As last century wound to a close, author and scholar Tom Shippey published J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century, one of the most important works in the field of Tolkien studies. In the book, Shippey argues that Tolkien’s Middle-earth writings offer “a deeply serious response to what will be seen in the end as the major issues of his century.” Despite its settings inspired by ancient and medieval cultures—or in the case of the Shire, by pre-industrial England—he contends that Tolkien’s exploration of contemporary issues reveals an author who lived through the heart of the 20th century. In answer to the either-or question of whether The Lord of the Rings is timeless or contemporary, Shippey’s answer is that it is both at once: “While I remain convinced that Tolkien cannot be properly discussed without some considerable awareness of the ancient works and the ancient world which he tried to revive, . . . he needs also to be looked at and interpreted within his own time, as an ‘author of the [twentieth] century’ . . . responding to the issues and anxieties of that century.”
Agreeing with Shippey’s conclusion, I might add that Tolkien drew specifically on ancient Christian and biblical wisdom, while applying it to concerns of his century. One reason I continue to read and write about the works of Tolkien is that these largely remain concerns of this present century as well, and thus that wisdom is as important as ever. And as unpopular as ever. As Shippey also notes: “Tolkien’s answers will not appeal to everyone, and are wildly at odds with those given even by many of his contemporaries.”
Before looking at the biblical wisdom that undergirds Tolkien’s work and how it applies to our modern situation, it’s worth briefly considering some characteristics of our modern situation, including a few major issues to which Tolkien was responding. Of course, even a summary of modern cultures and values is a hopelessly broad topic. Yet a quick reference to a few items will help put into context something of Tolkien’s response—and what we might learn from it. One good place to start in considering the 20th century is the rise of fascism, a central feature of which is a dictatorial leader who uses military might to suppress opposition. Now history has been full of tyrants. Emperors and empires are nothing new. You can read about them in the Bible as well as secular history. They existed in Egypt at the time of the Exodus, in the Syrian, Babylonian, and Persian empires, and not infrequently in Israel. In The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien presents such an ancient tyrant in the cruel figure of Sauron who rules over Mordor with aspirations to rule all Middle-earth.
But here is the thing: none of these ancient tyrants needed to win popular approval or appeal to the masses. They ruled by sheer force. What makes fascism different is that the dictatorial rule is actually welcomed by the masses, coming as it does with ultranationalist (and generally racist) rhetoric, promising to fix societal problems by identifying and blaming scapegoats. And one of the tools of fascist governments is the use of military or police force for oppression even of its own people. Yet fascism doesn’t initially come as a conquering army, or as a sorcerer with a powerful ring, but as a political movement. Consider the 20th century examples of Nazi Germany under Hitler and the U.S.S.R. under Lenin and then Stalin. Even the word fascism originated in the 20th century not as a pejorative term, but as a symbol of a popular political movement (with Mussolini in Post-WWI Italy) derived from an ancient symbol of the authority of the Roman empire. Fascism promises prosperity—at least to a select subset of the population who yield their freedom in order to increase wealth and comfort at the expense of the scapegoats.
In that way, Tolkien’s Saruman comes much closer to fascism than does Sauron, at least in his rhetoric in The Lord of the Rings as he tries to persuade Gandalf that they could make Middle-earth a better place (for some portion of society) through the use of the domineering military power of the One Ring: “We can bide our time, we can keep our thoughts in our hearts, deploring maybe evils done by the way, but approving the high and ultimate purpose: Knowledge, Rule, Order; all the things that we have so far striven in vain to accomplish, hindered rather than helped by our weak or idle friends. There need not be, there would not be, any real change in our designs, only in our means.” Unlike Sauron, Saruman doesn’t have enough power on his own to force his will on Middle-earth. Therefore, although he is not quite a populist tyrant like Hitler or Mussolini, he does use modern propaganda to argue for his agenda, trying to enlist Gandalf’s participation by appealing to knowledge and order, while scapegoating “weak” and “idle” people (both common racist tropes) who stand in the way of his so-called progress. In order to accomplish these goals, Saruman argues that Middle-earth needs an oppressive strongman: Sauron at first, perhaps, but later himself. His use of the word “rule” and his appeal to imposed “order” implies forced subservience, connecting his propaganda to that of fascism. Saruman is thus a rather modern figure, but one brilliantly connected by Tolkien to the tyrants of old.
Capitalism is also a relatively modern development in the scale of human history. Although its roots in free trade and private production may be traced back two to three centuries before Tolkien’s time, the term “capitalism” to describe and defend (or critique) the system arose in the century of Tolkien’s birth, with (for example) Karl Marx’s Das Kapital published only 25 years before J.R.R. Tolkien was born. At the core of capitalism is the accumulation of money and property—i.e. capital. I would venture to say that underlying capitalism is an assumption of scarcity: a belief that there is not enough to go around.
As with tyrants and would-be tyrants, history has also been full of humans storing up personal wealth long before the rise of capitalism as a philosophy. Indeed, tyrants have been among the most zealous hoarders of treasure, though by no means the only ones. Jesus’s parables of the man who built barns (Luke 12:16–21) and the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19–31), both suggest the prevalence and dangers of wealth accumulation. So does the account of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1–9), though with a more redemptive ending for the one-time hoarder. Tolkien also offers numerous portrayals of wealth hoarding, none more obvious than the dragon Smaug in The Hobbit. As Thorin explains to Bilbo, “Dragons steal gold and jewels, you know, from men and elves and dwarves, wherever they can find them; and they guard their plunder as long as they live (which is practically for ever, unless they are killed), and never enjoy a brass ring of it. Indeed they hardly know a good bit of work from a bad, though they usually have a good notion of the current market value.” Tolkien’s narrative makes it clear that the poverty and suffering of Thorin’s folk was a result of the greed of the dragon, and of his power to accumulate wealth at the expense of others.
Dwarves, too, are known to hoard treasure. Elrond—whom the narrator portrays as a figure of ancient wisdom—is described as not approving of “dwarves and their love of gold.” And though readers’ sympathies may be with Bilbo and the company of dwarves, we are reminded more than once that Smaug’s treasure hoard was once a treasure hoard of the dwarves themselves. The narrator also describes the king of the Wood-elves in Mirkwood as having a “weakness” for treasure, “especially for silver and white gems,” and uses the terminology of hoarding: “though his hoard was rich, he was ever eager for more, since he had not yet as great a treasure as other elf-lords of old.” Even in describing his underground fortress as “the strong place of his treasure, and the fortress of his people against their enemies,” prominence of place is given to treasure before people. This likely fits into the broader description of the Wood-elves as being “more dangerous and less wise” than the folk of Elrond. At least some blame for the hostilities between the elves and dwarves at the end of the story likely lies with the Elven king’s early imprisonment of the dwarves.
Yet none of these examples of the hoarding involve capitalism as such. While wealth accumulation by individuals is not new—nor is the poverty that results from the hoarding of some—capitalism as a philosophy is different in that it has been adopted as a national economic system by democratic governments and then globalized as an international system. As an economic system, it is often both vigorously defended and even associated with freedom and democracy. The point here is neither to defend nor attack capitalism, but to point out that between the rise of market capitalism, the industrial revolution and resultant mass production, and large-scale globalization, the 20th century saw a meteoric rise of capitalism. It was a significant concern in Tolkien’s lifetime, and a subject to be informed by his ancient Christian wisdom.
Even in the description of Smaug above, there are pointers to modern times. While dragons by nature fit the category of old-school tyrant-hoarders who take what they want by force, and not through legal business practices as one would in a modern capitalist economy, the narrator’s reference to “current market value” subtly suggests a connection between market capitalism and the cruelty and hoarding of dragons. This sense of connection to a modern market economy is further strengthened when the dragon questions Bilbo about whether the dwarves gave him a “fair price” for the stolen cup, and whether their business arrangement with him was truly equitable and honest. Even the way Smaug speaks connects him to modern wealth. Shippey points out in Author of the Century that Smaug initially “talks like a twentieth-century Englishman . . . very definitely from the upper class.” He later notes that “Smaug in fact seems to have a foot, or a claw, in two worlds at once.” In short, Tolkien’s portrayals of Smaug seems to suggest a symbolic connection between the tyrant-hoarders of old and the 20th century version who operate within the legal bounds of capitalism.
None of this is to say that Tolkien was opposed to capitalism, or that he portrayed wealth as evil. At the start of The Hobbit, the eponymous hero Bilbo Baggins obviously possesses some wealth. And though somewhat snobbish at that time, he is by no means evil or cruel. By the end of the story, when he returns home with both a share of the dragon treasure and most of the troll hoard, he has become very rich indeed. His mithril coat alone is said to be worth more than the entire Shire. Yet he is simultaneously more virtuous. Readers might be reminded of many biblical characters who are shown to be both wealthy and to a large extent obedient to God (though by no means perfect). These include both Job (at the start and end of the story that bears his name, though not in the middle) and Abraham. So the accumulation of capital in and of itself is not portrayed as evil either in Middle-earth or in the Bible. What I believe Tolkien does do, however, is convey an ancient biblical wisdom applied to the rising tide of capitalism in his day: revealing considerable dangers fundamentally inherent in a system in which accumulation of wealth is foundational.
On such danger is the idolatry of possessions. We see it in an extreme case in the aforementioned Smaug who, after Bilbo has taken a single cup from his massive treasure hoard, is filled with “the sort of rage that is only seen when rich folk that have more than they can enjoy suddenly lose something that they have long had but have never before used or wanted.” The social commentary here is surprisingly explicit. Tolkien associates a dragon in Middle-earth with those who are rich in the world of his readers: those who accumulate—often through exploitive means and certainly without sympathy for those in need—more wealth than they can ever enjoy. This not only indicts the greedy behavior itself, but it also illustrates how the idol of possessions changes a person’s character, leading (for example) to unreasonable rage and greed. That it leads to oppression of others becomes clear as well when Smaug’s concern for his own wealth leads to his brutal destruction of Lake-town. Though, as Tolkien also points out, it eventually leads to Smaug’s own death.
Now, comparing the rich in our world with dragons in Middle-earth is rather blunt. Perhaps too blunt, in that some of us could never see anything of ourselves in Smaug. But Tolkien also makes a similar connection with a little more subtlety through the character of Thorin. While not exactly the heroes of the story, neither are dwarves portrayed as villains. As least some of the readers’ sympathies are generally with the various dwarves. So perhaps it strikes closer to home when we see Thorin fully succumb to the idolatry of wealth. The tendency is hinted at from the start of the story, of course. But the narrator makes a point of showing how it changes the chief dwarf: “And already, so strong was the bewilderment of the treasure upon him, he was pondering whether by the help of Dain he might not recapture the Arkenstone and withhold the share of the reward.” Thorin’s desire to hoard wealth, even to the point of breaking his word, prompts him to turn away strangers in dire need (despite himself having been a stranger in dire need welcomed and aided by Elrond only a few weeks earlier in the same story). His desire to hoard treasure is also enough to make him willing to fight a war. That is to say, willing to kill and also to die. Thorin, who looks a lot more like you and me than Smaug does, has taken a big step toward becoming a dragon. It takes his own immanent death to bring him to the sort of biblical wisdom that Tolkien seems to be espousing through the tale: “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!”
If Thorin brings home to readers in a more humanizing way the dangers of the dragon-like practice of hoarding, the character of Lotho Sackville-Baggins in The Lord of the Rings brings it even closer to 20th century capitalism and the inherent danger it brings of idolizing wealth and possessions. Known derogatorily around the Shire as Pimple, Lotho is a much more modern character than Thorin and the dwarves, and the culture of the Shire much more like our own than the kingdoms of the dwarves. Lotho is very successful in terms of modern capitalism. When the four hobbit heroes return to the Shire at the end of The Lord of the Rings and find that in their absence it has become a sad and oppressive place, their friend Farmer Cotton gives a brief explanation of what happened. “It all began with Pimple, as we call him, and it began as soon as you’d gone off, Mr. Frodo. He’d funny ideas, had Pimple. Seems he wanted to own everything himself, and then order other folk about. It soon came out that he already did own a sight more than was good for him; and he was always grabbing more, though where he got the money was a mystery.” Tolkien puts into Cotton’s speech the straightforward wisdom of a hobbit farmer in touch with the earth. Pimple’s problem—which Cotton identifies as a funny idea—was wanting to continue to own more and more. Which is to say, Pimple was being a good capitalist. Or at least he was taking advantage of the basic principle of capitalism, which was to accumulate as much as he could.
Consider especially the use of the word “money.” It is easy to miss the significance, but author J.R.R. Tolkien was very careful in his terminology as he crafted his world and narrative. Keep in mind that most of The Lord of the Rings takes place in kingdoms largely inspired by ancient cultures (e.g. Gondor) and medieval cultures (e.g. Rohan). The exception is the Shire, which is somewhat anachronistic in the heroic world of Middle-earth in that it resembles rural England before the Industrial Revolution. In other words, the Shire is much closer to our time, existing as it did in a still nascent but rising world of capitalism. The word “money” in general use refers to a currency of exchange (coins or bank notes) in a free-market economy where individuals accumulate capital. Tolkien uses the term only in the parts of the story taking place in or near the Shire when hobbits are involved! In these parts of the story, however, “money” is frequently mentioned, bringing to mind a more modern economy and allowing for more explicit critique of capitalism.
Pimple accumulated money, and with his money he accumulated property. He literally brought an international market economy to the Shire and gained considerable wealth by selling food grown in the Shire to buyers in other countries. In doing so, he dramatically increased the wealth divide between the rich and the poor causing an increase in poverty in the Shire. One of the many changes the four heroes discover upon returning to the Shire is the use of a wall to exclude strangers from entering the Shire, along with laws prohibiting hospitality to strangers—8all presented under the guise of economics and scarcity. There is little question that Tolkien portrays the entire scene in the Shire as not only sad, but also unjust.
And here is where the connections suggested by the story, when we pay close enough attention to the narrative and linguistic clues, might make many western readers uncomfortable. For what follows the rise of capitalism in the Shire is the threat of a tyrant: even a sort of fascist tyrant who rises to power under the promise of improving things, then uses wealth and power to establish an oppressive regime, and then holds power by using military force against the land’s own people. This would certainly fit the history Tolkien saw in the 20th century. Even in ancient times, tyranny and hoarding seem to go hand in hand. Near the end of the story, Frodo himself explicitly connects the suffering in the Shire that resulted from Lotho and others exploiting a capitalistic system with the evils of the tyranny of Sauron. When Sam says, “This is worse than Mordor”, Frodo replies, “Yes, this is Mordor. Just one of its works. Saruman was doing its work all the time even when he thought he was working for himself. And the same with those that Saruman tricked, like Lotho.”
Interestingly, while Tolkien’s story suggests dangers inherent in capitalism and its promotion of wealth accumulation and underlying assumptions of scarcity, and even suggests a link between the rise of a capitalistic economy and the tyranny of fascism, he seems to offer no solution to fascism. That is, the story doesn’t promise any surefire way to defeat fascism. This may be because, as a populist political system, many folks seem to embrace fascism as well as the possibility of wealth accumulation in capitalism. In one of my books, A Hobbit Journey (which was a revised edition of my earlier book Following Gandalf) I argued that Tolkien was also more concerned with what I called moral victory than with military victory; that it would be better to do what is right and lose a war than to win a war by evil means. Nowhere is this better captured than in the words of Faramir when Denethor chastises him, saying his gentleness may be repaid with death, and Faramir replies: “So be it.” These three simple two-letter words have become to me the most moving and important sentence in the entire book. Writing this essay and pondering Tolkien’s response to the rise of fascism in his century, I think the same wisdom applies. Gandalf did not have the power to defeat Saruman. Yet he made the choice—at the time, a very costly one—to refuse Saruman’s ways. What might it mean to live in a capitalistic economy and yet not be defined by it?
Or, we might ask, how is Bilbo different from Smaug? One primary difference is that Bilbo is generous. While the opening chapter of The Lord of the Rings describes him as “very rich and very peculiar”, two paragraphs later it adds that he was “generous with his money” to the point that “most people were willing to forgive him his oddities.” Gimli also provides an example of one who ends with wealth but does not idolize it. We see this in the prophecy of Galadriel, another of the wisest figures in Tolkien’s works, when she gives to him as a gift some strands of her hair: “These words shall go with the gift. I do not foretell, for all foretelling is now vain: on the one hand lies darkness, and on the other only hope. But if hope should not fail, then I say to you, Gimli son of Glóin, that your hands shall flow with gold, and yet over you gold shall have no dominion.” The key word, here, is dominion. We might phrase it by asking whether the person possesses wealth, or the wealth possesses the person. Galadriel’s prophecy tells us that in Gimli’s case, it becomes the former, which is the mark of wisdom. And a similar wisdom can be heard in words spoken by Aragorn to Pippin who had cast off the brooch from his elven cloak as a sign to any who might be seeking to find him: “One who cannot cast away a treasure at need is in fetters.”