(The Consequences of) Free and Good Will

Note: This was written for the April 30th class "Creativity & Free Will III"

After a first read, The Lord of the Rings looks like a story about free will triumphing over domination. This is technically true, but Mount Doom makes the answer messier. Frodo freely chooses to bear the Ring at the Council of Elrond, freely chooses to leave the Fellowship, and chooses again and again to keep moving toward Mordor; yet when he finally reaches the Crack of Doom, he cannot destroy it. Tolkien admits in Letter 246 that this failure was real but not exactly moral: at the Ring’s maximum pressure, no one could have resisted. As Shippey argues in “Interlacements and the Ring,” the Ring’s fate depends not only on Frodo’s final act but on earlier decisions by Bilbo, Sam, Gollum, and Gandalf (Road to Middle-earth, 153–98). In other words, free will matters constantly in the story, but it cannot close the story by itself.

“I do not lay it on you. But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right.”—Elrond to Frodo, The Fellowship of the Ring, bk. II, ch. 2

Frodo is not dragged into the quest. Tolkien knew that his choice had to be his own, or it would have no moral weight. But characters in his story almost never choose with the whole map in front of them. They choose with limited information under pressure, without knowing how their choices will land. That is where Shippey’s point about interlacement becomes useful. Bilbo’s pity for Gollum seems almost incidental when Gandalf first explains it, but it becomes a hidden precondition for the Ring’s destruction. Frodo’s pity works the same way. He does not spare Gollum because he somehow knows Gollum will matter at the end. He spares him because killing him would mean accepting the Ring’s own logic: mastery, judgment, possession. That free choice, made without guarantee, is what saves the quest after Frodo himself cannot.

“Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.” —Gandalf to Frodo, The Fellowship of the Ring, bk. I, ch. 2 

Frodo doesn't spare Gollum because he knows he will be the deciding factor in the quest to destroy the ring, The Ring tempts by promising to end that uncertainty. It offers the fantasy that if someone had enough power, outcomes could finally be controlled. Boromir wants it to save Gondor; Gandalf and Galadriel both know they would want it for ends they would call good. Letter 246 is especially sharp here: Gandalf as Ring-Lord would have remained "righteous," but self-righteous, arranging the world for its own benefit according to his wisdom. Sauron’s evil at least makes the battle lines clear. Gandalf’s version would be worse because it would make tyranny look like goodness. That is the Ring’s most dangerous temptation: not crude selfishness, but the belief that your own goodness gives you the right to rule other wills.

When Sam takes the Ring because he thinks Frodo is dead, he briefly imagines turning Mordor into a garden, but the vision doesn’t really take hold because Sam is attached to Frodo, not to the world the Ring says he could build. He and Gollum mirror each other well here. Both call someone "master." Both structure their lives around another will. But Gollum’s loyalty is finally to the Ring, while Sam’s is to a person.

In this regard we cannot brush aside one of Tolkien's defining traits: His religion. Tolkien was a Catholic working in an Augustinian tradition where the will is truly free and truly insufficient, where grace is not a prize for effort but the thing that makes effort matter at all. Mount Doom dramatizes that doctrine. Grace destroys the Ring through Gollum’s fall. Grace heals Frodo through the gift of the West. Neither outcome is earned in the clean, heroic sense. Free will gets Frodo to the crack of Mount Doom, and when he falls short at the end, it's the consequences of his free and good willed actions that destroy the ring when he cannot.

Which brings us back to Mount Doom. Frodo chooses the road, spares Gollum, trusts Sam, and carries the Ring farther than any other bearer could have, and then succumbs to it literally steps away from triumph. The will that got him there cannot finish the job. But his earlier choices outlive that final failure. Because Bilbo pitied Gollum, because Frodo pitied Gollum, because Sam stayed, the “accident” at the Crack of Doom becomes possible. Frodo’s failure is not free of consequence, either. He comes home to the Shire and cannot really enjoy what he saved. Tolkien describes this in Letter 246 as "unreasoning self-reproach": Frodo sees himself as broken and guilty, even though he did everything that could have been asked of him. By the end, he tells Sam plainly: "I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me." The only remedy is passage over the Sea, which is not something Frodo can force into being. It is given.

-LR

Tolkien and Metaphysics

What I find far and away most intriguing about Tolkien’s treatment of Sauron is that he does not merely give the Dark Lord a name, but a voice—an utterance that is itself a kind of magic. In The Lord of the Rings the very sound of Sauron’s words can be felt in the marrow, a resonant echo that reaches even to the hidden halls of Dol Guldur. Yet this is only one strand of a richer tapestry in which Tolkien’s philological sensibility and his belief in the creative potency of names intertwine with a world that is capable of producing physical objects of power. The One Ring, the Palantíri, and the many swords forged by the Elves are not mere artefacts; they are embodiments of word‑power made manifest in matter. From this duality we can read an argument that words are more than labels, that the essence of beings in Tolkien’s universe is partible, and that such partibility invites us to reconsider the Aristotelian notion of actuality in light of a world where form can be reshaped by name and craft.

Tolkien saw names as linguistic scaffolding on which reality is understood and conceived, which his philological work cannot have but emphasized. In this sense Sauron’s voice is not simply a narrative device but an operation that transfigures the world (literally, in many senses, as when the world darkens when his name is mentioned). The words, imbued with the very essence of his malice, become a conduit for fear and domination. The Sindarin, “Lammen Gorthaur,” make him quite literally the “Voice of the Abomination.”

This is not an end in itself. “The magic of Faërie is not an end in itself, its virtue is in its operations,” Tolkien reminds us. The power of Sauron’s voice lies not merely in the fact that it exists but in its effect: to corrupt, to manipulate, to command. The voice is a tool of sub‑creation that works in tandem with the physical objects he creates or controls. Thus, while Sauron’s words are a form of “magic,” they are an instrument whose purpose is to create (or, in some perverse sense, create by destroying).

But Tolkien’s world is not limited to the linguistic. He also created a material culture in which objects can hold power. The One Ring, forged by Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom, is a tangible manifestation of his will. It contains a portion of Sauron’s own power, an echo of his voice that is bound to the metal. The ring does not merely represent Sauron; it is a vessel through which his voice can be felt even when he is physically absent. The ring’s power to corrupt, to bind, and to dominate is a direct translation of the linguistic potency of Sauron’s name into a physical form.

Similarly, the Palantíri—those seeing-stones—are objects that allow communication across distances. They are not merely tools; they are conduits of influence, channeling the words and intentions of those who wield them. When Sauron looks into a Palantír, he is not merely seeing; he is speaking across the stone, his words becoming a force that can be felt by those who peer into it. Thus, the physical objects in Tolkien’s world are not passive; they are active participants in a network of word‑power.

If words can shape reality and objects can embody word‑power, then the essence of beings in Tolkien’s universe must be partible. In The Silmarillion we see that the Elves, though created by Eru Ilúvatar, possess a capacity for sub‑creation that allows them to shape their own destinies. The fact that Sauron can carve his voice into the One Ring, and that Frodo can wield the ring to influence others, suggests that essence is not a fixed, monolithic property but a malleable one. The very act of naming or crafting can alter the essence of an object or being.

Aristotle’s metaphysics distinguishes between ousia (essence) and hylē (matter). In a purely Aristotelian view, the essence of a thing is immutable; its actuality is merely the realization of that unchanging form. Yet Tolkien’s world suggests a different trajectory: essence can be reshaped by the application of words and craft. The One Ring’s essence is not purely that of a simple metal band; it is the essence of Sauron’s will, condensed and made tangible. The essence of a ring can be changed if the ring is destroyed or if its name is altered—think of the destruction of the One Ring, which severs Sauron’s link to his own essence.

This has interesting implications for the modification of actuality. In Aristotelian terms, actuality is the state in which potential becomes real. In Tolkien’s world, the potential for power within an object can be actualized through the act of naming or crafting. The ring’s potential to corrupt is actualized when Sauron’s voice imbues it; it is also diminished when the ring is destroyed. Thus, the Aristotelian chain of potentiality to actuality becomes a dynamic process that can be altered by linguistic and material intervention.

Tolkien’s treatment of Sauron offers a rich case study in the interplay between language, matter, and essence. The Dark Lord’s voice is a magical operation that does not exist in isolation but functions within a broader system of word‑power. The physical objects he creates—most notably the One Ring—are not merely artefacts but embodiments of that power, channels through which his voice can be felt even in his absence.

These observations invite us to reconsider the Aristotelian notion of actuality. In Tolkien’s universe, the essence of a creature or object is not immutable; it can be reshaped by name and craft. The process of sub‑creation—whether through the forging of a ring or the naming of a place—transforms potential into actuality in ways that Aristotle would have found both familiar and novel.

-NFH

Acting in the dark: Kierkegaard and Free Will in Middle Earth

The concept of free will underpins everything in Tolkien’s sub-creation. As I already mentioned in my last blog post, there is a reality to Middle-Earth existent so profound that it is rivalled by few other stories across literature. This may seem an overstatement, that writers such as Kafka, Dickens, and Orwell cannot offer the same all-encompassing sense of life as a writer of fantastical stories, but we must think about the fundamental central assumptions that they carry.

We know Kafka for his intensely dark, surreal psychological themes; Dickens offers incredibly nuanced social commentary; the works of George Orwell focus on modern politics and the possible effects of systems. However, when we think about The Lord of the Rings, the answer does not come so quickly – is it simply a fun adventure story? Is it a tale of good and evil? Is it some sort of allegory for the Great War and Britain’s history? Is it the product of the invention of a language? Is it something else altogether? There are evidently so many layers to Tolkien’s work that it becomes impossible to reduce the story (or any of its constituent parts, for that matter) to one singular interpretation. This is because the only true assumption Tolkien makes is that of Free Will. As Professor Fulton Brown showed us, Tolkien shows that “if you have free will, everything will follow” (Prof. Fulton Brown, discussion on April 27th 2026). The reason for such a claim is because Free Will is the most fundamental underlying assumption we (or at least a lot of us) have about life. It is the anchor upon which the great ship humanity has built through civilization, wars, technology rests. Indeed, Tolkien – in a letter he ultimately never sent – writes that “I tried (…) to make visible and physical the effects of Sin or misused Free Will by men” (Letters, 290). So, misused Free Will – which implies (and Tolkien explicitly writes that about two sentences later) the necessity of Free Will – finds itself at the core of The Lord of the Rings.

But what does it mean for characters to have free will? Do they not simply act at the whim of their author? Well, Tolkien claimed that “in order that [free will] may exist, it is necessary that the Author should guarantee it, whatever betides” (Letters, 290). In The Lord of the Rings, we are shown the characters’ free wills by their choices. The importance of choice, without perfect knowledge or control of its consequences, is paramount. All the characters of The Lord of the Rings are faced with choices they must make of their own accord, for only it is only in their independent choosing that they have free will. During the Council of Elrond, for example, the Lord of Rivendell makes this clear as he cautions Frodo about the implications of his choice to take the Ring, saying that “‘it is a heavy burden. So heavy that none could lay it on another. I do not lay it on you. But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right.’” (LotR, bk. II Ch. II) In the same speech, Elrond exclaims (with regard to Frodo becoming the ring bearer): “‘Who of all the Wise could have foreseen it? Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck?’” (LotR, bk. II Ch. II) Thus we see that there is no inevitability in Middle Earth. Elrond, an ancient, noble Eldar who has the gift of foresight himself is taken aback by Frodo’s choice.

Here we already see wisdom and structure in Tolkien’s thought. Rather than acting as a dominating master (such as Melkor), he shows the reader: Behold your free will, and what comes of it! Similarly, Frodo chooses to cross the river in the breaking of the fellowship and make for Mordor on his own. Here, Tolkien shows us, very subtly, a clear instance of free will in the story – as Aragorn contemplates that “‘[Frodo] is debating which course is the most desperate, I think,’” (LotR, bk. II Ch. X), we see the dilemma Frodo is having in real time, trying to decide what path to take, knowing that he cannot turn back. This introduces yet another integral facet of Tolkien’s understanding of free will – the lack of foreknowledge.

This made me think of a famous quote by Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. The nineteenth century Christian existentialist wrote in his journal: “It is really true what philosophy tells us, that life must be understood backwards. But with this, one forgets the second proposition, that it must be lived forwards.” We do not understand what the future brings; that knowledge is an impossibility for humans. Thus – remembering our Free Will – we must choose to act righteously, not to fall into temptation or complacency, without fully understanding the implications of our actions. Tolkien expresses this beautifully in his poem Mythopoeia, in which one stanza reads:

Blessed are the men of Noah’s race that build

Their little arks, though frail and poorly filled,

And steer through winds contrary towards a wraith,

A rumour of harbour guessed by faith.

We must act following a faith that the Good will prevail, although we cannot know it for certain. Again, we encounter Kierkegaard, whose famous ‘leap of faith’ concept – that we must live believing in a Good despite lack of reason or evidence – is embodied frequently by the Fellowship. Gandalf explains this to Frodo in Bag-End, saying that “all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us” (LotR, bk. I Ch. II). There is no possible way for Frodo to ascertain the future (which, very understandably, fills him with fear), and yet he chooses to act in a manner that reflects a deep moral faith and duty.

In this sense, Tolkien’s Middle-earth is not merely a world of myth, but a narrative of the human condition itself. Like Kierkegaard’s individual, Tolkien’s characters must act without certainty, choosing the Good without guarantee of its triumph. It is precisely this burden – and dignity – of free will that makes Middle-earth feel so real: its inhabitants do not simply inhabit a story, but confront the same moral and existential demands that define our own lives.

 

—EP

Good and Evil: The Strength of Sauron’s Will

            In Chapter 5 of The Road to Middle-Earth, Shippey analyzes Tolkien’s portrayal of good and evil throughout LOTR through two different schools of thought. The Boethian view posits evil as something internal, the absence of good in a person, calling evil beings (such as Trolls or Orcs) a “perversion rather than a creation”, a “counterfeit” version of the real, good thing (respectively: Ents and Elves). The Manichaean view posits evil as an external force, equal and opposite to good, that everyone must fight back against—Sauron, for example, whose will all the protagonists of LOTR must in their own way resist. Ultimately, Shippey shows that Tolkien allows space for both schools of thought, leaving many aspects of the story open to interpretation. Either view of evil is plausible in his world, and this mirrors our modern reality, wherein evil does seem to take both forms, arising from within every one of us as well as from external forces.

The question of free will is always relevant in the discourse between good and evil, but it is specifically even more relevant when looking at Tolkien’s work, which focuses so heavily on the strength of one’s will. While there are many literal fight scenes, a lot of the conflict between good and evil actually takes place through spiritual battles, of two characters’ wills. For example, the Palatiri provide a direct connection between two users; when used to communicate with Sauron, the strength of the user’s will directly impacts their response to the magic. Saruman succumbs entirely, becoming Sauron’s servant; Denethor retains his mind but his perspective is warped subtly over time until he sees evil’s victory as an inevitable future; and Aragorn, true King of Gondor, has such a strong will that he can look into the Palantir, into Sauron’s soul, and not only retain his mind but even bait Sauron into thinking a new Ring Lord is rising up against him.

A similar battle of wills, between evil (Sauron) and good, takes place within the One Ring. The Ring is the ultimate source of power in Arda; whoever puts it on can use it as a weapon and will inevitably win the war, thus gaining the dangerous and tantalizing power to shape the resulting world according to their vision. The specific power of the Ring does not seem to fall neatly within the realms of creation or sub-creation but rather emphasizes control over another: as stated in lecture, the power lies in the ability to dominate another’s will. Despite being the manifestation of evil, Sauron’s will is one of the strongest of any character in the LOTR, which suggests that strength of will and morality do not always necessarily align. When Frodo’s will finally fails at the brink of Mount Doom, succumbing to the evil persuasion of the Ring (and Sauron), Tolkien does not characterize this as a “moral failure” (Letter 246). Frodo has a lot of virtue, but something about Sauron’s will is strong enough to overwhelm even the most “good” and virtuous of wills. Perhaps it is the simple allure of power, a desire within all of us that doubles as a seed of evil—this is in line with the Boethian view of good and evil, and following this line of thought further implies an internal battle of two halves of the Ring bearer’s wills, the good versus the evil. Sauron’s will factors a little less into this resulting fight—even so, it is undeniable that Sauron’s will is extremely powerful, persuasive, and dangerous.

The strength of Sauron’s dark will, to me, is really made manifest in Tolkien’s references to “enslavement.” Enslavement is the most extreme form of domination of one will over another, subjugating the slave until they are no more than mindless puppets. When Gandalf first introduces the Ring’s power to Frodo in Book 1, he says that if “the Dark Power [Sauron] overcame the Shire,” then all of the hobbits would become “enslaved.” When the Ring is at last destroyed, cast into the flames of Mordor, Tolkien writes of Sauron’s army:

“The creatures of Sauron, orc or troll or beast spell-enslaved, ran hither and thither mindless; and some slew themselves, or cast themselves into pits, or fled wailing back to hide in holes and dark lightless places far from hope. But when Men of Rhun and of Harad, Easterling and Southron, saw the ruin of their war and the great majesty and glory of the Captains of the West. And those that were deepest and longest in evil servitude, hating the West, and yet were men proud and bold, in their turn now gathered themselves for a last stand of desperate battle. But the most part fled eastward as they could; and some cast their weapons down and sued for mercy.” (928)

 

          “Spell-enslaved” implies a magic derived from language; in Tolkien’s world, magic and language and power are all inextricably linked. The keyword here, though, “enslaved,” implies that Tolkien’s army was unable to give consent to his domination of their wills. This seems like a contradiction: one must give consent, in some form, to be persuaded by an external voice, no matter how magical. However, once that consent has been given, can it be freely revoked, especially under a fear-based system of domination such as the one Sauron implements in Mordor? The reactions of most of Sauron’s army after Sauron’s defeat imply that it was Sauron’s will alone that animated them, and once it is gone, their own wills have dwindled so much over the years of subjugation that they are now incapable of thinking on their own. Thus they are deemed “mindless.”

            There are, however, some exceptions: Tolkien describes the corrupted Men in Sauron’s army who do break free from Sauron’s will and decide to continue to fight anyway as “proud” and “bold”. These are adjectives one might commonly associate with noble, good characters—“bold” in particular is similar to brave, or courageous, in meaning, and we have already established that, in Shippey’s words, “courage is perhaps the strongest element in the Tolkienian synthesis of virtue.” Bold, however, is not the exact same as courageous, despite being related; in the same vein, the men of Sauron’s army are not the same as the men in the West, despite both fighting on the ground in this war. The “proud and bold” men continue to obey Sauron’s orders even after Sauron has died; in this way Sauron’s power, the ability to persuade others into siding with him, lives on (briefly) beyond Sauron in his not-creations, but perversions. 

—AY

The Corruption Process of the Ring

  The One Ring serves as a corrupting force throughout the entirety of The Lord of the Rings. What does this corrupting process look like for the ring bearer? What are the long-term effects of bearing the Ring? How does the Ring affect different people in different ways? The Ring wears down its bearer over time and uses traits already possessed by the bearer to corrupt them.

The Ring itself is inherently evil. Elrond says this himself, stating, “‘It belongs to Sauron and was made by him alone, and is altogether evil. Its strength, Boromir, is too great for anyone to wield at will, save only those who have already a great power of their own. But for them it holds an even deadlier peril. The very desire of it corrupts the heart’” (348). According to Elrond, since the Ring was forged by Sauron, it took on Sauron’s characteristics. When someone bears the Ring, they are taking on some of Sauron’s evil into their lives. This evil is powerful, and only the powerful can wield the Ring. However, the evil is still very much present and leads to corruption. Even though Sauron made the Ring, the Ring can act independently. Gandalf tells Frodo, “‘A Ring of Power looks after itself, Frodo. It may slip off treacherously, but its keeper never abandons it. . . . But as far as I know Bilbo alone in history has ever gone beyond playing, and really done it. He needed all my help, too’” (73). The Ring’s power and independent will is so strong that no one seems to fully let go of it, for even Bilbo only left it behind under particular circumstances. This shows how difficult it would be to destroy the Ring, since the Ring would not wish for itself to be destroyed. This essentially forces the corruption process on the ring bearer.

Books I and II of The Lord of the Rings give insight into how Bilbo was affected by the Ring. When Gandalf explains how Bilbo found the Ring and spared Gollum, he says, “‘Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With pity’” (78). Bilbo’s pity reveals his character prior to being a ring bearer. Gandalf believes that because he started with good morals, this slowed some of the effects of the corruption of the Ring. This could also be why he was able to give it up at all, since some of the previous ring bearers killed the former bearers to take possession of it, but Bilbo began his ownership with the complete opposite action. This does not mean Bilbo was unaffected by the Ring, however, as Frodo observes, “To his distress and amazement he found that he was no longer looking at Bilbo; a shadow seemed to have fallen between them, and through it he found himself eyeing a little wrinkled creature with a hungry face and bony groping hands” (302). Bilbo still felt the effects of the Ring long after having given it to Frodo. The Ring is addictive, and this allows Frodo to later have a better understanding of Gollum.

        Gollum’s character was also taken into consideration when he gained ownership of the Ring. Gandalf recounts, “‘He was very pleased with his discovery and he concealed it; and he used it to find out secrets, and he put his knowledge to crooked and malicious uses. . . . The ring had given him power according to his stature’” (70). Gollum was not previously a powerful figure, but the Ring did take advantage of his characteristics to further corrupt him. The phrase “according to his stature” suggests that the Ring led Gollum to do evil in the simple ways that he could. However, Gollum was not fully consumed by evil. The Two Towers presents a fascinating moment in which Gollum has a brief moment of redemption before reverting back to his conniving ways: “For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing” (935). This removed the evil from Gollum for a brief moment and revealed a tired, pitiable hobbit. The use of the word “hobbit” gives Gollum his personhood back and shows an opposite reaction to Bilbo. Bilbo had a fleeting moment of evil, whereas Gollum had a fleeting moment of good. The Ring’s hold is incredibly strong on a bearer even after it has been lost, but it is still possible for hints of morality.

        Frodo’s corruption by the Ring is gradual over the course of The Lord of the Rings. It starts innocently by thinking a lot about it or putting it on a couple times, but by the time he is about to reach Mount Doom, there is a particular instance in which he threatens Sam and “A wild light came into Frodo’s eyes. ‘Stand away! Don’t touch me!’ he cried. ‘It is mine, I say. Be off!’ His hand strayed to his sword-hilt” (1225). By the point Frodo refuses to give up the Ring in the Cracks of Doom, he is fully taken by it. Frodo at the beginning of the story would not threaten to attack Sam under any circumstances. At one point, Sam views Gollum and Frodo fighting over the Ring as “A crouching shape, scarcely more than the shadow of a living thing, a creature now wholly ruined and defeated, yet filled with a hideous lust and rage; and before it stood stern, untouchable now by pity, a figure robed in white, but at its breast it held a wheel of fire. Out of the fire spoke a commanding voice” (1234). Gollum is the crouching shape that has been very eroded by the Ring, yet still has a burning passion to get it back at all costs. Frodo is the powerful figure with a wheel of fire and a commanding voice. The Ring has given him power over Gollum and turns Frodo into something completely unrecognizable to Sam. This is right before his refusal to give up the Ring, and this shows how much he has changed over the course of the story. 

        The Ring is evil, powerful, independent, and is only fit for Sauron. Anyone else who uses the Ring inevitably succumbs to its influence. It erodes a person’s character and desires, but this can be slowed by having a strong moral character prior to bearing the Ring. Bilbo, Gollum, and Frodo all have vastly different journeys with differing results but also common threads.

-KW

The Ring Versus Free Will

In The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien drives his narrative forward through the crucial decisions which his characters have to make. This style, which Shippey calls entrelacement, intertwines each individual’s will in the culminating fate of Middle-Earth. Throughout the course of the tale, no decisions prove more crucial than those regarding the fate, or the ownership, of the One Ring. From Gandalf and Galadriel’s refusal to accept it to Frodo’s failure to destroy it, the Ring is consistently portrayed as a symbol of temptation itself: something which corrupts through its evil nature. While seemingly simple, a more interesting question arises when we consider what exactly makes the Ring evil in itself.

Shippey offers us one word: addiction. This interpretation is most evident in the movie adaptations and the character of Gollum, but falls short when considering what the Ring does more functionally. The addictive quality of the Ring lies in the feeling of righteous power which it grants its user: Gandalf desires it to fight Sauron, Boromir to save Gondor, and Smeagol justifies murdering for it simply because it was his birthday. Far more tempting than the euphoria of a drug addiction, the Ring’s allure lies in the power to impose your will on others. This is why Tolkien writes in Letter 246 that Gandalf would be “far worse than Sauron” if he obtained the Ring. His desire to do good would make him self-righteous, a convincing form of evil which masks itself in good intentions. Despite wanting to change Middle-Earth for the better, Gandalf still would have been evil with the Ring because he would have assumed a position of absolute power. This revelation clues us in on why the Ring is inherently evil: it was made to control.

When analyzing the powers of the Ring, it is easy to forget why it was forged in the first place. Crafted by Sauron, its original purpose was to control the people of Middle-Earth—particularly the owners of the lesser Rings of Power. Fittingly, the temptation of total control awakens a lustful desire for the Ring itself, undermining the free will of both the wearer and his victims. The desire for control literally creates the Ring and underlies its usage throughout the tale. Tolkien portrays this kind of temptation as a force of evil but stops short of categorizing individuals as inherently evil themselves. This interpretation of sin reveals the influence of The Lord’s Prayer on Tolkien’s work, as Shippey notes. The lines “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil” imply a responsibility for men to resist temptation, but ultimately leaves deliverance from evil up to God’s will. In other words, the prayer leaves open-ended the question of how much temptation man can reasonably be expected to resist. For example, Frodo fails to destroy the Ring at the Crack of Doom despite his overall innocent characterization throughout the tale. While Tolkien admits that this is a failure, he specifies in Letter 246 how it was not a moral failure: “At the last moment the pressure of the Ring would reach its maximum — impossible… for anyone to resist.” The impossible circumstance which Frodo faces explains his decision, not his nature. In fact, fate saves his morality when the Ring is finally destroyed by Gollum, a character which Frodo takes pity on throughout his journey. The Ring’s final moments therefore reveal how succumbing to God’s will redeems man from the temptation of evil.

The flip side of Tolkien’s conception of evil is portrayed earlier in The Lord’s Prayer: “Thy will be done.” Contrary to the temptation of the Ring, Tolkien’s Christianity asks man to pledge total obedience to God’s will. That task, however, is easier said than done. As Tolkien points out—not even Sauron intended to fall, but sometimes people are mistaken by what constitutes God’s will. To understand how to make decisions in light of temptation, one can look to the character of Samwise Gamgee. In the company of Frodo, Sam and Gollum serve as opposing figures. Both seemingly abide by Frodo’s will before their own, and both are exceedingly passionate about their loyalty to their master. They differ, however, in the essence of their obedience. Gollum is ultimately loyal to Frodo as Ring-bearer, the current owner of his “Precious,” while Sam genuinely sacrifices for Frodo out of love. This difference is clearest in the chapter “Choices of Master Samwise,” where Sam takes the Ring but is too distraught by losing Frodo to feel tempted by its power. His obedience to Frodo fundamentally opposes Gollum’s infatuation with the Ring because it is founded on love, not a self-serving desire for power. Gollum, constantly conflicted between “Slinker” and “Stinker,” is a slave to the Ring while Sam remains free.

Tolkien contrasts Gollum and Sam in this way to demonstrate the real nature of free will. Faced with endless decisions, mankind constantly wrestles with the issue of purpose in the world. By whose will should we act? What distinguishes right from wrong? Selfishness and hedonism tempt man into believing that he is his own master, creating Gollums who endlessly chase the promise of the Ring. This temptation, as Tolkien conveys, subjects them to their own unconstrained desire. On the other hand, Sams find a master to obey before themselves, combating base temptation with love. Sam realizes his free will through his ability to distinguish temptation from loving desire, an existential challenge at the heart of The Lord of the Rings.

- MJS

Hobbits, Destiny, and Free Will

When diving into the captivating universe of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, one is greeted with a myriad of themes and questions that profoundly echo the human condition. Undoubtedly, one of the most intriguing concepts weaving through this epic tale is the role of free will. Central to this discourse is the plight of the hobbits, the unlikely heroes who arguably bear the most significant burdens of the story. Do they genuinely possess free will, or are they merely pawns in a grand design?

Tolkien's narrative revolves around Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. These four hobbits embark on separate yet intertwined journeys of self-discovery and heroic duty, ultimately influencing the course of Middle-Earth’s history. And it's their choices and actions, made in the face of enormous adversity, that shape the saga.

One might argue that destiny plays a massive role in the story, perhaps overshadowing the concept of free will. After all, Frodo didn't exactly volunteer to be the Ring-Bearer; he was chosen by Gandalf, seemingly guided by forces beyond his understanding. As Gandalf pointedly remarks, "A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to." This quote, often overlooked for its apparent whimsy, could imply a predetermined order to the events in Middle-Earth.

But does this overshadow the exercise of free will? 

The choices made by our hobbit protagonists, regardless of their seemingly preordained destinies, offer compelling evidence of free will at work. Take Samwise Gamgee, for instance. Though initially dragged into Frodo's quest out of loyalty, he repeatedly makes the conscious decision to continue on the perilous journey. As Sam says, "I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise. ‘Don’t you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.’ And I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to." These lines are a testament to his conscious exercise of free will, rather than being a mere pawn of fate. 

Similarly, Merry and Pippin, despite being swept up in the grand narrative, continuously choose to act courageously, showing an intense determination. Pippin’s statement to Gandalf, "I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us!" is a strong reaffirmation of his autonomy and his will to partake in the fight against the dark forces.

However, destiny and free will are not mutually exclusive in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth. While the hobbits' journeys seem guided by a larger force, their choices ultimately decide the fate of the Ring and Middle-Earth. Free will, in this context, operates within the realm of destiny, subtly but profoundly influencing its course.

If we scrutinize Bilbo's ‘accidental’ discovery of the Ring, we can view it as an act of destiny. However, Bilbo's choice to spare Gollum’s life—paving the way for the Ring's ultimate destruction—was entirely his own, an instance of free will that had profound consequences. This dichotomy is what makes the narrative both complex and fascinating. 

This same complexity arises in Frodo’s struggle with the Ring. He may have been destined to bear the Ring, but his choices during the journey—and his ultimate failure at Mount Doom—stem from his individual will and internal conflict. Indeed, it was Gollum, propelled by his desire (and arguably, his free will), who completed the task, emphasizing how free will can alter destiny’s course. 

To the lesser-known quote from Gandalf, "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us," we see the clear embodiment of this philosophy. Free will exists within the framework of destiny. The larger picture might be preordained, but the decisions made within that framework—those are the responsibility of the individuals.

In conclusion, The Lord of the Rings is not merely a tale of good versus evil, or destiny against free will. It is a reflection of the intricacy of life itself, in which our chaotic existence is woven with threads of both destiny and free will. Our hobbit heroes, much like us, are swept into the currents of a larger narrative. Yet, they navigate these currents with choices that are uniquely their own—proof that, even in a world where destiny looms large, the power of free will remains a compelling, transformative force.

Tolkien's masterpiece thus tells us that, regardless of destiny's grand designs, it is our decisions that truly shape who we are. In this light, the hobbits of Middle-Earth do indeed possess free will, using it to change their world, and in doing so, teaching us valuable lessons about our own.

- WS

What is the One Ring and what does it do?

The subject of the meaning of the One Ring is perhaps the most important and widely debated topic among those who take an interest in the symbolism in Tolkien’s stories. Does it represent power, since those who gain it never wish to give it up and will devote their entire energies (and the fate of their souls and minds) into getting it back? Does it represent a drug of some kind, since it has an intoxicating and negative effect on its ‘users’ and is highly addictive? Is it perhaps suggesting that there is evil in all of us - with the chief protagonists of the story carrying a piece of Tolkien’s Satan with them at all times, both literally and symbolically? What do we actually know about this mysterious object? I will attempt to deal with these questions in this blog post.

Is the One Ring a representation of power itself? While this theory seems plausible at first (and is the one I held to until quite recently) a closer examination reveals it to be unlikely. First, the Ring (with a notable exception - Smeagol) seems to wield greatest power over those who are already powerful. The men of Gondor, particularly Faramir and Boromir (who are powerful within Gondor) are more affected than the Hobbits, and among the Hobbits it is the lowly Sam who is less affected than the high-born Frodo. Sauron is the most affected and he is the lord of arguably the most powerful realm in Middle Earth. The theory that the One Ring is power could still make sense, since often those with the most power are those who desire more. However, the Ring does not actually seem to offer power, merely the illusion of power. In practice it weakens, both mentally and physically, its users (see Smeagol, Sauron, Frodo). It offers delusions of grandeur, as with Boromir and Faramir, who both imagine that with the Ring they could do extraordinary things (despite no evidence that the Ring can do anything especially great besides turn its wearer invisible) but yields no tangible power to its users.

So, since the interpretation of the Ring as power seems to be weakened, perhaps we can understand it as a drug? We must consider two facts here. First, in the time at which Tolkien was writing The Lord of The Rings drug use was not nearly the issue it is today - with the obvious exception of alcohol. Therefore, unless the One Ring is specifically about alcohol, which seems unlikely given the total lack of comparison between the two and the fact that ‘users’ of the Ring experience something very unlike inebriation or drunkenness, it is not plausible that the LOTR was ultimately a diatribe against drugs. Second, the Ring does not seem to have any drawing power besides its literal drawn power - there is no good feeling or ‘high’ which it causes and which prompts further use, creating an addiction. It attracts its ‘users’ through attracting them, if that makes sense - St. Augustine said he stole fruit not because he enjoyed eating it or wanted it for any particular reason, but only because he felt the desire to commit an evil act. Similarly, the Ring offers no tangible positive outcome for its users, only pure attraction. It is also prudent to mention that the One Ring actually lengthens its users’ lives, it doesn’t shorten them.

Now let us consider the notion that the One Ring, having been forged by Sauron, is meant to be in essence a piece of him which the Hobbits carry around with them. What could this mean? This could be commentary on the part of Tolkien that the Hobbits, despite being the protagonists fighting for what is right, carry evil even within themselves. Unfortunately, this theory fails in a couple different ways. First, the notion that evil can be purged and destroyed, or perhaps more accurately ‘returned to Hell’ (the Ring is thrown downwards into a pit of fire), does not seem to agree with Tolkien’s Christian conception of evil, which sees evil as omnipresent in the world and not something which can be gotten rid of. Furthermore, if the One Ring represents the evil within each character, then why represent it as a single physical object which passes between numerous characters? 

While the above theory may not have succeeded in explaining the role of the One Ring, part of it may prove to be accurate: namely, that the Ring is a piece of Sauron which the characters carry with them and which infects them with his presence. Perhaps the best understanding of the Ring is as propaganda. The Ring acts as a piece of Sauron’s will not by physically forcing characters to do anything but to convince them through lies and deception. This interpretation helps to tie up the loose ends brought up earlier. The Ring works best on the men of Gondor because they come from a more sophisticated society which may leave them more detached from common sense and more susceptible to propaganda. Additionally, the One Ring offers power while giving none, clearly paralleling propaganda in that way. Like propaganda, and unlike drugs, there is no positive feeling originating from it, it uses negative manipulation in order to persuade or to call to action. The fact that Sauron himself is persuaded by and obsessed with his own propaganda can be seen as Tolkien’s suggestion that those who traffic in propaganda are often convinced by their own nonsense and that propaganda takes on a life of its own.

-LM

The Existence of Hobbits Proves That The Ring is Not Sauron’s Propaganda, But An Addictive Drug

To be effective in shifting one’s mindset, propaganda needs its receivers to possess two skills: to fear and to desire. Out of all Middle-earth’s races, hobbits are the most capable of great fear and desire, which means that The Ring should corrupt them faster than all other beings in Middle-Earth. Yet, the opposite is the case. Whilst men like Isildur and Boromir are quickly corrupted by The Ring, hobbits such as Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin are slowly or never drawn to possess it as their own. The resistance shared by the Shire-folk community, individuals who both desire and fear more than all else, is no accident. Due to fear of larger creatures, most hobbits spend their entire lives in the Shire: a close-knit community with an abundance of resources. Because of the abundance present, hobbits can usually fulfill their desires and maintain a steady lifestyle of continuous happiness. 

It is this propensity for fear and desire that makes hobbits have such a stable and happy lifestyle. Addictive drugs are the most appealing to those who do not maintain continuous happiness; the ricochet of emotions that unfulfilled desires produce is sedated by an addictive substance. As hobbits maintain a limited form of emotional ricochet, they are the least likely to be vulnerable to the pull of The Ring, as it does not offer an antidote to a problem they experience. All of the other races in Middle-Earth do experience emotional ricochet in varying degrees, which is why – time and time again– The Ring avoids destruction. Hobbits are the most susceptible to the tenants of propaganda and the least susceptible to The Ring, which implies that The Ring is not propaganda. In addition, hobbits experience continuous happiness more than any other creature, which gives them resistance to addictive substances. Therefore, hobbits are resistant to The Ring because their predisposition to maintain an environment of happiness makes them resistant to addictive substances, such as The Ring.

The Ring is not propaganda because the tenants of propaganda: fear and desire, are experienced the most by the group (hobbits) that is the least susceptible to its corruption. In all fearing creatures, the neural mechanisms that produce fear are universal; they are activated when the potential of death is made aware to a being. This means that to have an effect on all fearing creatures, propaganda only needs to create something, such as a group or a concept, that has the potential to cause death to activate the neural mechanisms of fear. As Tolkien writes in the prologue of The Fellowship of the Ring, hobbits as a people experience fear from the beginning when “...the Sea became a word of fear among them, and a token of death, and they turned their faces away from the hills in the west.” Using a cause-and-effect sentence structure, Tolkien makes clear that the cause of the hobbit’s extreme isolation was fear. It is important to note that no other entire race isolated themselves to the extent that hobbits did; therefore, the severity of the hobbit community’s isolation reflects the extreme fear response they are capable of. 

In addition to fear, propaganda needs desire to mobilize one’s fear response towards a specific goal. Fear and desire are not mutually exclusive; the activation of fear results in the desire to alleviate it. Propaganda takes the desire of fear relief and dictates a seemingly perfect plan of action to accomplish the goal. Hobbits experience the capacity to have desire in many cases. For example, throughout The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is referenced as the source of disappearance for many of Bilbo’s silver spoons during his unexpected journey. Lobelia’s desire for these spoons was so evident that Bilbo decided to give the rest of them to her as he prepares to depart to live with the elves. In addition, the continued incidence of spoon disappearance means that Lobelia’s desire mobilized her to commit thievery while Bilbo was away, likely because she feared that she would never get another golden opportunity to steal the spoons. In this way, Tolkien shows us that hobbits have desires, and the fear of leaving that desire unfulfilled mobilizes them into action to fulfill that desire. If The Ring was propaganda, hobbits should have been seduced by it because they experience both tenants necessary for propaganda to be effective. 

So, if The Ring can’t be propaganda, then what is it?

Because hobbits experience continuous happiness and are not corrupted by The Ring (as fast as others or at all), this implies that The Ring is an addictive substance. The individuals who are most at risk for substance addiction are those who frequently experience mood swings. During a low, a user may take a substance to artificially bring them up to a higher state. However, this desired feeling only lasts as long as the substance is in effect, leading to the user to depend, and then become addicted, to the substance. The Ring gives the wearer a feeling of power and control when possessed; in fact, it literally makes the user invisible and, therefore, in control of the situation. During his first sighting of a Black Rider, Frodo expresses his desire to “slip [The Ring] on. And then he would [feel] safe.” Frodo, who feels apprehensive and out of control in this situation, has a desire to artificially regain control by using the invisibility powers of The Ring. During a later near encounter with a Black Rider, “the desire to slip on The Ring came over Frodo; but this time it was stronger than before.” In this instance, the user Frodo experiences a trigger to use – the feeling of lack of power when a Black Rider is present – and is compelled to use to restore his feeling of control. Because Frodo has already been exposed to The Ring for a longer amount of time during his second Black Rider encounter, a precedent for emotional relief is beginning to form a pattern of behavior that will eventually lead to addiction, hence the ‘stronger’ feeling of wanting to use. 

Other works of Tolkien, such as Farmer Giles, have brought up a theme of farmers and heroism. Given that the real-life counterpart of hobbits is most likely Tolkein’s conception of farmers, the heroism that Tolkein associates is likely due to the resistance of influence that a happy farm-life creates. As this theme remains so persistent, it implies that Tolkien greatly idolizes those who follow a simpler path, as he sees them as the resistors of evil.

-SCJ