In The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien presents us with several clear examples of the relationship between personal choice, power, and morality. Indeed, the story of the One Ring, and Frodo’s quest to destroy it, can be seen as a modern representation of a problem in ethical thinking originally posed by the ancient Greek philosopher Plato in his classic dialogue, the Republic. Plato was also concerned with the relationship between power and morality. He tells us the story of Gyges, who finds a ring of magical power. The ring causes its wearer to be invisible. Gyges uses the ring to enter the palace, seduce the queen, and kill the king. Plato’s question to us is whether or not one should be a moral person even if one has the power to be immoral with impunity. Does immense power destroy the need to be a moral person?
It is interesting to view Tolkien’s tales of the rings as a variation of this old Platonic moral problem. Sauron’s One Ring is similar to the ring of Gyges in that it gives its possessor the power to act beyond normal limits.1 The characters who seek to use the One Ring believe that many of their desires can be satisfied, without regard to the interests or needs of any other creature. The story of Sauron’s Ring is a representation of the idea that unlimited power cannot co-exist with morality; the Ring represents the idea that absolute power is in conflict with behavior that respects the wishes and needs of others. But the use of Tolkien’s Ring is a matter of personal choice. One does not have to follow the example of Plato’s villain, Gyges; all beings are capable of rejecting the use of a Ring of Power.
Tolkien’s characters react to the possibility of possessing the vast power of the One Ring in different ways. Gollum is utterly destroyed by his desire for the Ring. Boromir is seduced by the thought of wielding unlimited power for the good of Gondor, but Galadriel rejects the use of the Ring altogether. Sam and Frodo each use the Ring in a limited way and thus avoid its worst effects; but while Frodo succumbs to its power, Sam, like Galadriel, ultimately rejects it. Tom Bombadil appears to transcend the Ring’s power entirely. These characters and their relationship to the use of the One Ring thus reveal to us several different answers to the question posed by Plato. We can make the personal choice to reject unlimited power and to act by the principles of morality.
Let’s examine the arguments and the stories in more detail.
Plato’s Challenge of Immorality
Plato’s long dialogue, the Republic, is concerned with one central issue: the justification of the morally good life. “Why be moral?” is the crucial question that must be answered. The participants in the main section of the dialogue (Books II–X) are Socrates, who defends the importance of the moral life, and Glaucon and Adimantus, who play devil’s advocate and defend the life of immorality. Plato sets himself an imposing task, for Glaucon and Adimantus present the strongest possible case for the life of immorality—can we justify choosing a moral life even when the immoral life is more rewarding? If an immoral life leads to wealth, power, and fame while a morally virtuous life leads to poverty, powerlessness, and abuse, then why be moral?
It is during this argument that Glaucon recounts the story of the shepherd Gyges and his discovery of a magical ring that makes the bearer invisible. As we have seen, Gyges uses the ring for evil purposes—he seduces the queen of the kingdom, slays the king, and becomes himself the ruler of the land. For Glaucon, this is what all men would do. He imagines that there are two such rings of invisibility, one possessed by a just or moral man, and one by an unjust or immoral man. Even the just man would succumb to the power offered by this ring. “No one could be found . . . of such adamantine temper as to persevere in justice and endure to refrain his hands from the possessions of others . . . though he might with impunity take what he wished . . . and in all other things conduct himself among mankind as the equal of a god” (Republic II, 360b–c).
For Glaucon, people are morally good only because they cannot act with impunity—they fear punishment for their evil actions. For any person, the best possible world would be one in which the individual could act without any fear of being punished, acting with unlimited power to satisfy his own desires regardless of the evil effects on others. The worst possible world, in contrast, would be one in which the individual would be abused by others with no power to respond. Morality is thus a compromise between these two possible extremes: the rational people in a community agree to limit their own selfish behavior and not harm others. We agree not to abuse other people and in turn society protects us from potential abusers. Glaucon argues that there is thus nothing really good about the morally good life. If we had the power to act as we choose without fear of punishment we would not be morally good. The question “Why be moral?” is thus answered with the cynical response of the immoralist: the moral life is the life chosen by the weak.
Plato seeks to refute this cynical conclusion and justify the value of the moral life. The argument is long, but the essential point of Plato’s response is simple: the immoral life is a worse life than a morally virtuous life because ultimately the immoral life corrupts the soul of the immoralist. The immoral life leads to a fundamental unhappiness: mental anguish, the loss of friends and loved ones, and emotional bankruptcy. All the power in the world cannot compensate for the psychological emptiness of an immoral life. The moral person, in contrast, lives a life of integrity and personal fulfillment, even if he or she is limited in power, wealth, and fame. The moral person is at peace with himself.
For Plato, then, the moral person rejects the use of a Ring of Power. The moral person prefers to live a life of inner peace and integrity, a life guided by moral principles, not a life of power and the mere satisfaction of self-interest. Using the story of a magical ring that gives its possessor unlimited power, Plato is able to illustrate and answer one of the basic questions of philosophy: how should I live my life?
The Temptation of the One Ring
With this ancient challenge to the moral life as background, we can see how Tolkien’s characters demonstrate various responses to the question posed by Plato: would a just person be corrupted by the possibility of almost unlimited power? Through these different responses, Tolkien shows us—not by philosophical argument, but by the thoughts and actions of “living” characters—why we should be moral beings, why we should live a virtuous life. But Tolkien’s stories about the One Ring actually improve and augment Plato’s argument, for Tolkien’s Ring explicitly corrupts the souls of its possessors. The use of the One Ring corrupts the desires, interests, and beliefs of those who wield it. Plato argues that such corruption will occur, but Tolkien shows us this corruption through the thoughts and actions of his characters. Moreover, Tolkien also shows us the difficulties involved in living a life of virtue: there are burdens to be undertaken and sacrifices that must be made to fulfill the requirements of morality.
The character that most obviously illustrates Plato’s argument that the unjust life leads to nothing but unhappiness is Gollum, who is invariably described as a miserable creature, afraid of everything, friendless, homeless, constantly seeking his “precious” Ring. Gollum is the mortal being who possessed the Ring for the longest period of time and he seems almost completely corrupted by the desire for it—every action he takes in the book, even guiding Frodo and Sam on their journey into Mordor, is designed to regain the Ring. It is during the long journey through the barren lands surrounding Mordor that we see the true disintegration of Gollum’s personality, all caused by the desire of the Ring. Gollum constantly talks to himself, for his soul is split in two: one part is Sméagol, the hobbit he was before the Ring came into his possession, and one half is Gollum, the creature whose only desire is to possess the Ring again. The only reason that Gollum cooperates with Frodo and Sam is that the two halves (what Sam calls “Slinker and Stinker”) have made a truce: “neither wanted the Enemy to get the Ring” (TT, p. 274). Frodo recognizes the immense power that the thought of the Ring has on Gollum’s mind. Earlier, he made Gollum swear on the Ring that he would be a faithful guide (TT, p. 250), but soon
after, near the Black Gate of Mordor, Gollum was in “great distress” at the thought that Frodo would lose the Ring:
“Don’t take the Precious to Him! . . . Keep it, nice master, and be kind to Sméagol. Don’t let Him have it. Or go away, go to nice places, and give it back to little Sméagol. . . . Sméagol will keep it safe; he will do lots of good, especially to nice hobbits.” (TT, p. 273)
This outburst by Gollum prompts Frodo to get to the heart of the matter, to describe to Gollum the peril he faces, the danger of losing his soul. Gollum swore a promise by what he calls the Precious. The Ring will not only hold Gollum to this promise, but will seek a way to twist it to Gollum’s own undoing. “Already you are being twisted,” Frodo tells Gollum (TT, p. 276). And then, with a strange prescience of the climax of the story, Frodo states that if the need arises, he would himself put on the Ring and command Gollum to cast himself into the fire.
Gollum is thus a clear example of the corruption of the soul and the loss of a meaningful life caused by the overwhelming desire for the Ring of Power. But Gollum is not a complete example of the problem posed by Plato, for we do not see the moment when he makes the choice to use the Ring. For Plato, as well as for Tolkien, the crucial moment in each character’s story is the moment in which they are tempted to use the Ring. It is that moment of choice that determines a character’s fate, that moment of choice that bears a remarkable similarity to Plato’s story of the shepherd Gyges and his decision to use the ring of invisibility. Gollum’s moment of choice occurred long before the opening pages of The Lord of the Rings—even long before the beginning of The Hobbit. Although Gandalf recounts the story—how Sméagol kills his friend Déagol to gain possession of the Ring (FR, p. 58)—we do not live through Sméagol’s original moral crisis and decision. In Gollum instead we see merely the final result of the life led in the pursuit of power, a life of misery and corruption.
Boromir is the character who most closely fits the model of Glaucon’s moral argument concerning the shepherd Gyges—the virtuous man corrupted by the temptation of power. Tolkien depicts Boromir as a man of action—noble, good-hearted, and brave—who is bewildered by the complexities of the plan to destroy the One Ring. During the Council of Elrond, Boromir asks why those assembled should not think that the Ring “has come into our hands to serve us in the very hour of need . . . . Wielding it the Free Lords of the Free may surely defeat the Enemy. . . . Let the Ring be your weapon. . . . Take it and go forth to victory!” (FR, p. 300) Boromir wants to use the One Ring for good purposes. He sees nothing wrong with using the Ring to satisfy the desires of the free peoples of Middle-earth (and of himself) to defeat the evil of Sauron.
Boromir’s idea to use the Ring is rejected by Elrond—and the rest of the members of the Council—in terms that evoke Plato’s argument in the Republic: “We cannot use the Ruling Ring . . . . It . . . is altogether evil . . . . The very desire of it corrupts the heart” (FR, p. 300). Using the power of evil ultimately destroys the soul (“corrupts the heart”).
Boromir seems to be persuaded, and throughout the journey south with the Fellowship he does not talk about wielding the Ring for the forces of good. But in the climax to The Fellowship of the Ring, Boromir is overcome by the temptation to use the Ring in the war against Mordor. He secretly follows Frodo into the woods near Amon Hen in order to convince him to bring the Ring to Gondor. Yet Boromir’s words betray him, as he begins to envision himself as a great warrior in command of the Ring and of all the forces against Mordor. First, he argues that the Ring will save his people, but it soon becomes clear to Frodo that there are more selfish motives at work. “It is not yours save by unhappy chance,” Boromir says. “It might have been mine. It should be mine. Give it to me!” (FR, p. 449) Boromir attempts to take the Ring by force, but Frodo slips the Ring onto his finger, turns invisible, and escapes.
Boromir redeems his heroic nature by defending Merry and Pippin against the attacking orcs, and as he dies he confesses to Aragorn that he attempted to take the Ring from Frodo. The corruption caused by the Ring is thus not permanent, but perhaps only because Boromir ultimately had so little contact with the Ring. Nevertheless, Boromir is a perfect example of the immoralist’s challenge that Glaucon proposes in Plato’s dialogue: Boromir is the just man who finds a Ring of Power and is unable to resist the temptation to act with impunity, as if he were a god. The desire for the power of the Ring so corrupts his soul that he accuses Frodo of being an evil ally of the Dark Lord. The ethical lesson is clear: a Ring of Power corrupts even the person who is brave, strong, and virtuous.
Who can avoid corruption? Before the temptation and death of Boromir, Tolkien has shown us the temptation of Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlórien. Galadriel is one of the most powerful elves of Middle-earth, and Frodo offers to give her the One Ring. Frodo’s motives for the offer are complex: he is afraid of the journey ahead and worried that he may not be able to accomplish his task, but he also has just realized that the destruction of the Ring will lead to the end of the elvish presence on Middle-earth. Perhaps if Galadriel accepts the Ring, the evil of Mordor can be defeated and the elves saved. “You are wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,” says Frodo. “I will give you the One Ring, if you ask for it. It is too great a matter for me” (FR, p. 410).
At first Galadriel laughs, for Frodo is tempting her with the greatest temptation imaginable, and she sees the irony in her powerlessness, for if she really wanted the Ring, she could simply take it from Frodo by force. But to take the Ring by force would be to act in an evil way; it would show that the Ring had already corrupted her. “I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer,” she tells Frodo. Galadriel has pondered for many long years what she might do if the Ring should fall into her hands. “The evil that was devised long ago works on in many ways . . . . Would not that have been a noble deed to set to the credit of his Ring, if I had taken it by force or fear from my guest?”
Now she has no need to take it by force. Frodo is freely offering it to her. So Galadriel continues:
“You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!” (FR, p. 410)
At this point Galadriel lifts up her hand, and from the elvish Ring that she wears comes forth a great light. “She stood before Frodo, seeming tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful” (FR, p. 410). It is here that Frodo—and we the readers—see what Galadriel might be if she were to accept the Ring. A being of beauty and power, impossible not to love and not to fear. But Galadriel passes the “test” that Frodo unwittingly presents to her, for she refuses to take the One Ring:
Then she let her hand fall . . . . she was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad.
“I pass the test,” she said. “I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.” (FR, pp. 410–11)
Galadriel refuses the One Ring. She remains true to her principles, to her integrity as an individual, to herself—she will “remain Galadriel.” Through her, Tolkien shows us that a strong and virtuous person can refuse the temptation of immense power, even at a great personal cost; for Galadriel knows that by refusing to accept the power of the Ring she will be helpless to maintain the elvish presence in Middle-earth. Galadriel thus represents one answer to the immoralist’s challenge of Plato. She refuses to let the possibility of power corrupt her soul.
Boromir and Galadriel demonstrate two different responses to the problem posed by Plato concerning the relationship between power, personal choice, and morality. With these two characters, unlike Gollum, we see the actual moment of choice. But although the responses of Boromir and Galadriel are different, one aspect of their choices is the same: neither ever physi
cally possesses the Ring. What of the characters that do choose to use the Ring? Do their actions help us understand the relationship between power, corruption, and morality? Here we must turn to Tom Bombadil, Frodo, and Sam.
The Use of the Ring
Perhaps the most interesting being that uses the One Ring is Tom Bombadil, the Master of the Old Forest. Bombadil is, unfortunately, cut from the movie version of The Fellowship of the Ring, but readers of the book will remember the arduous journey of the four hobbits through the Old Forest, and their eventual rescue (two rescues, actually) by Bombadil, a being who appears to have complete command over all the living things of the Forest. Who is Bombadil? No clear explanation is ever given in The Lord of the Rings. He is not a wizard, nor an elf, nor a mortal man. His wife, Goldberry, describes him to Frodo quite simply: “He is, as you have seen him . . . . He is the Master of wood, water, and hill” (FR, p. 140). And Tom describes himself as “Eldest . . . here before the river and the trees.” He remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn, made paths before the Big People and saw the little People arriving. “He knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless—before the Dark Lord came from Outside” (FR, pp. 148–49). Tom is called “Iarwain Ben-adar” by Elrond during the Council, a name that means “oldest and fatherless” (FR, p. 297).
Whoever he is, he is surely one of the most powerful and benign characters that the hobbits meet in their journey across Middle-earth. In the midst of their conversations together, Tom asks to see the “precious Ring.” Frodo, “to his own astonishment,” draws out the Ring from its hiding place and simply hands it over to Tom. Tom laughs as he holds the Ring, looks through it with one eye, offering the hobbits “a vision, both comical and alarming, of his bright blue eye gleaming through a circle of gold.” But then the most extraordinary event occurs: Tom puts on the Ring and does not disappear. It has no power over him, and he gains no power from it. He does a quick magic trick with the Ring, spinning it in the air and causing it to momentarily vanish, so that when Frodo gets the Ring back he is a bit perturbed. Is it the real Ring? Frodo puts the Ring on, and vanishes from sight—but not from the sight of Tom. Tom sees Frodo even as he tries to leave while wearing the Ring. He calls out: “Come Frodo, there! Where be you a-going? Old Tom Bombadil’s not as blind as that yet” (FR, p. 151).
The Lord of the Rings and Philosophy Page 2
