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The "Ring" of Truth

Ever since I first read it seven years ago, The Lord of the Rings has been a particular favorite of mine. At the age of fourteen, I relished the dingy library paperback mostly for its escape value, but even then I recognized it as a very moral book. That was part of its great appeal for me- here was a world where the good and courageous, not the popular or ruthless, won in the end. What I did not begin to realize, until after many more years and readings, was how intensely Christian that morality was. J.R.R. Tolkien, was a devout Catholic, and did not set aside his religion when he took up his pen. On the contrary, the book is not only a great work of fantasy literature, but a study in the lessons of faith. Due to the recent release of the movies based on the novel, it has gained an even wider audience for its message. If you have just been introduced to Peter Jackson's cinematic version, and have enjoyed it, I encourage you to read the books, which will not keep you waiting another year for the ending. But whether you are a new fan of the film or, like me, an old lover of the novel, I also urge you to think well on what you have watched and read.

The Lord of the Rings is a story of the classic struggle between good and evil, but there is more to it than simply that. It not only details the battle, but contains much insight into the nature of the two forces. The Ring is an artifact of great power, but also "altogether evil." The protagonists agree that it must be kept from Sauron's hand at all costs, for if he should manage to regain it, he will be able to reconquer and enslave the world. The best course of action, then, asserts Gandalf, is to destroy it. Frodo, trusting in his wisdom, accepts this task. Boromir, however, seeks a more worldly approach to the problem. He proposes to use the Ring against Sauron rather than throw such power away. It is a strategy that looks promising on the surface, like so many temptations, but fails in the promise. Evil cannot be fought with evil. "The very desire of it corrupts the heart." The end cannot justify the means; indeed, the means will only twist the end to ruin. Throughout the book, character after character is faced with the temptation of the Ring- the offer of power, security, and glory. Some, such as Gandalf, Galadriel, and Faramir, refuse, fearing its influence on their souls. Others succumb, and so fail.

Even the failures are given second chances, though, for mercy is another important theme of the novel. In the words of Elrond, "…nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so." The story's villains are not the shallow, eternally malicious enemies that populate many fantasy novels. They are deeper characters, all once good, all slowly corrupted into darker paths. Before Wormtongue's ambition consumed him he had been Theoden's loyal advisor. Before Sauron deceived and enslaved them, the Ringwraiths had been human. The orcs had once been elves, twisted and tortured into the ways of evil. Even the blackest of Tolkien's villains have flickers of light in their histories, and in many, some visible good remains. Time and again the heroes grant clemency to their defeated enemies- and several times the enemies return the favor only with further ill-will. Yet pardon continues to be given. Christ urges His followers to forgive not seven times, but seventy times seven. Gandalf's words to Frodo concerning Gollum echo the spirit of this command. "Many live that deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement." The book's heroes repeatedly grant life and freedom to those whom they have no reason to believe will reciprocate, often to their later grief. These efforts of mercy, though prove to be neither foolish nor entirely in vain. Not wishing to spoil the ending for those who have not yet finished the books, I will say only that one of the most despicable villains redeems himself in the end, and that, had he not been forgiven and spared, the quest would have failed. God works through sinners as well as saints, and this lesson, too, finds a foothold in the book.

Some, though, object to The Lord of the Rings despite the moral and religious context it is set in. One of the most common complaints I hear from more conservative Christians is that it contains references to magic, which they consider to be incompatible with a God-centered world view. It is true that one of the protagonists, Gandalf, is a wizard, but readers and moviegoers will find him doing surprisingly little "magic." He acts primarily as a guide and counselor, and rarely requires the exercise of any mystical power to do so. On the occasions when he does, though, there is a catch. Gandalf's "magic" is not based on his own will, but on supplication to a higher power. At a crucial point in the novel, when he defends the Fellowship from the balrog in Moria, he does not call upon his own strength. Rather, in a passage that I was glad to see retained in the movie, he says, "I am a servant of the Secret Fire," and bars the enemy's passage by invoking this name. Gandalf is servant and vessel, and professes this freely. Saruman, Gandalf's fellow wizard, descends into corruption in large part because he comes to regard this power as his own, "power to order all things as we will," rather than a gift from a master of a higher order. I have little doubt that Tolkien created this contrast intentionally, to show the hazards of pride. Saruman seeks to rule others, but in doing so becomes a tool of greater evil. Gandalf, though, who bows to the will of a higher good and uses its gifts to protect the weak, becomes stronger by his self-sacrifice.

With this degree of power on the side of good, though, readers may begin to wonder why Frodo should be chosen for the perilous quest of destroying the ring, instead of some more likely hero. In a world that abounds with wise and long-lived elves, valiant dwarves, and resourceful humans, why should the task be given to an untried young hobbit? Indeed, why is any one of us chosen for anything? There is always someone stronger, smarter, or more talented, but that is not the point. Consider the apostles. They were extortioners, rabble-rousers, cynics, and cowards. God does not assign tasks to the best man for the job. Rather, He tasks those who are willing, and lets them become capable in the doing. The hobbits do not triumph through might, cunning, or skill, but through a combination of perseverance and goodness of heart, with help from what some call luck and some call providence. In this, they are surprisingly human. We, too, may be of little power, but may achieve great things in the cause, and with the aid, of goodness. Our tasks will probably not be so physically arduous or visually obvious as Frodo's journey to Mordor, but they are no less important to God. Tolkien's hobbits do not enter the stage as heroes. Neither do we. The same principle, though, applies, one that I think to be the most important of the novel; God does not choose the great, but makes great those He chooses.