Éowyn and the Witch King of Angmar

He is a Ring Wraith, the first and most powerful servant of Sauron, wearer of a Ring of Power, who can defeat his enemies with the sheer terror he sends into their hearts. And he can’t die, because he isn’t technically alive. She, on the other hand, is a twenty-four-year-old woman who has spent most of her life caring for an elderly uncle, and while she may have practised weapon skills, she is unlikely to be an accomplished fighter beyond the usual merit of her people. She certainly has no experience of battle. She doesn’t even have a magic sword. And yet she slays him? Just how did Éowyn manage to kill an entity that was indestructible?

It seems a good idea to look for a story-internal as well as for a structural explanation. Let’s start with the former.

The Witch King is a ghost. He has no body. That makes stabbing him a bit of a tricky business to say the least. According to Gandalf the ring wraiths exist on a different plane from the reality of the living. And, so he explains in “The Ring Goes South” (FOTR), they cannot be destroyed by ordinary means, because “the power of their master is in them, and they stand or fall by him” (my italics).  By this line of reasoning, it should have been utterly impossible to destroy the witch king while Sauron was in possession of the One Ring.

But then, as we all know, there is the prophecy:

“Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall.” (ROTK, Appendix A)

And, so the common sense reasoning, because Éowyn is a woman rather than a man and because she is aided by Merry, who is also not a man, she is able to slay him and fulfil the prophecy.

However, this explanation does not withstand critical scrutiny, for a number of reasons. One of the things we ought to ask is how exactly this prophecy is supposed to work. Should we assume that Glorfindel’s words changed the physical make-up of the witch king, thus making him vulnerable to non-men where he had previously been invincible? This seems a ludicrous idea to me. But if Glorfindel’s words were not formative, were they then diagnostic? Did he, by some mysterious means of insight, simply perceive a vulnerability that the witch king had always had? Again, this would appear a very odd concept: a ghost who is immune to one specified group of people, but not to others. Why? How? It makes precious little sense to me.

The next thing that puzzles me is how both the witch king himself and pretty much everybody else in Middle-earth takes this prophecy to mean that the witch king cannot be killed at all. In general, this belief would be logical, given Gandalf’s explanation that he exists in a different reality and is bound to the power of the One Ring. But why people would take Glorfindel’s words as a confirmation of this is beyond me. After all, if he cannot fall by the hand of man, why not by the hand of elf, dwarf, hobbit or, indeed, woman? It doesn’t take a genius to think of these possibilities – and yet in over a thousand years none of those clever people like Gandalf or Elrond ever thought of it? Very strange indeed.

But let’s for a moment just accept the premise: he cannot be slain by a man, but he can be slain by a woman. This begs the question how exactly the sex of the sword wielder affects the outcome of the sword strike. Is it magic? Is it sheer will power? Is it psychology? Is it some kind of inverted self-fulfilling prophecy, i.e. does the witch king perish because he realises that he has been outwitted? How can the fact that the sword is wielded by a woman result in piercing and destroying a creature that is not technically alive and does not have a body?

And, as I said, it isn’t even a magic sword. Tolkien takes great pains to explain why Merry’s dagger was able to injure the witch king, namely because it was impregnated with magic spells against this very foe by the powerful people of the past. As an aside, one has to wonder why, if those people had such magic prowess, they did not manage to defeat the witch king? However that may be, the fact remains that Éowyn had no such weapon. She slew the witch king with an ordinary Rohirric blade. How? Just because she was a woman? That seems way too easy an explanation.

There is a psychological point. The main power of the witch king is a power of mind: he induces fear. Éowyn, however, is not scared. She is driven by love for her uncle and by a complete contempt of death. This explains how she can tackle him where others have fled in terror. Nevertheless, it does not explain how a piece of ordinary steel can pierce an entity that exists on a different plane of reality.

Tolkien indicates that the witch king was not ultimately, but only temporarily defeated. His voice “was never heard again in that age of the world” (ROTK, The Battle of the Pelennor Fields) – note that that age ended a couple of years later anyway, but never mind. The possibility of him rising again is suggested.  Interestingly, the items he leaves behind are crown, mantle and hauberk, but, crucially, not his ring. Did he take that with him? I wonder.

But even with this modifier in mind, the story-internal explanation does in my opinion not cut the mustard. It is, to be frank, rather lame. So there ought to be a really essential structural purpose to this whole issue, which I shall now examine.

What we have here is, of course, a classic literary topos: the invincible villain is overcome by the unexpected outsider whom nobody reckons with. It is a David-and-Goliath situation, ever popular in fiction and clearly popular with Tolkien. So one structural reason why Éowyn slays the witch king is that it is traditional and fulfils well established reader expectations. Furthermore, Éowyn’s triumph over the witch king neatly mirrors Frodo’s triumph over Sauron. The biggest enemy is overcome by the most unlikely kind of person, a hobbit, the second in command is defeated by the second most unlikely kind of person, a woman.

In this context I’d like to draw attention to the fact that LOTR is entirely written from some kind of frog perspective. There are six different POVs in the trilogy: Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gimli – and Éowyn. (Where neither of these is present, the narrative voice is omniscient.) What the first five all have in common is that they are small. We never get into the heads of the big folk, the classic heroes, Aragorn, Boromir or Gandalf. It is one of Tolkien’s main points that the fate of the world often rests on the shoulders of people who might consider themselves weak and powerless. While Éowyn is certainly not small, she is a woman and therefore by the power of tradition and precedent not designed for heroic deeds. Including her into the group of frog perspective characters therefore makes sense, as does her rise to valour and renown.

Another common literary topos Tolkien uses here is one that is absolutely crucial to the plot. It is the topos of Achilles or of Siegfried, widely known in fictional works from sagas to fairy tales. The invincible enemy (or hero, depending on perspective) must have a vulnerable spot. In Tolkien these weak spots are Sauron’s Ring, Smaugs vulnerable spot on the belly and the witch king’s inability to resist women. Why is this necessary? Because otherwise the entire plot would fail. This type of story does not work with absolutely invincible enemies prowling about. If they cannot be overcome, then what’s the point? Hence they need the weak spot, but at the same time they should generate such an aura of invincibility that their prospective foes overlook the vulnerability. This is, of course, nothing but a clever survival strategy!

It has also occurred to me that the few females in LOTR each represent a classic model of womanhood: Goldberry, nature; Arwen, the romantic beloved; Galadriel, the fairy queen; Rosie, the domestic matron, Ioreth, the wise woman; and Éowyn, the Amazon. In a way, she makes the picture complete. Note that all these are “good” models of female roles. There are no evil witches in LOTR.

Conclusion: While the story-internal explanation fails to convince, there are strong structural reasons for Éowyn slaying the witch king. These are apparent in Tolkien’s use of literary topoi to support one of his main themes in the trilogy, namely the heroism of non-heroic people.

Some twenty years ago, I wrote an essay on the use of water as a motif in Goethe’s poetry and found a remarkable variety of connotations. I thought it might be interesting to do the same for LOTR and see what I find. As it turned out, I found quite a few things.

Water as a barrier

This is the most common use of the motif in the trilogy. The Sundering Sea separates the Undying Lands from Middle-earth, the Brandywine River, the Bruinen, the Anduin, the Nimrodel, the Silverlode and the Entwash all serve as natural borders. The hideout of the Ithilien rangers is hidden by a curtain of water. Most of these examples fulfil protective functions.

Crossing rivers is a significant plot element that is used repeatedly. The hobbits cross the Brandywine River at Bucklebury Ferry, thus escaping the ring wraiths. The crossing of the Bruinen leads to the big showdown with the ring wraiths. An improvised rope bridge allows the fellowship to cross the Nimrodel into Lothlorien. In each of the three cases the crossing of water represents an escape to safety, because the rivers are barriers that the pursuers cannot cross for one reason or another.

This motif is ironically inverted when the fellowship keep to the western shore of the Anduin in the erroneous assumption that danger awaits them on the eastern shore, only to be attacked by orcs on the perceived “safe” side of the river.

Finally, Frodo and Sam cross the Anduin into danger, another inversion of the crossing-into-safety motif.

Water in the locus amoenus

Given Tolkien’s affinity with literary topoi, it is noteworthy that there is only one true locus amoenus in LOTR, and that is Caras Galadhon. Wikipedia defines the function of the locus amoenus as an “idealized place of safety or comfort” and a “place of refuge from the processes of time and mortality.” Both functions are clearly fulfilled here. The three classic elements of the locus amoenus are present: trees, grass and water. The fountain is traditionally a motif that signifies renewal of life, which fits neatly with the role of the Lothlorien setting as a place of respite. Note that Lothlorien is also surrounded by water, so that both arrival and departure of the fellowship are via rivers.

No Water in the locus terribilis

The locus terribilis is a bit more flexible with regard to its fittings, and might either contain no water at all, thus being a dry and desolate place, or on the other hand feature wild and threatening bodies of water such as torrential rivers or stormy seas. I can identify three settings in LOTR that I would count as a locus terribilis: the Barrow Downs, Moria and Mordor. Water is absent from these places - to the degree that lack of water becomes a major problem for Frodo and Sam on their journey through Mordor. * By having water present in the locus amoenus but not in the locus terribilis, Tolkien suggests a fundamental affiliation of water with the “good side.” I suspect this is due to the association of water with Ulmo.

*I am not counting the subterrean lake in Moria here, because the fellowship do not encounter it during their journey. See further down for an interpretation of its function.

Water as a weapon

A similar pattern can be seen in the use of water as a weapon. The hobbits’ habitual fear of even calm and tame bodies of water may seem a little ridiculous (though admittedly Frodo’s parents did drown), but it acknowledges, albeit in exaggerated form, the destructive power of water. In LOTR, this destructive power is used on two occasions; in the rising of the Bruinen and in the deluge of Isengard. In both cases it is the “good side” that utilizes the power of water as a weapon. Neither Sauron nor Saruman appear to have much power over water, though they make extensive use of the destructive force of fire, while Gandalf can make use of both water and fire. Note also that the Balrog, a creature of fire, is extinguished in the subterrean lake. It is an interesting point that at the very root of a mountain which is described as evil, we find water and that this water helps to save the “goodie” and defeat the “baddie.”

So again we find water affiliated with the “good side.” I believe that while Ulmo does not make a personal appearance in LOTR, he is nevertheless present in the sense that water acts as a force for Good. This fits with his role as the the Valar who was arguably most committed to Middle-earth and most fiercely opposed to Morgoth.

The dangerous lure of water

However, the identification of water with the Good is not without exception. We find two examples of water that contains some hidden evil: the river Withywindle and the pond on the gates of Moria. Note that in both cases it is not the water itself that is evil, but a creature lurking in or beside it: the Old Man Willow and the Watcher in the Water respectively. Water has thus been poisoned or defiled, something that Frodo notices instinctively on the approach to the Moria gate when he shudders in disgust at the touch of the water. However, Old Man Willow is not a servant of Sauron, and the Watcher in the Water may also be a creature that pursues nothing but its own evil interests.

Withywindle with its soporific effects can also be read as a secularized version of Lethe, the ancient stream of the underworld, which brings forgetfulness and loss of self.

Water and magic

I have already mentioned the rising of the Bruinen. This is attributed to a form of protective magic that can distinguish between friend and foe of Rivendell. It is the only example within LOTR where the naturally protective function of a river is thus magically amplified. Two other bodies of water are associated with magic. One is the Mirrormere, which reflects the surrounding mountains and shows a crown of stars in the depth even in bright daylight. It is a static kind of magic, which seems to have remained unchanged for millennia, and it could maybe better be described as a mystery. Its counterpart, Galadriel’s mirror, is dynamic and the images it shows are fleeting and unreliable. Both magic mirrors have a profound effect on the people who look into them. They can also be seen to reflect the attitudes of Dwarves and Elves respectively. Dwarves look at the world in terms of solid values, works of metal or stone, things that can be expected to remain unchanged like the image in Mirrormere. To elves, from their perspective of immortality, the world appears as a quick succession of fleeting pictures, just like the ones shown in Galadriel’s mirror. I think it is not by chance that Galadriel’s mirror is not a fixed object, but is freshly refilled every time she looks into it. Both Galadriel’s mirror and the Mirrormere represent a form of magic that is not so much practical and functional (like the spell on the Bruinen), but intangible, metaphysical and transformatory. The images shown are ambivalent, and it remains unclear how exactly they relate to reality.

Dreamflower reminded me to mention the Ent-draught, and I think it fits into this context. Whether or not it is actually magic is beyond me to ascertain, but it is certainly potent. Like Galadriel's mirror, the Ent-draught has transformatory propensities. Obviously, it transforms the body - does it also transform the mind? I am not sure about this. 

Also, I am trying to decide whether or not Wellinghall would be another locus amoenus. But on the whole, I think it is too “weird” a place. It fulfils the function, though!

Water and death 

I can think of three instances where water is associated with death. The most obvious one is the Dead Marches with their stagnant waters that bring up images of the Dead. This motif is also related to the magic waters described above, in that they show ambivalent images, the reality of which is not clearly defined.

The waterfall of Henneth Annûn is primarily a protection, but it flows down into the Forbidden Pool, which carries the threat of death for anyone unauthorized who sets eyes on it. This death threat is not due to any intrinsic quality of the pool, but is the result of a cultural attribution which renders it as taboo.

The third example is the Falls of Rauros, which carried away Boromir’s funeral boat. Tolkien leaves it ambivalent whether or not the boat continued to travel downriver and into the ocean, but in any case the river Anduin, like the Withywindle mentioned above, takes on connotations of one of the rivers of the ancient underworld, this time the Styx.

Water with an ornamental function

We have two instances of water used in a purely ornamental function: The spring that emerges from the stone-carved horse’s head in front of the Golden Hall in Edoras and the fountain in the court of the White Tree in Minas Tirith. Here, water represents urban refinement and civilization. The water is tamed and subdued; it does exactly what people want it to do. It is a witness to the skill and achievements of Man.

The Water Sprite

In Goldberry, Tolkien has given us an anthropomorphic personification of water. While it remains unclear what her exact origin is (A Maia? An Elf? A nature spirit?), her role as an incarnation of water is very obvious. Water imagery abounds in the chapter “In the House of Tom Bombadil:” Goldberry’s hair “ripples”, her colours are silver and green and she sits among a collection of water-lilies. Tom wears clothes the colour of “rain-washed forget-me-nots.” The water served in Bombadil’s house has the effect of wine. Merry dreams about a flood. It rains almost during the entire stay of the hobbits, and Bombadil refers to this as “Goldberry’s wash-day” – a reference to the purifying quality of water, another classic motif.

Conclusion

I claim by no means that the examples listed above are comprehensive. They are simply the ones that strike me as the most prominent and significant. Tolkien uses the motif of water in a variety of ways, and creatively utilizes traditional topoi in this context to support the metastructure of the novel. Many of these uses are associated with change: Water as a barrier indicates a change at the moment of crossing, water as a weapon and water as a form of magic both bring about changes. In line with this, the most numerous and most prominent bodies of water in the novel are rivers, i.e. moving water. It could be said that water in LOTR represents a dynamic concept that both embodies and induces change. Change is, of course, one of the main themes of the novel.

There is an implicit affiliation of water with the “good side”, which may or may not echo the presence of Ulmo in Middle-earth. However, this identification remains ambivalent, as the examples of dangerous or defiled water and water associated with death show. Overall, water as a motif in LOTR is in my opinion a good example of how Tolkien uses the physical landscape to construct the metastructure and illuminate the underlying themes of the novel.

Aragorn – a feminist’s nightmare?

This essay has annoyed some people in a way that I did not intend. Please read this carefully. I am not, repeat: not saying that Tolkien was a misogynist. I am asking, and this is a serious question, whether he had a purpose in mind when he portrayed Aragorn (and Aragorn only!) in this way. Dreamflower keeps reminding me that Tolkien mostly identified with Faramir. Aragorn and Faramir are two different, contrasting models of manhood, and one might wonder why Faramir gets the woman the author initially intended for Aragorn. I mostly wrote this piece to stimulate some debate and would be interested to hear people's views.

MEFA 2010 First Place

Women are far and few between in Lord of the Rings, and Tolkien shows us little of their lives and concerns.  That is understandable, given that the tale deals chiefly with war, in which women would have had no active part, and I wouldn’t shout “misogyny” for that reason. But Aragorn! Aragorn’s attitude to women simply sucks.

Éowyn, in spite of her infatuation with him, sees this very clearly: “All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.” (ROTK, The Passing of the Grey Company) This was spoken in bitterness, but it wasn’t far off the mark. Throughout the story, Aragorn indicates that to his mind women are serviceable and decorative objects. Aragorn may be gallant at times, but even in his gallantry it is evident that he thinks of women as things. Let’s consider two key passages:

In the appendix A of ROTK we hear of the first meeting between Aragorn and Arwen. What does he have to say? “Often it is seen that in dangerous days men hide their chief treasure. Yet I marvel at Elrond and your brothers; for though I have dwelt in this house from childhood, I have heard no word of you. * How comes it that we have never met before? Surely your father has not kept you locked in his hoard?” While the comparison between Arwen and Elrond’s treasure hoard is intended to be flattering, it shows that Aragorn thinks of her as an object in the possession of her father and, to a lesser extent, her brothers. That she has been locked away is the only reason he can think of for not having met her before; the idea that she might have an independent live doesn’t even occur to him. *

He makes a similar comment, this time about Éowyn, in the chapter Many Partings in ROTK. When Éomer announces the engagement of Éowyn and Faramir, Aragorn says: “No niggard are you, Éomer, to give thus to Gondor the fairest thing in your realm!” He refers to Éowyn as a “thing” that is transferred from the possession of her brother to the possession of her husband. This about the woman who slew the witch king! Note also that the only quality he mentions here is “fair”. Éowyn’s courage and success in battle do not concern him, only her looks. Likewise when Éowyn is in the Houses of Healing, he is distressed by her state of injury “for she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens.” (ROTK, The Steward and the King).  

Oh, yes, beauty. When he first meets Arwen, he is captivated by her beauty, and when they say their last farewell, he calls her “fairest in the world.” In one hundred-and-twenty-two years of marriage, he doesn’t seem to have learned to appreciate any other quality in her. Faramir admires Éowyn’s valour and is touched by her vulnerability, Sam’s affection for Rosie appears to be based on a long-standing friendship, but for Aragorn it’s a pretty face all the way.

Faramir looks forward to his marriage with Éowyn in terms of what they will achieve together in the restoration of Ithilien (“...let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes.” ROTK, The Steward and the King). But Aragorn never gives any indication that Arwen will contribute to the rebuilding of Gondor in any way apart from providing him with an heir. Her purpose, apart from being breeding stock, is to be decorative.

Other women don’t fare much better, either. In ROTK, The Houses of Healing, Aragorn mocks Ioreth as being a chatterbox (“run as quick as your tongue”), because she has dared to speak five or six consecutive sentences in his presence, most of which were concerned with ascertaining she was thinking of the correct herb.  Given Ioreth’s age, it also seems very insensitive to tell her to run.

In appendix A we hear that on leaving Rivendell, Aragorn “took leave lovingly of Elrond”, but to his mother he only “said farewell” along with “the house of Elrond”. Why is the foster father thus distinguished, but the mother not? Why did Gilraen not get a loving farewell, but was lumped in with all the other folk living at Imladris as if she was of no special significance to Aragorn? When Gilraen, feeling the approach of death, says: “I have given hope to the Dunedain, I have kept no hope for myself,” does she maybe indicate that while Aragorn is set to fulfil his destiny, he has failed her personally as a son? He does go away and leaves her to die alone, without making any arrangements to provide for her comfort and company.

How is Aragorn’s manner towards Galadriel, the most powerful female in Middle-earth and indeed one of the most powerful people full stop?  He speaks to her in a businesslike tone that is at least not condescending, but shows no particular reverence. When Galadriel gifts him with the sheath and asks if she can do anything else for him, his reply is: “Lady, you know all my desire, and long have you held in keeping the only treasure I seek. Yet it is not yours to give me, even if you would.” I note as an aside that once again Arwen is spoken of as an object (“treasure”) and as not being in charge of her own life (“held in keeping”). Most crucially, though, this reply strikes me as rude, because it means as much as You have nothing to give me that I care to have. As if Galadriel hadn’t just provided him and the whole fellowship with shelter, food, clothing, transport and some handy magical gadgets. Then he continues as follows: “O Lady of Lorien of whom were sprung Celebrian and Arwen Evenstar. What praise could I say more?” This to Galadriel! With all she has done and achieved in several millennia, Aragorn thinks the best he can say about her is that she has a very pretty granddaughter.

But let us return to Éowyn. In the conversation between Aragorn and Eowyn, it is the man who defines (and thinks it is his right to define) what the woman's duty is, and it is the woman who questions his right to do so and insists on her right to define such things for herself. She actually asserts her right to decide whether or not duty must be the overriding principle by which she constructs her self-concept, in defiance of the man who tries to put duty down as the law for her. Eowyn argues that while the task might have been given to a man, it has de facto been given to her. The operative term here is “been given.” It wasn’t her own choice, but a role appointed to her, by men. What Aragorn does is demand that she submits to the role chosen for her by others. What Eowyn does is demand that she would choose her role herself.

The other thing that Eowyn questions is why it is considered a man's duty to ride into battle and a woman's duty to "wait on faltering feet." She rightly points out that men have chosen for their duty that which gives them honour and social status, whereas the duties assigned to women (by men) are those for which they cannot expect to receive much in the way of a reward and acknowledgement.

So, Eowyn gives us a whopping speech that would count as at least proto-feminist and - and this is the crucial point - the author vindicates her by the way the plot develops. If she had listened to Aragorn, who'd have slain the witch king? In a way, Tolkien includes with this plot line the very discourse of feminism that dominated much of the early part of the twentieth century. Aragorn represents the traditional, paternalist view, Eowyn the liberal, feminist one. But by turning the story the way he did, I think Tolkien is taking sides with Eowyn. If he had really wanted to endorse the paternalist stance, he would have made her fail. But she not only succeeds in battle, but also in romance, and her romance, not Aragorn’s, is the one that is filled with warmth and depth.

Did Tolkien mean to portray Aragorn as sexist? Is it just chance? Is it the standard fantasy/fairy tale cliché? Or is Tolkien himself making a stand for a more progressive model of manhood and womanhood, by contrasting the “traditional” pair Arwen/Aragorn with the “modern” pair Eowyn/Faramir? Can anybody find an example where Aragorn does speak of women more respectfully? Does anybody want to hit me over the head for criticising their favourite character? Go ahead!

* As a side note, it strikes me as odd that Aragorn has never even heard Arwen being mentioned. Surely her father and brother talked of her occasionally? "Here's a letter from your sister," something like that?

Just in case anyone feels like saying that LOTR was written before the feminist movement: Mary Wollstonecraft's "Vindication of the Rights of Woman" was published in 1792. The first feminist mass movement arose during the last third of the nineteenth century.

Creativity as an Emulation of the Creator. A Christian Perspective on Tolkien

When I first read LOTR as a very pious teenager, I was slightly troubled or at least disappointed by the apparent absence of religion from this world that fascinated me so much. Reading the Silmarillion a bit later appeased that unease to a certain degree, and later in life, when I had developed more liberal religious views as well as a more sophisticated attitude towards fiction, it didn’t seem to matter very much anymore. But recently I have come across various attempts to identify explicitly or at least implicitly Christian elements in the works of Tolkien, and I think the idea deserves closer scrutiny.

There appears to be a general notion among some people that because Tolkien was a devout Catholic, his work would have to contain Christian elements almost by default. I will argue that this is not the case and that such an endeavour does not do justice either to Christian theology nor to the works of Tolkien.

The most obvious and in my opinion the most misleading incident of this endeavour is the identification of Eru Ilúvatar with the Judaeo-Christian god.

The fact that there is a One God mentioned in the Silmarillion does not in itself indicate that this God is identical with or even in any way similar to the god of the biblical tradition. We need to ask what this god is like in order to establish his relationship with the biblical god.

Eru Ilúvatar creates a world out of nothing, just like the biblical god in Genesis 1. However, he then leaves the care of his creation to the Ainur and concerns himself no further with the fate of his world. While he creates sentient beings, there is no mentioning that he relates personally to any of those “Children of Ilúvatar.” This makes him a deistic god. The biblical god, though, is a theistic god and his Hebrew name translates roughly as “I shall be there for you.” His most striking feature is his passionate desire to relate to the people he created. Biblical tradition shows God again and again as actively involved in human history, relating lovingly and intensely to individual human beings and taking sides in conflict by standing up for the downtrodden. He is a god who has a lot to say to his creatures. There is not a trace of this god discernable in Eru Ilúvatar. If anything, the divine setting presented in the Silmarillion structurally resembles that of Hinduism, with Eru Ilúvatar as Brahman and the Ainur as the various deva who can interact with humans in the shape of an avatar. It does not matter if Tolkien himself intended Eru Ilúvatar as a representative of the Christian god – in this case the theologian’s finding is that the intention has not succeeded. Historically, it is not uncommon that the Christian god has been described in abstract and sterile philosophical terms by deliberately or naively ignoring the concrete biblical portrait. Eru Ilúvatar is such an abstract and sterile philosophical concept. Tolkien may or may not have meant for him to “be” the Judaeo-Christian god. But he isn’t, because he does not relate. Neither do the Ainur for most of the time. This is, incidentally, the explanation for the absence of religious observance in LOTR. People don’t pray, because basically people and God don’t talk to each other.

A second, apparently obvious line of interpretation is that Frodo is a messianic figure. This seems, on the surface, logical. Frodo is, after all, willing to give his life in order to save the world. But this identification works only with a fairly generalized, popular understanding of the term “messiah.” On closer inspection Frodo fits neither the Jewish concept of the Messiah, not the reinterpretation of this concept in the New Testament.

Frodo takes on the quest for a variety of reasons, including generosity, a sense of obligation and a sense of inevitability. The quest requires him to fulfill a physical task in order to remove a physical danger and his success means that the world can stay pretty much the way it is, just a bit nicer and without the threat of destruction. The biblical concepts of the Messiah and the messianic age are, however, at core concepts of radical transformation. Whether one looks at the Old Testament vision of the Messiah as a military and political liberator or the more spiritual messianic concept of the New Testament, the crucial point is that both imply the establishment of an egalitarian Utopia. In LOTR, however, the hierarchical structures of society remain intact after the defeat of Sauron and there is no indication that the boundaries of race, class and gender are going to be transcended (other than possibly in an entirely private sort of way, like the friendship between Frodo and Sam.) Frodo neither ushers in an alternative, transformatory reality, nor does his quest relate to people’s spiritual salvation. He is therefore not a Messiah figure in the biblical sense. Rather, he is a hero, albeit an untypical one. Aragorn, who as an army leader and later a king at least fits the Old Testament model of the Messiah, likewise brings neither spiritual salvation nor a transformation of the social order. On the contrary, his reign reinstates and confirms the superiority of the Men of Numenorean descend over the “lesser” men.

There is no concept of spiritual salvation in LOTR, which is another Christian idea that one might have expected to find. On the contrary, Middle-earth features a range of creatures that are explicitly excluded from redemption: orcs, trolls and all those other “servants of the enemy.” While there is a certain notion of compassion and forgiveness represented in Gandalf and his hope for Gollum’s recovery and in Aragorn’s attempts to make peace with the Haradrim, it should be noted that in LOTR by and large evil is by no means overcome with love and goodness, but defeated with the sword. The enemies are neither redeemed nor converted, they are killed.

One might try to make a case for Christian morality playing a role in LOTR, because there is, after all, the conflict between Good and Evil and the issue of temptation. However, neither of these are actually specifically Christian. Dualism comes into many religions, especially those of the Western tradition. Those elements that would identify the conflict in LOTR as specifically Christian are again absent, in particular, as I said above, the idea that Evil is overcome by gentleness, love, forgiveness and an ethic of turning the other cheek. Throwing the One Ring into Mount Doom was a clever move, but is strictly speaking an act of destruction, and beyond that the only answer the people of Middle-earth seem to have to the threat of evil is to meet it with violence. This has, of course, to do with the fact that in LOTR, Evil is embodied in the fundamentally Other, whereas Christian ethics see Evil as a tendency within ourselves.

Another point is to look at what it is that is perceived as Evil. A central aspect of biblical morality, which is particularly prominent in the New Testament, is the question of money, greed and economy in general. Contrary to popular belief, New Testament morality has very little interest in our sexual conduct, but very much interest in how we handle our money. But we never hear of Sauron or Saruman piling up riches, simply because the whole issue of money and economy is one of the very few aspects of Tolkien’s world that is decidedly underdeveloped. Hence a core aspect of Christian morality – the ­core aspect some might argue – plays no role in LOTR, because the related area of life seems to have been of little interest to Tolkien, at least in his role as a story teller. Desire for Power and cruelty are the hallmark of Evil in LOTR, while greed plays a minor, if any role, and exploitative economic structures (most of Middle-earth seems to operate on some kind of feudal system) are taken for granted rather than challenged.

But surely, I hear many readers say, the idea of the afterlife is a very Christian one? However, that is also incorrect. Strictly speaking, the soul going to heaven is not a Christian concept, but one that has developed in Western societies under the influence of the Gnosis and of Greek dualist thinking. The biblical tradition does not imply the dualism of body and soul. Christian doctrine, whether liberal Christians like it or not (I don’t) is the complete death of the entire person and the complete resurrection of the entire person.

So, yes, there is a god in Tolkien’s work, and an afterlife, and a morality, but none of these are specifically Christian. Rather, such elements are standard fittings for most religions (and of most fictional worlds!), , so at the most one might say that Tolkien’s work is somewhat religious, but certainly not representative of the Judaeo-Christian tradition. Having drawn a blank in the areas of concept of God, concept of salvation, religious observance and morality, what’s left? There are, indeed, a few Christian motifs dotted around in LOTR, most prominently the “resurrection” of Gandalf. But these are just motifs, traditional building blocks for the story teller, and Tolkien uses far more Pagan or Classical motifs than Christian ones. They cannot be taken as a proof for a specifically Christian theme or message in LOTR, otherwise one would have to say by the same token that Tolkien was promoting Paganism.

Yet Tolkien was clearly a very religious man, and it is hard to imagine that he would dedicate the work of a lifetime to a project that did not in some way reflect his faith. I believe, though, that we need to look at his work from quite a different angle in order to see that reflection. Tolkien, as he emphasizes in the foreword to The Fellowship of the Ring, had a thorough dislike for allegory. This distinguishes him clearly from C.S.Lewis and wards off any attempts at allegorical interpretation of his work. It seems therefore unreasonable to look for Christian aspects in the plot, themes or characters of LOTR. That is not an endeavour he would have appreciated. His own perspective on the issue was more profound and, I think, more inspiring.

One of the central tenets of the Judaeo-Christian tradition is that humans are made in the image of the creator. This belief comes with a number of implications, of which only one interests me in this context. If humans are made in the image of the creator, it means that humans, by their very nature, are creators, too. It is by being creative that we emulate God and fulfil our god-likeness. Tolkien understood this and it is this understanding that provides the link between his faith and his work.

The term Tolkien uses for this process is “sub-creation.” Because we are made in the image of a creator, it can be seen as an act of worship to create and add to the overall variety and beauty of God’s world. In the creation of Arda, a complete world of great beauty, detail and variety, Tolkien has proved himself a creator of the highest standard. His world is fully furnished with its own geology, geography, history, mythology, sociology, flora, fauna, a plethora of cultures and, of course, a number of original languages. It is a world that has both breadth and depth. Moreover it is, in line with Genesis 1, a creation by the word.

When I was a teenager, I collected photographs of landscapes that I felt resembled places Tolkien describes in LOTR. I read somewhere that Tolkien fans are more likely to pin a map of Middle-earth on their bedroom wall than a picture of Frodo. I think that says a lot. The world he created, its landscapes and cultures, the sweeping vistas he describes in his prose, have always been the most compelling aspect of his work to me. His characters, plots and use of language all have some very obvious flaws and I doubt that LOTR would have had the same success if it hadn’t been for the appeal of Middle-earth as a place. I think it is not by chance that the narrative frame for the plot of LOTR is a journey through this place. I also believe the popularity of the LOTR fandom with fanfiction writers has much to do with the fact that Tolkien’s is one of the most attractive and inspiring sandboxes around.

One might argue that many people who are neither Christians nor otherwise religious are also great creators. This is true. But the claim of the Judaeo-Christian tradition is that all humans are made in the image of the creator, not only those who are believers. Creativity is considered one of the hallmarks of the human condition, which applies to believers and non-believers alike. The fact that non-believers are also creators confirms rather than disproves this claim. What then, one might ask, is the difference between the creativity of the believer and of the non-believer?  The difference, I think, lies in the interpretative concept of the god-like nature of creativity and in the conscious effort to contribute with one’s creativity to the overall beauty and variety of God’s creation, much in the way Johann Sebastian Bach dedicated his music to the greater glory of God.

There may be weaknesses in the concept of sub-creation, but on the whole I think that not only does the notion of the author as a believer emulating the creator describe the religious aspect of Tolkien’s work better than any other explanation I’ve come across, but it is also encouraging for those of us who, like myself, are Christians but do not wish to write explicitly or even implicitly about Christian themes. As long as we create, and care for our creations, we’re doing just fine.

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Further reading:

http://www.cslewisinstitute.org/cslewis/downing_theology.htm

http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=1607