My own love-affair with JRR Tolkien goes back a long way. In 1963, when I was 10 years old, my 6th-grade teacher read The Hobbit to us in class. My mother, an English major with a special interest in medieval literature, knew of Tolkien as a scholar; she had connections who could get their hands on The Lord of the Rings, at that time virtually unavailable in the US. (It became a US sensation only after the paperback came out in 1965.)
I read it again and again and again. I loved the Appendices. I memorized Elvish script. As more Tolkien writings appeared over the years I read them too. I know my way around Middle-Earth.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not a Fan, I don’t haunt Tolkien chat rooms or dress as a Hobbit. There are volumes of Tolkienish literature I have never cracked. But I feel more than a little proprietary, even now that the movies have made Tolkien mass entertainment. (Peter Jackson’s LOTR is pretty good, his Hobbit is an abomination…)
Honestly, I don’t much want to analyze Lord of the Rings; I just want to enjoy it, like a 10-year old. But there is a dangerous cloud on the horizon so, reluctantly, I am taking up my pen.
Tolkien Appropriation
It is with anger mixed with perplexity that I have seen Tolkien appropriated by some on the far right. It would be disastrous, and wrong, to associate him and his writings with these people and movements. What is going on?
- In Italy, the incoming neo-fascist prime minister, Giorgia Meloni, has played up her love for Tolkien, the influence of right-wing “Hobbit Camps” for children, and the supposed message of traditional values found in LOTR and other Tolkien writings. She has gone so far as to say Tolkien is a ‘sacred text.’
- In the US, Peter Thiel, the Silicon Valley pseudo-intellectual who has been bankrolling Trumpist political candidates this election cycle, such as his former employee JD Vance in Ohio, is a big fan. He has given various companies and enterprises Tolkien names, like Palantir Technologies and Valar Ventures.
Tolkien himself was in my view certainly conservative, but the opposite of a fascist or libertarian. He did not want people to read politics into his books—they were not ‘allegories’ about Hitler or Stalin—and always resisted talking about his own political views. He despised Nazi racism and was deeply offended when a German publisher in 1938, thinking of publishing The Hobbit, asked him whether he was an Aryan. But he was a devout Catholic and equally despised communist attacks on the church.
Tolkien’s own political or social views, however, are not what matter. It is the political and social views readers absorb from his writings, or read into them, that I want to discuss. So while there can be endless discussions about Tolkien’s personal politics drawing on his numerous letters, unpublished papers, marginal jottings, conversations with his children, etc., what matters for our purpose is the major writings, The Hobbit and LOTR and, to some extent, the Silmarillion.
To determine whether Tolkien gives support, even inadvertently, to Meloni’s neo-fascism or to Thiel’s anti-democratic libertarianism, we must identify what these mean. The characteristics of fascism are generally understood to include extreme nationalism; strong racial prejudices and belief in racial hierarchy; a love of war and violence for its own sake; and contempt for liberal democracy and preference for a ‘supreme leader’ or ‘Superman’ who acts decisively and embodies the nation. In many instances this is linked to hostility towards the Biblical tradition based on Nietzsche’s critique of Judaism and Christianity as promoting a ‘slave morality’ that softens the human spirit. However, I would also include under ‘fascism’ modern theocratic or fundamentalist variations that are based on enforcing adherence to rigid religious doctrines, as in today’s Iran.
Libertarianism advocates an unrestricted individualism, distrust of governments and collective decisionmaking, faith in markets, and rejection of tradition (including religion) in favor of rational self-interest. It too has a Nietzschean side, seen clearly in the writings of Ayn Rand, another Thiel favorite.
As we shall see, neither of these are reflected in Tolkien’s writings or his imagined world of Middle Earth.
Despite Tolkien’s deep love and intimate knowledge of Northern Europe’s mythology, the ur-perspective of Tolkien’s created universe owes more to Paradise Lost than to Beowulf or the Icelandic sagas. The recurring message at every stage of his story, as far as I can tell, is this: every type of being is vulnerable to temptation, and all at some point fall. The very greatest of the Valar, Morgoth, falls; so does Sméagol, from perhaps the most humble of Middle-Earth’s many peoples. And everyone in between. High elves. Kings of Men. Dwarves. Wizards. Hobbits. (Ents? Well, they become preoccupied with their labors and lose touch with their Ent-wives. Tom Bombadil? He seems to belong to a race of which he is the only member.)
To fall seems to mean, above all, to give in to pride. The desire for rule, for power, for immortality, is the downfall of the Numenoreans and of men generally. Frequently, especially for dwarves and certain elves, it is the love of one’s own products and genius—jewels, rings—that is their undoing.
In Lord of the Rings of course it is the One Ring that exemplifies temptation and puts almost all of its main characters to the test. Some pass with flying colors, like Galadriel or Faramir or Bilbo. Some fail badly, like Saruman; or like poor Gollum fail but retain flickers of goodness. Some are battered and bend, but don’t quite break, like Boromir or Frodo himself.
The Ring works on weaknesses present in all of us. In some better natures it is our desire to do good. Galadriel’s love of this world, of Middle Earth itself, is a kind of temptation; her rejection of the Ring is bound up with her final willingness to leave Middle Earth—which she sought in her youth as a place to exercise her powers—and diminish and go into the West. Boromir wants the Ring to save Minas Tirith, and please his father. Sam, in a brief moment when the Ring is within his grasp, is seized by a vision of creating a great garden in the midst of Mordor.
Is he fascistic?
What is it that enables some to resist? Tolkien presents us with a variety of personal and cultural strengths that come into play. A key indicator of inner strength, perhaps the greatest of them, is the ability to transcend barriers of race. The estrangement between elves, men, dwarves, hobbits (and Ents) has been the bane of the forces arrayed against evil since the beginning. LOTR frequently displays the habitual suspicion and fear that members of each race (and often for different tribes or clans within the same race) typically have for the other, often based on long-ago betrayals and misunderstandings. The Fellowship is remarkable for representing all the main races of Middle-Earth; the friendship of Gimli and Legolas (and Gimli’s adoration of Galadriel) is especially notable.
Orcs are frequently shown as unable to cooperate and liable to turn on one another over internal differences, to the great benefit of hobbits and others. The orcs of Orthanc and Mordor fall out violently on the edge of Fangorn, allowing Merry and Pippin to escape. Inside Mordor, two rival groups kill each other off over Frodo’s mithril shirt, saving Sam and Frodo.
It is Gandalf’s life work to unite the peoples of Middle Earth against Sauron. Tolkien carefully starts the Appendices at the end of LOTR by pointing to the three historic unions of men and high elves; he ends LOTR with the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, perhaps to show that even in today’s “Age of Men,” something of this past is still with us. At the same time, the union of Faramir and Eowyn shows that traditional barriers between the ‘higher’ people of Gondor, proud of their Numenorean heritage, and the ‘lower’ people of Rohan, need to fall.
Another quality Tolkien praises is compassion. Frodo’s ultimately unsuccessful outreach to Gollum (in whom he sees his own reflection) is in some ways the heart of LOTR. Gollum betrays Frodo’s trust, but Gollum proves necessary for success. It is Gollum who sparks one of Tolkien’s most striking moral statements, from Gandalf to Frodo: “Many that live deserve death. Some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo? Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it.”
We see the same hope when Treebeard lets Saruman out of Orthanc, and when Gandalf tries to offer Saruman help when he meets him on the road. So just as everyone may fall, everyone equally may be saved—or at least it is right to assume so.
There is a lot of violence and warfare in LOTR and in Tolkien’s larger history. And great warriors are certainly honored. Gimli and Legolas compete on the battlefield, like little boys, to see who can kill the most of the enemy (killing orcs lacks the moral ambivalence that might be connected with killing men or elves). Hobbits are presented as possibly too peaceable and in need of toughening, something Strider tries to provide on the road to Rivendell. But no major figure, as far as I can tell, loves fighting and killing for its own sake. None seek warfare primarily for their own glory or for dominion over others. There are no ‘supermen,’ no infallible leaders requiring worship and blind obedience—other than the Sarumans and Saurons.
Hobbits seem to be a special case in their resistance to the Ring and what it offers. There are many references to the inner strength of Bilbo, Frodo, Sam and hobbits generally. Bilbo is unique in his willingness to voluntarily give up the Ring (though with much prodding from Gandalf). This may be because Hobbits are little attracted to power, conquest, glory, war, and riches, the main temptations the Ring offers its possessors. Hobbits are ‘simple’ folk, given to farming and gardening (like Sam, the prototypical Hobbit), family life, and the honest pleasures of a good glass of ale and a pipe of fine weed. Tolkien greatly admires these traits. It is Sam and Frodo’s memory and love of ordinary life in the Shire that sustains them in the darkest times of their quest.
However, Tolkien makes it clear in his ending of LOTR that hobbits are not immune to a desire to boss people around and act like bigshots; there are Sackville-Bagginses everywhere. Saruman is able to mislead and corrupt the Shire, which is only saved by hobbits who have acquired some un-hobbit-like skills and habits.
Tolkien is partial to those strong souls who dedicate themselves to protecting ordinary people, without thought of reward or recognition. Happiness for most may depend in part on not being fully aware of how precarious their safety is. Strider is compelled to enlighten his Hobbit companions, after rescuing them in Bree, that he and his fellow Rangers have long protected them from enemies who would “freeze their blood.”
To sum up then, there is no support in Tolkien for the core tenets of fascism and the right. Racism is clearly and categorically rejected. There is no worship of a great leader, and no excessive praise of war or violence. Weakness is to be pitied and helped, when possible, not scorned. The qualities Tolkien most admires seem to be quiet tenacity, friendship and loyalty, and a love of poetry and song.
Is he ‘anti-modern’?
Where Tolkien and some neo-fascist sensibilities do intersect is in ‘traditionalism’, a respect and love for past (and lost) ways of life that can surface in an intense hatred for modernity. In Italy LOTR was published in 1970 with an influential introduction by the writer Elemire Zolla. Zolla connects Tolkien with a hodge-podge of modern thinkers and writers who look back nostalgically to pre-modern thought, to fairy stories, Celtic mythology, etc.
Another point of reference for Italian fascism is Julius Evola, an extreme thinker immersed in mysticism and Naziism who is beloved by contemporary neo-fascists like Alexander Dugin in Russia and Steve Bannon in the US. Evola’s traditionalism “viewed humanism, the Renaissance, the Protestant Reformation and the French Revolution all as historical disasters that took man further away from a transcendental perennial truth…Evola’s ideal order was based on hierarchy, caste, monarchy, race, myth, religion and ritual.”
The underlying proposition for reactionary traditionalists is that in the past we lived harmonious, organic lives nested in an accepted hierarchy of classes and peoples, usually organized around a common religion endorsed by the state. If your touchstone for this way of life is Medieval Europe, you tend to be a conservative Catholic, or Orthodox. If it is pagan Europe, you may be a neo-Nazi. In either case you are deeply unhappy with modernity and in particular trends towards class, racial and gender equality and separation of church and state. (Evola was, unsurprisingly, strongly influenced by Nietzsche). If you believe in taking action to restore some version of this past, it is easy for traditionalism to morph into a reactionary movement, no longer conservative but radical and open to violence and extremism.
Tolkien certainly presents a vivid picture of a pre-modern world that has been attractive both on the left and the right. In the US, unlike Italy, Tolkien is usually associated with ‘the 60s’, environmentalism, and a rejection of materialism and capitalism. Like other fantasies, because it is not set in our real past it is easy to avoid controversial issues of equity and oppression.
Tolkien’s appeal is, I think, strongly linked to his dislike of today’s industrialization and its handmaiden, capitalism. The hellish works in which Saruman burns the forest and creates the Uruk-Hai and their weapons, and their small-scale imitation in the Shire, earn Tolkien’s unmitigated scorn. He hates the destruction of the natural world and the support for war that accompanies this sort of industry.
Tolkien’s dislike of industrialization goes beyond its ugliness and greed; there is a suspicion of human creativity itself. Even the ingenuity of the dwarves in Moria, and Elves such as Celeborn who make the great rings of power, is viewed with ambivalence. Tolkien loves to describe beautiful works of art and craft and tell us about their creators, but there is a risk. In Moria the dwarves “delved too deep” and roused a Balrog. Elves aim higher but their efforts are also suspect. Celeborn, and Feanor before him, love their creations more than they should. By taking advantage of their excessive pride, Sauron was able to influence Celeborn, and Morgoth fatally corrupted Feanor.
Nevertheless, while Tolkien is no believer in progress, neither is he a believer in decline. I don’t think his work supports the view that we should look to restore some past ‘golden age.’ Unlike many other fantasy writers, Tolkien carefully fleshed out his pre-history. There is no resting place, no perfect harmonious organic society—not for any of Middle-Earth’s peoples, nor for the whole. Each of the Three Ages has its heights, but these do not last. Each Age is characterized by terrible wars and civilization-ending failures, necessitating the gradual and permanent sundering between this world and the more perfect (but still imperfect) world of the Valar. One learns from the past not to learn too much from the past.
Living in the past or basing present worth on these connections is a sign of decadence. The line of kings of Gondor, for instance, fails when, as Faramir says: “Kings made tombs more splendid than houses of the living, and counted old names in the rolls of their descent dearer than the names of sons”.
A central theme of LOTR is, in fact, that great deeds are just as possible now as in any earlier time. Those alive today are in no way inferior to those who came before. Sam, who loves the old Elvish stories, weeps with joy when, waking up after his rescue from Mt. Doom, he hears a minstrel recite his new lay of “Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom.”
Moreover, great deeds are not done only by the Great. Tolkien in a 1964 interview says that the wisest words in LOTR are Elrond’s at the Council where it is decided that Frodo will carry the ring to Mt. Doom: “This quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong. Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.”
Tolkien’s traditionalism is not the reactionary version that says everything was better in the ‘old days’ and seeks simply to go backwards. It might better be described as a love of the particular. He values a world with a variety of races, places, languages, and traditions. Like some nationalists on the right, this would place him firmly against globalization and the erasing of national and cultural boundaries. But he values tolerance and peaceful relations between the peoples of the earth. And opportunities for greatness are just as abundant now as in the past.
Is he anti-democracy?
Tolkien in his writings is studiously uninterested in politics, in the sense of examining different political systems. Most well-ordered peoples have kings, and the frequent failures of kings do not lead to consideration of democracy or some other type of rule. This should not, in my view, be interpreted as a rejection of democracy or an endorsement of monarchy or aristocracy. I do not think the books are meant to urge us to work towards recreating the political structures of the early Ages. There is a clear line drawn between the New Age of men and the Three Ages that preceded it. This is a different world.
In practice Tolkien holds up reasoned deliberation among the wise, not top-down kingly dictates, as the best kind of political decision making. This is how the Council operates in Rivendell when considering what to do with the Ring. It is apparently how the Ents decide to fight Saruman at the Entmoot (the exact method of deciding is not explained, other than to say it takes a very long time).
The Shire is a partial exception to the monarchical model. There is no ‘king of the hobbits’ and though the Hobbits have a ‘thain’ responsible for defense, he has little day to day power. The most important Shire official is an elected mayor, so hobbits appear to be one of the few communities of Middle Earth where some form of democracy prevails (in The Hobbit, Laketown is said to be ruled by an elected Master, though the electors appear to be limited to the town’s wealthy merchants). Given the centrality Tolkien gives to ordinary people and the life of the Shire, he might arguably be partial to a democratic or at least pluralistic political order.
Nevertheless, there is a deep dislike of democracy in many parts of today’s right-wing ecosystem, and LOTR’s world where all will seemingly be made well by restoring the rightful king is an attractive symbol of the alternative. The Italian right’s nostalgia for Mussolini is matched in the US by libertarians who reject liberal democracy as inefficient and long for an American ruler able to ‘get things done.’ Peter Thiel is foremost in their ranks. I suspect Thiel’s Tolkien enthusiasm is connected with this project, which involves the violent sweeping away of most of America’s current institutions and traditions. This is, in my view, a terrible perversion of what Tolkien’s writings envision or call for.
Is he simplistic?
A characteristic of Tolkien’s that is often said to appeal to conservatives is that his world is black and white, good vs. evil. The evil actors are painted in particularly stark terms: Sauron is not a complicated character with a good side and a bad side. He engages in no internal struggles about his goals or the means to achieve them (though Elrond says at one point that nothing was evil in the beginning, even Sauron; and some of Tolkien’s writings suggest Sauron at one or more past moments might have wavered in his commitment to evil). No orc is ever tempted to change sides.
Conservatives sometimes scorn what they see as the reluctance of liberals to take a clear moral stand. Certainly fascist ideology and messaging tends to paint the world in absolute terms: superior and inferior races, strong peoples who do as they please vs. weak ones who suffer what they must. LOTR is admired as a straightforward story of Good triumphing over Evil.
We have seen already that Tolkien does not accept this world view. No race, people, or individual is always strong and right; they are always flawed and always liable to failure and collapse. LOTR is triumphant but also melancholy, because there is no way to save Middle-Earth without in some sense destroying it. The destruction of the One Ring takes with it the power of the others, and signals the final retreat of the elves and the beginning of a world dominated by men. (A melancholy, I suspect, produced by Tolkien’s awareness that Christianity has led to the ‘disenchantment’ of the world and the loss of the old powers and gods and beliefs that Tolkien himself loves).
Tolkien himself was categorical about this, in his own statements and interviews. LOTR is in his eyes a type of tragedy. His central figure, Frodo, in some sense fails in his task; and in carrying it out, he is hollowed out (by a kind of PTSD) and is unable to be happy in this world. And there is no assurance whatever that the defeat of Sauron will usher in a permanent Golden Age; it is certain that the Fourth Age and all further Ages will see their share of terrors and failures (as Tolkien said in one speech, Sauron is no more but plenty of Sarumans are still with us).
Does he support libertarianism?
Amassing great wealth is nowhere seen as praiseworthy, though a well-run kingdom will naturally accumulate riches. The dangers of greed are shown more vividly in The Hobbit than in LOTR. Dwarves are particularly susceptible, with the Arkenstone as a kind of symbol. Dragons are however at the top of the food chain when it comes to accumulating wealth, which they have no use for other than to lie on mountains of stolen gold and riches. This shows clearly how Tolkien views a life devoted to getting rich.
We can see from this that Tolkien in no way celebrates the kind of ferocious, unchecked combination of greed, self-promotion, and invention we see in today’s libertarian capitalism. Individual effort and ingenuity are valuable, but have to be checked by wisdom and humility. The inventions of Peter Thiel and today’s Silicon Valley titans would be, for Tolkien, ugly in themselves and frightening in their implications for ordinary life.
IN SUM
We might therefore sum up Tolkien’s ‘teaching’ thus: the good life for most men would be something like life in the Shire. It would be peaceful, close to the natural world, where people enjoy simple pleasures in the close company of family and community. Poetry and song would be plentiful. Squabbles and disagreements would not disappear but would be dealt with via input and participation from everyone, leavened by abundant tolerance for quirks and eccentricities. Social and economic differences would be relatively small, no one would be impoverished and no one would be so rich as to lord it over others.
However, the world is not constituted to allow such a life for most. There are great threats and dangers, both external and internal. Most peoples must be organized to defend themselves from outside aggression, and from the ambition and greed in their own souls. They must structure their political and ruling institutions around these necessities. Kings and nobles and knights and rangers are needed, creating a clear social hierarchy. This world of danger and strife calls forth great deeds and achievements which in some ways enrich all of us. But it also frequently calls forth the worst in all the peoples of Middle Earth.
Under some circumstances, Shires flourish under the protection of powerful but benevolent rulers. Those in positions of authority have a duty to nurture and protect the Shire. But it is hard to see this as a permanent or stable state of affairs. Enlightened rule by great kings is the exception, not the rule.
Just as the Shire requires the help of the great powers of the world, the success of the kings and powers requires the help of the Shire. Hobbits have a quiet strength that turns out to be necessary to destroy the Ring. The Great of the world, by their natures and upbringings, are proud and liable to temptation. The wise among them know that creating and protecting the Shire-life is not a useless endeavour but is essential to their own long term success and the success of the whole.
The Shire for its part needs to avoid the danger of becoming too parochial and self-satisfied. The Shire-life is attractive but some within it chafe at its limitations; whether through curiosity or love of adventure or the intrusion of threats that cannot be wholly held at bay, they will be dissatisfied and seek the wider world. The Shire has to tolerate if not encourage some engagement with the world outside, and not come down too hard on its own more adventurous and curious children.
Some of them need to leave the nest, in hopes they will return with a wider perspective and become leaders—like Sam and Frodo, Merry and Pippin—who are aware of the frailty and limitations, as well as the strengths, of the Shire-life. But maintaining a successful balance is difficult; too many ambitious and adventurous souls will destroy the Shire’s essential characteristics. Too few leave it vulnerable to decay or attack.
Different peoples and communities should be free to develop their distinctive ways of life, expressed in language, poetry, and song. They should be proud of their achievements and celebrate their traditions. But they should also be open to the achievements of other peoples, welcome outsiders, and work together against common enemies.
The great risk facing modern man is perhaps the love of his own works, a danger that runs through Tolkien’s writings. The success of our technology and industry leads to an unfounded confidence that perennial dangers and temptations no longer threaten. It alienates us from the natural world, which we come to see as nothing but a resource to be consumed. When we can seemingly satisfy all our desires with ease, the Shire-life seems too modest and dull to be attractive.
CODA: Tolkien and Plato
Many readers and commentators have noticed the similarities between Tolkien’s One Ring, and a story told in Plato’s Republic about the Ring of Gyges. The Gyges story is used in the Republic by one of the characters, Glaucon, to try and show that morality is based only on fear of punishment. The Ring of Gyges makes its wearer invisible, and Glaucon describes how a shepherd, finding the ring, uses his new-found immunity to kill a king, marry his widow, and become king himself. The ring’s power allows ‘real’ human nature to reveal itself.
Tolkien, a well-educated Englishman who studied classics at Oxford, certainly was familiar with the Republic, one of the most famous philosophical texts in the Western tradition. His One Ring is also a ‘revealer’ that highlights existing weaknesses. (While I think it likely that the Ring of LOTR was influenced by the Gyges story, there were also rings of power in the Norse tradition).
In any case, I want to pursue a different possible connection. The Shire bears a resemblance to another well-known story in the Republic, Socrates’ description of the “City of Pigs.” The City of Pigs is Socrates’ attempt to describe the most natural or primitive life for man. It is a life without wars, without riches, without jealousy, where everyone enjoys a sufficiency of food and shelter. All are equal and satisfied with simple pleasures: singing, dancing, story-telling, the charms of their wives and husbands.
In the Republic, this way of life is criticized as being not entirely human; in particular, it is attacked as a life without ‘relishes,’ meaning what goes beyond the bare necessities. When Socrates spells out the implications, it turns out that life that incorporates luxuries and satisfies a range of human desires leads inevitably to a city that goes to war and has sharp divides between rich and poor, powerful and weak.
The key human characteristic that is absent in the City of Pigs is thumos or spiritedness, which manifests itself in a desire for honors, rule, power, and recognition. Some people are not satisfied with equality, but want to be distinguished. The desire to be distinguished brings forth tremendous human energies and accomplishments in the arts and sciences, but is also at the root of competition, envy, violence, and war. (Socrates’ suggested solution, later in the Republic, is the institution of the Guardians—citizens with an abundance of thumos who are carefully educated to protect the city and never seek to dominate it. How realistic this is is open to question.)
The City of Pigs, like the Shire, is made possible by the weakness of thumos. Tolkien makes clear that it is not entirely absent and Hobbits too can become proud and envious. But it is held in check for the most part by some combination of nature and nurture.
I have no idea whether the Republic influenced Tolkien’s thinking or his conception of hobbits and the Shire-life. It is more likely that he had in mind the centrality of pride in the Biblical tradition; perhaps both lines of thought converged. What does seem clear to me is that in inventing Hobbits (a race which he created from scratch, without drawing on well-established sagas and stories), Tolkien was seeking to include in his imagined universe a people less susceptible to thumos, to pride, and show how such people contribute to a good world.