And Rohan will answer.” He rides out again, this time, not because he seeks death or glory, but because it is the right thing to do. And so, when he reaches the Pelennor Fields, the outcome of the battle no longer matters for him. It was his choice to give himself to this greater cause that granted him his moral victory and made him a true king, worthy of the highest honor. “I go to my fathers, in whose mighty company I shall not now feel ashamed.”
The completion of Eowyn’s story is slightly different but similar in spirit. She survives the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and during her recovery falls in love with Faramir, who in the book helps her to see that there is no shame in pity, for that is the gift of a gentle heart. To which Eowyn eventually replies, “I will be a shield maiden no longer, nor vie with the great riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer and love all things that grow and are not barren.” Her moral victory comes when she realizes there is honor outside of battle and gives up her pursuit of military glory to instead devote herself to a life of compassion.
Now, a lot can be said about the journey of a woman learning the value of a domestic life and the bigger issue of gender roles in Middle Earth, but it should be noted that Eowyn’s character arc is very similar to that of Faramir, who was also spared from what would have been a pointless death, born out of a desperate hope for glory, and given mercy instead. It does suggest that Tolkien was making a point that transcends gender, especially considering that Faramir and Eowyn go on to a level life that is not unlike his dearest characters. “Let us cross the River,” says Faramir to Eowyn in the book, “and in happier days, let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there.”
III. At What Cost?
That Tolkien valued moral victories above all else can be traced all the way back to The Hobbit, where we find that one of the most important moments revolves around a moral choice. Here, Bilbo is trying to escape the tunnels while wearing the ring. Gollum, however, blocks his way out. The safest option would be to kill the violent creature as it is unarmed and unaware of Bilbo’s presence, but just as he is about to stab Gollum, Bilbo is overcome by pity and chooses to spare his life, even though it puts himself at a greater risk. The moment signifies an issue that becomes more prominent in The Lord of the Rings.
Let’s move to Gondor, although named the city of Kings, it has been a long time since Minas Tirith has had an actual King. Instead, it is ruled by the steward Denethor, who, especially in the films, represents a man who is solely focused on maintaining his reign. He wants to ensure victory in the physical realm at any cost, even when that means using the ring, the ultimate weapon of evil. “It should have been brought back to the Citadel to be kept safe. […] [N]ot to be used. Unless at the uttermost… end of need.” By contrast, his son Faramir also wants to protect the city, but not at any cost. Not at the cost of evil. “I would not use the Ring. Not if Minas Tirith were falling in ruin and I alone could save her.” Although Faramir immediately rejects the ring in the book, the film gives him a bit more of a journey to get to this point. Nevertheless, in both versions, Faramir defines a line that cannot be crossed, a point after which defeat is more desirable than victory.
A question that often arises in time of war is: “What are we willing to sacrifice for victory?” And while this is obviously a question that many if not all characters face, Tolkien seems to turn this question around to ask an equally important one: “For what values are we willing to suffer defeat?” This question is especially relevant to the dilemma faced by Galadriel because whereas Gondor still has a fighting chance even without the ring, Galadriel faces certain defeat regardless of her decision. This is because her home Lothlórien is sustained by the magic of one of the Rings of Power created by Celebrimbor. The power of this ring, however, seems to be tied to the power of the One Ring, as it is suggested that its destruction would also mean the destruction of Lothlórien. And so, when Frodo offers her the One Ring, she is perhaps more than any other character tempted to take it; yet still she resists and makes the ultimate sacrifice to achieve a moral victory. “I pass the test, I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.”
IV. Freedom and Evil
Knowing how important it was for Tolkien to have his characters achieve a moral victory, we can begin to understand what makes the Ring so fundamentally evil. To put it simply, achieving a moral victory requires choice, and choice requires freedom. And this is exactly what the Ring takes away. “One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.”
The purpose of the Ring is to dominate other minds, to enslave them, and to place its own will upon them, thereby taking away the freedom of others to make their own choices; the very freedom that makes heroism and moral victories possible. The Ring, of course, is an extension of Sauron, whose only cause is ultimate power and domination. “And into this Ring he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life.” The Ring recognizes no other authority than its creator, which also explains why trying to use the Ring for military achievements is not an option, for this would still lead to a defeat as those under the Ring’s influence will eventually succumb to its corruption and end up a slave under Sauron’s dominion.
Ultimate power is singular, it does not desire friends or allies, it does not work towards a greater good, it’s an end in itself, like a black hole consuming everything it touches. Instead of building connections, it breaks them. Instead of virtue, it wants obedience. “There is only one Lord Of The Rings, and he does not share power.”
As we see on more than one occasion, this manipulation of the mind happens without the knowledge of those who are being manipulated. The Ring deceives through illusions of grandeur, often by giving its victims the false belief that it can be used for good. For this, it needs darkness. It needs to operate in secrecy, as symbolized by the power of invisibility the Ring gives to its carrier. But invisibility, however, also implies isolation. As Peter Kreeft explains, “The Ring cuts off from community and contact. We are alone with the Eye. There is no room for two I’s, no room for an Other in the One Ring.”
But it is in this isolation that we also find its weakness, for power is limited to itself. It knows force, pride, and selfishness, but not gentleness, humility, and empathy. It knows how to take, but not how to sacrifice. And here we find a shimmer of hope, an unexpected advantage, but only if we’re brave enough to use it.
Still, it might not seem like such values are enough to stand a fighting chance against the might of Sauron and the sheer force of his devastation. And indeed, the quest to destroy the Ring often feels like a hopeless one. But in Tolkien’s Middle Earth, there are other forces at play, forces that give spiritual victories a greater purpose, that give even the smallest moral decisions cosmic significance. And although they only show themselves implicitly, they play a vital role in the fate of Middle Earth, and might even form the fairy essence of Tolkien’s mythology.
V. A Cosmic Conflict
When the Fellowship is trying to find its way through the Mines of Moria, Gandalf comforts Frodo by revealing the existence of a higher authority guiding his fate. “There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the ring, in which case you also were meant to have it, and that is an encouraging thought.” It is the first real reference to a god-like presence in The Lord of the Rings, a notion that is not to be overlooked, as it implies that the characters act within the context of an unseen force working towards its own purpose.
A second reference to the existence of this force can be found when Gandalf fights the Balrog and reveals himself to be a servant of the Secret Fire. “I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor.”
To understand what this presence is and how it affects the story, we must briefly turns to Tolkien’s Silmarillion, the expanded mythology on the creation and history of Middle Earth. Here we learn that The Lord of The Rings takes place in an universe created by a single god. His name is Eru Ilúvatar, meaning “The One” and “The Father of All”. Ilúvatar created the Ainur, his angelical spirits, and all the living beings in Middle Earth and kindled them with the secret fire, also referred to as “the flame imperishable”, which can be seen as the gift of an independent existence containing self-awareness, and most importantly, free will. The flame imperishable was the greatest gift given by Eru Ilúvatar because, as Matthew Dickerson writes, “It is this freedom that enables them to participate in Ilúvatar’s music and to themselves assist in sub-creating new beauty.”
In fact, so great a gift is it that none other than Eru Ilúvatar himself can give it. His sole ownership of the flame imperishable came to the great envy of his most powerful Ainu, called Melkor, who similarly to Satan in John Milton’s Paradise Lost, wanted to replace his creator and take away the gift of freedom. “He desired rather to subdue to his will both Elves and Men, envying the gifts with which Ilúvatar promised to endow them; and he wished himself to have subjects and servants, and to be called Lord, and to be a master over other wills.” (J.R.R. Tolkien, Silmarillion). He became Morgoth.
As you can probably guess, his chief lieutenant and representative character in The Lord of the Rings is Sauron. Although this barely scrapes the surface of the Silmarillion, it already reframes the central conflict in The Lord of the Rings into one with a greater Cosmic significance. For Tolkien, it was obvious that the ultimate power only belongs to God himself, and so he writes: “In The Lord of the Rings, the conflict is not basically about freedom, though that is naturally involved. It is about God, and His sole right to divine honor.” “Sauron desired to be a God-King, and was held to be this by his servants. If he had been victorious, he would have demanded divine honor from all rational creatures, and absolute temporal power over the whole world.”
In other words, it’s a war for the soul of Middle Earth, a fight to remain under Ilúvatar’s grace, to keep the flame imperishable burning in the hearts of every living creature, and not fall under the dominion of a corrupted angel seeking absolute power.
VI. Responsibility and Salvation
Let’s return to the Fellowship now that we have a better understanding of the cosmic forces at play in Middle Earth, we can revisit the importance for our characters to achieve a moral victory over a physical one, for no longer is it a struggle with their own conscience, it is also a reflection of the spiritual warfare between Ilúvatar and Morgoth. This is important because it adds moral objectivism to the world of Middle Earth, meaning that there is a predetermined concept of what is considered good and what is considered evil, based on higher forces than ourselves. Striving towards a moral victory therefore not only suggests choice, but also responsibility. As we’ve seen, this responsibility is complicated by the fact that every character is in doubt with the flame imperishable and is, thus, free. Ilúvatar’s creations are not compelled to do good. As a consequence, having the courage to resist evil becomes a great virtue, but failing to do so also becomes possible.
The Lord of the Rings presents a world wherein good and evil are absolutely distinct, but not one wherein good and evil people are absolutely distinct. “Yes, there is weakness, there is frailty, but there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men.” Tolkien believes that there’s a little good in the worst of us, and a little bad in the best of us, but not that there’s a little good and evil in the little evil and good. He believes in human moral complexity, but not in logical moral complexity. This moral complexity is probably best exemplified by Boromir. We see in him the great nobility and courage of men, but as the son of Denethor, he is also strongly affected by his father’s material view on victory and desire for power. “The weapon of the enemy has been found.” “This thing must come to Gondor.” And so, Boromir too wants to protect Gondor at all costs, even if that implies using the enemy’s weapon. “It is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor.” “Why not use this ring?”
He is therefore more tempted by the ring than the other members of the Fellowship and eventually succumbs to its evil. “The ring is mine! Give it to me!” This, however, does not make him unredeemable. Quite the opposite, in fact, for the presence of the flame imperishable also allows for salvation. It is true that in a material sense Boromir has failed. He failed to protect Frodo, he failed to return to Gondor, and he even failed to save Merry and Pippin. In the end, he suffers the ultimate physical defeat. But again, in the battle for the soul of Middle Earth, it is the spiritual victory that truly matters. “Forgive me. I have failed you.” “No, Boromir. You fought bravely.” So, how is it that Boromir received his salvation? For starters, he realizes he has committed evil and apologizes for it. And while his attempt to rescue Merry and Pippin fails, it does show his willingness to sacrifice his own best interest for that of the Fellowship. It shows that he chose to fight the evil that for a moment took the best of him, and it is in that choice that Boromir achieves his spiritual victory. A choice that cements itself when he, with his dying words, fully steps outside of his father’s shadow and accepts that he plays but a small part in a greater story. “I would have followed you, my brother… My captain… My king.”
VII. The Guiding Hand of Ilúvatar
By now, it is probably clear that the freedom that allows moral choices is most valued in Middle Earth. So, what does this mean for the role of Ilúvatar in The Lord of the Rings? How does he intervene in the story without compromising this freedom? How does he ensure his beloved creations do not fall into darkness?
The first way he shows his guiding hand is by providing the Fellowship with a guardian angel in the form of Gandalf. Gandalf is one of the Maiar, the lesser Angelic spirits of Ilúvatar sent to Middle Earth in mortal form. Because Ilúvatar does not want to compromise the freedom of his creations to make their own moral choices, Gandalf’s powers are limited. His main purpose is to guide the characters on a spiritual level, not fight their battles for them in the physical realm. “I come with tidings in this dark hour, and with council.” That is why we only see him use his magical powers against other higher beings who are corrupted by evil. For example, when Saruman corrupts the king of Rohan, Gandalf uses his magic to release Theoden from his spell and rekindle the flame imperishable, thereby restoring his freedom. “Breathe the free air again, my friend.” After that, however, Gandalf only serves as an advisor because ultimately, it is Theoden himself who must take the responsibility to make the right moral decisions and to restore his spirit.
Gandalf also serves an important role in guiding Frodo, and it is through his teachings that we get a better sense of the values that Ilúvatar wishes for his creations, beginning with the importance of Mercy. We’ve seen Bilbo spare Gollum out of pity, but in The Lord of the Rings, Gandalf explains why this was the right thing to do. “It’s a pity Bilbo didn’t kill Gollum when he had the chance.” “Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand. Many that live deserve death. Some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo?” He wants to make it clear that we should not be quick to pass death as judgment, for not even a very wise can see all ends. Our perception is too limited to commit an act of such finality. And as we see later, Frodo has taken his advice to heart, as he, just like Bilbo, shows pity towards Gollum. An act of mercy that, as we all know, will eventually decide the fate of Middle Earth. “Maybe he does deserve to die. [But] [n]ow that I see him, I do pity him.”
There’s more to Gandalf’s words than this rather logical argument for showing mercy, for although we’ve been focusing on what is within the power of the characters, their free will choices and virtues, Gandalf also points out what is not within their power. As previously discussed, Tolkien separated the pagan virtues from the glorification of war and death in battle, for those require a specific outcome in the physical world, be it a military victory or a glorious death. And such outcomes are not for us to decide. That power only belongs to Ilúvatar. Only an overtalk can see all ends. Only he can determine the ultimate fate of Middle Earth. “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”
Ilúvatar’s hand, however, is not directly perceivable to the characters or to us, for that matter. At best, it is shown through what could be considered the lucky events. It is in this way that he can intervene without compromising the freedom of his creations. As Matthew Dickerson writes, “Ilúvatar’s intervention does not remove the significance of the choices made by the Children of Ilúvatar, but in many ways, it can redeem those choices.” “Or to put it in another way, the characters are responsible only for their own choices, and not for the outcome of those choices. They are responsible for the means, while the ends are in Ilúvatar’s hands.”
The Lord of the Rings is filled with chance encounters and coincidences, leading to outcomes of such great importance that one could argue that they were guided by Ilúvatar’s hands. But his intervention becomes most obvious at the very ending, when Frodo, after all that has happened, famously fails to destroy the ring. He is attacked by Gollum and after a brief struggle, they fall over the edge, and the ultimate evil ends up being vanquished by accident.
Tolkien coined the term “eucatastrophe” to define this sudden hand of fate, which to him was much more than a deus ex machina or a simple happy ending. It was pure grace, the ultimate salvation for the courage, mercy, and selfless sacrifices of Ilúvatar’s children. “Because this One is not in time, he can make something in our past as well as in our present effect the future. The salvation of Middle Earth, and of Frodo, is achieved by Frodo’s (and Bilbo’s, Sam’s, Aragorn’s, and Faramir’s) previous pity and mercy to Gollum.” (Peter Kreeft, “The Philosophy of Tolkien”).
It also reasserts the theme of moral victories being more important than physical victories by showing us again what is within our power and what is not. It is within us to be brave, merciful, and virtuous, and that is what Tolkien wanted to emphasize. “Frodo deserved all honor,” he writes, “because he spent every drop of his power of will and body, and that was just sufficient to bring him to the destined point and no further.” But it is not within us to see all ends, to decide our faith. Remembering that this was a battle for Ilúvatar’s sole right to such divine power, it becomes understandable that the final glory of the physical victory against Sauron belongs to him, and him alone.
“The nearly miraculous outcome leaves the reader no room for pride or self-righteousness, as many happy endings do.” (Peter Kreeft, “The Philosophy of Tolkien”). Tolkien deliberately ended the story with a eucatastrophe not to detract from the achievements of his heroes, but rather to emphasize what drives us through hardship and suffering. And that ultimately is the belief that no matter how bad things get, there’s no Darkness greater than the light. There is always hope. “There is light; beauty up there that no Shadow could touch.”
VIII. A Mythology of Hope
The Lord of the Rings takes place in a pre-Christian world, which is why we don’t see any characters praying for miracles or divine intervention. We don’t see them praising or worshiping Ilúvatar. And this was important for Tolkien, as he didn’t want the story to be allegorical, he wanted it to be mythological, he wanted it to reflect a deeper universal truth. The difference is best explained in his own words, “I think that many confuse applicability with allegory, ut the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purpose domination of the author.” We find this applicability in the simple fact that although one can find and be inspired by Ilúvatar’s existence, it’s not necessary to believe in, or even know about his presence, to reach the same deeper meanings in The Lord of the Rings. What matters is that Ilúvatar’s flame imperishable, his divine light, his hope exists within the hearts of all his creations. Therefore, what ultimately drives them is not a faith in God, but the faith in each other. And this, I believe, is where we get at the very essence of Tolkien’s work.
We’ve discussed how the Ring’s evil is isolating. It creates a darkness of everlasting conflict, betrayal, and loneliness, where vulnerability is punished, and all hearts turn to stone. But therein lies its greatest weakness. It cannot open its heart. It cannot be vulnerable, and thus, it cannot hope. For hope does not depend on the power of one, but on the bond between all. That’s why Galadriel specifically tells the Fellowship that hope remains while the company is true. They can face evil as long as there remains love and friendship between them. And such qualities are not about taking, they’re about giving. We find it in the small act of giving gifts: a mithral vest, Elvish weapons and tools, and even fireworks that bring joy to old friends. And we find it in the larger sacrifices, in giving aid in time of war, in keeping a promise despite the consequences, and in giving loyalty and support on an impossible mission. Interestingly enough, even the quest to destroy the ring is an act of giving, because whereas most stories are about conquering or acquiring something, The Lord of the Rings is about returning something, about giving back the evil that does not belong in this world. It is in these acts of sacrifice that characters find hope.
When times are dark, however, it may seem like a mistake to hope for such selflessness, as it depends, as Tolkien describes it, “on the behavior of an individual in circumstances which demand of him suffering and endurance far beyond the normal demand, the strength of body and mind which he does not possess.” Indeed, as the shadow of Mordor extends over Middle Earth, and the days are increasingly filled with despair, it may seem like such hope is only reserved for the foolish. “There never was much hope, just a Fool’s hope.” If The Lord of the Rings shows us anything, it’s that this Fool’s hope is not so foolish at all. It is truly powerful. “There’s still hope for Frodo. We can give him that.”
The power of hope is beautifully visualized when Pippin lights the beacons of Gondor to send the distress signal to Rohan. It shows how even the smallest person can kindle hope within the hearts of many, and how one small act of courage leads to a force great enough to conquer evil. It captures how time and time again characters strengthen each other’s spirits through courage and kindness, loyalty and friendship. From the encouraging speech of a king to the bravery of a soldier, from a great sacrifice to a few drops of water, hope spreads itself over Middle Earth, inspiring everyone to stay strong, to keep fighting. “For Frodo.”
And so, while there is no hope for divine miracles, there is hope for goodness, for courage, and for brotherhood. There is hope that our friends will not abandon us in the face of great evil, that they remain true when all hope seems to be lost. And it is this hope, this Fool’s hope, that ignites a fire across mountains and brings the story to its fateful ending.
As Aragorn becomes king, Middle Earth ushers into a new age of peace. But the victory is not everlasting. No victory over evil is. Eventually, Aragorn will die, and this legacy will slowly fade away. Darkness will find its way into the world again, and the entire struggle begins anew. And that brings us back to the importance of mythology. As Frodo closes the book on The Lord of the Rings, his adventure becomes a story, his story becomes a myth, and that myth becomes a source for inspiration for countless generations yet to come.
But above all, The Lord of the Rings shows why we need such stories, stories that form a mirror to our hearts, that tell tales of friendship, love, and trust, and the firm that hope is, and will always be, more resilient than any force of evil. To end with a quote from The Orphean Passages:
“In order to comprehend the experience we are living in, we must by imagination and by intellect be lifted out of it. We must be given to see it whole. But since we can never wholly gaze upon our own life while we live it, we gaze upon the life that in symbol comprehends our own. Art presents such lives, such symbols. Myth especially, persisting as a mother of Truth through countless generations and for many disparate cultures, coming therefore with the approval not of a single people but of all. Myth presents. Myth is such a symbol, shorn and unadorned, refined and true. And when the one who gazes upon that myth suddenly in dreadful recognition cries out, ‘There I am! That is me!’ then the marvelous translation has occurred. We are lifted out of ourselves to see ourselves holy.”
van der Linden, Tom. The Complete Philosophy of The Lord of the Rings. YouTube Channel Like Stories of Old, 18 November 2022. <https://youtu.be/N73GXN_pb7g?si=HWXRbsDx1-vYITpf>.
[Transcribed by Henrique Napoleão Alves; unofficial transcription for educational purposes only].
