[In the following essay, Burger finds Tolkien's allusions to ancient and medieval tales in The Lord of the Rings to be intended as modernized instructional and moral stories.]

Unhindered by the realist's obligation to reflect ordinary, day-to-day life, the fantasist has the special freedom to give form to a fictional world which reflects his own keenest interest and his most profound wishes. Thus when J. R. R. Tolkien turns to fantasy, it is in no way surprising that his work should be deeply indebted to the past, particularly to the past of early legend and medieval tale. He was, after all, the Rawlinson Professor of Anglo-Saxon at Pembroke College, Oxford, the co-editor of a widely respected edition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and a trail-blazing critic of Beowulf; and, as he says in the Foreword to The Lord of the Rings, “As a guide I had only my own feelings for what is appealing or moving.”¹ Quite naturally, then, in his trilogy, Tolkien uses the genres, characters, symbolic structure, and often the original languages of ancient and medieval story. He, for example, chooses a form which closely resembles the characteristic genre of the Middle Ages: the romance, with its “Consolation of the Happy Ending,”² its idealizations, its lush and lovingly detailed descriptions. Many of the features of Middle-earth likewise have their parallels in early literature: the river Bruinen rises against the enemies of Rivendell, just as the river Cronn rises to protect Ulster and Cúchulainn; the Isles of the West resemble Hy Brasil or the Isle of Glass in the Arthur legend; the token of kingship in The Lord of the Rings is the sword Andúril, just as Excalibur demonstrates Arthur's claim to the throne. The languages of the trilogy also have their antecedents in real tongues: the Riders of Rohan speak Anglo-Saxon, and the first names of male hobbits are often “Frankish or Gothic.”³ The examples could be multiplied many times over. Whole books could be written—indeed have been written—enumerating instances of Tolkien's debts to earlier literature.

But the value of old story for Tolkien is shown not only by the fact that the literature of the past provides him with the material and inspiration for much in the trilogy. Inside his fictional world, inside Middle-earth itself, Tolkien makes the point that old tales convey vital truths for the present. “Do not despise the lore that has come down from distant years,” says Celeborn, “for oft it may chance that old wives keep in memory word of things that once were needful for the wise to know” (FR [The Fellowship of the Ring], 484). As well as by such explicit statement, Tolkien reinforces the idea in another way: in Middle-earth, what has been regarded as merely legendary often turns out to be actual, historical fact. As Theoden says, “The old songs come down among us … and walk visible under the Sun” (TT [The Two Towers], 197). Much which the more provincial and mundane, like Ted Sandyman, mock as fanciful fabrication ultimately is hard reality. The hobbits, for example, know Mordor only as a “border on old stories” (FR, 81), in Gandalf's words. But Mordor is as real as the hobbits, who themselves are regarded as mere fictions by the Riders of Rohan. “‘Halflings,’ laughed the rider that stood beside Eomer. ‘Halflings! But they are only a little people in old songs and children's tales out of the North. Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?’” (TT, 45) Aragorn's reply to the question expresses a central truth about Middle-earth: “A man may do both,” (TT, 45).

In such a world where legends of the past often betoken present reality and at a time of imminent war when the fortunes of all peoples of Middle-earth are becoming interwoven, it is extraordinarily important to know the “old wives' tales,” the legends and histories of one's own and other peoples. To aid in distinguishing friend from foe, to find action appropriate for the demands of the present, such knowledge becomes not just a pedantic love of ancientry, but a vital, urgent need. For example, because Aragorn knows the old story of the oath-breakers, he takes the Paths of the Dead, thereby saving crucial time and bringing an army redoubled in size to strike one of the most important and effective blows in the war of the rings. Besides suggesting practical strategies for the present, past events also guide the free peoples to a judgment about proper moral action. In making the difficult decision about disposing of the Ring, Elrond, along with others of the Wise, first turns to consider the past: “And first, so that all may understand what is the peril, the tale of the Ring shall be told from the beginning even to this present” (FR, 318). Such a recounting of the past shows clearly to those at the Council of Elrond that they must not take the obvious course of action—using the Ring against Sauron—because in so doing they would be corrupted and become new, and possibly worse, Saurons themselves. In this instance, they are saved from evil by awareness of the past, and in general the elves resist evil (though the Silmarillion clearly shows them capable of wrongdoing) because the past is ever fresh in their memories. Because they remember that neither Sauron nor the Ring can be trusted in any way, they have a sure guide for action in the present.

The knowledge of ancient events is shared by many of the admirable characters of The Lord of the Rings—Galadriel, Elrond, Aragorn, Faramir—but pride of place is given to the learned Gandalf, as is wholly appropriate in a world where the mastery of old lore gains a significance that is rarely recognized in the world which we call real. And perhaps more than in any other way, Tolkien stresses the importance of knowing the legendary past by his depiction of Gandalf, who is the scholar-hero of the trilogy. It is he who is preeminent in the struggle to combat Sauron; it is he who unifies the forces of the free; it is he who organizes them and devises the strategy of the opponents of the Enemy. In Rivendell, Elrond calls upon Gandalf last, “for it is the place of honour, and in all this matter he has been the chief” (FR, 328). Elrond's sentiments are echoed when Aragorn selects Gandalf to crown him, because, as the King-to-be says, “He has been the mover of all that has been accomplished and this is his victory” (The Return of the King, 246). The stirring scene constitutes the culmination of an Oxford professor's wish-come-true: his own special scholarly proclivities move out of the study to occupy an active role in the most exciting affairs of the times.

In this role, Gandalf's knowledge of history and legend plays a central part. He uses the past as an inspiration for present deeds, one way in which he “kindles” the hearts of men (one of the functions of Narya, the Ring of Fire, which he wields). For example, he recalls for Frodo the Last Alliance of Men and Elves: “That is a chapter of ancient history which it might be good to recall; for there was sorrow then too, and gathering dark, but great valour, and great deeds that were not wholly vain” (FR, 83). Also as with Aragorn's knowledge of the Paths of the Dead, Gandalf's learning often has immediate practical application. Interestingly, several of the examples of this generalization involve a philological mastery, a skill which Gandalf shares with his creator. He unlocks the western gates of Moria by his recalling the Elvish word mellon, and he gains initial access to Rohan only because he knows the language. An even better example of the practical effect of Gandalf's knowledge of the past and of languages is in his identification of the One Ruling Ring. Because of his tireless research in Gondor's archives of “hoarded scrolls and books” (FR, 330), he unearths Isildur's manuscript and deciphers what “few now can read” (FR, 331): Isildur's notation of an inscription upon the Ring (in the foul language of Mordor), written in an ancient Elven-script of Eregion. When Gandalf, with the soundness of the careful scholar who tests his hypotheses, casts Frodo's ring into the fire and discovers the same words upon it, he is certain that the ring is indeed the ancient Ring of power once forged by the Dark Lord. In addition to being essential to the identification, the ancient scroll tells something of the peril of the Ring. Isildur writes of it: “It is precious to me, though I buy it with great pain” (FR, 332), words which recall how Gollum was consumed by thoughts of his “Precious”; and thus Gandalf is given particular cause for fear when a stubborn Bilbo at first refuses to pass on the Ring to Frodo, saying, “It is mine, I tell you. My own. My Precious. Yes, my Precious” (FR, 59).

Though one of the most striking examples, Gandalf's identification of the Ring and his knowledge of its attributes is just one instance out of many which illustrate his constant uses of the learning of the past. Repeatedly Gandalf shares his knowledge, and he makes the past accessible to the present, with his frequent explanations—about the palantiri, the mining of mithril, the seedling of the tree Galathilion, and much else. Just as he reconciles the free peoples and unifies the opposition to Sauron, he plainly perceives it as part of his mission to reconcile ancient wisdom to the needs of the present. In sum, for Tolkien, Gandalf serves as a model scholar in his attitude toward the past and in his uses of past knowledge; and the particular characteristics of the kindly old wizard are conveyed even more sharply and emphatically when his attitudes are compared with another deeply learned wizard of Middle-earth, Saruman.

Saruman is similarly learned in old lore, but his attitude toward past wisdom is quite different from Gandalf's. Saruman becomes perfectly willing to slough off “old allies and policies” (FR, 340), to sacrifice past and present goods for a glorious future. What counts for him is not ancient wisdom, but the learning that will lead to a greater more splendid “Knowledge” (FR, 340), which significantly Saruman couples with “Order” and “Rule” (FR, 340). This, in his words, is “the high and ultimate purpose” (FR, 34)). For him, the present becomes just a matter of “bid[ing] time” (FR, 340), a period during which, he says carelessly, one might”deplor[e] maybe evils done along the way” (FR, 340). Both the past and present become relevant and interesting to him only in respect to the way they apply to his future. The attitude could scarcely be farther from Gandalf's deep respect for the past and his unceasing care for the present.

Yet Gandalf, like Tolkien, knows that “The Road Goes Ever On and On” (FR, 62), in time as well as space. He knows that “The Great Tales never end” (TT, 408). Indeed, Gandalf labors tirelessly and heroically for a future that is far higher than Saruman's “high and ultimate purpose.” The time to come is ever-present in his mind. As he says in the Council of Elrond: “It is not our part here to take thought only for a season or for a few lives of Men, or for a passing age of the world. We should seek for a final end of this menace, even if we do not hope to make one.” (FR, 349) Thus Gandalf sees the past and present in relation to a future, but in a significantly different way from Saruman. He knows that the past and the present cannot be discarded without distorting the future, and he sees the passage of time in natural terms: day after night, season following season, and age succeeding age. He speaks not of achievement and accomplishment in the time to come, but of allowing the future to develop naturally, of giving posterity “clean earth to till” (RK [The Return of the King], 190).

With an integrated sense of past, present, and future, Gandalf differs not only from Saruman but from those who would cling to a fixed past, like Denethor. As Steward of Gondor, he is responsible for keeping the kingdom and maintaining its high culture until the coming of the rightful king. But the Stewards have remained in charge so long and so many hundreds of years have passed that the expectation of the King's return has become dim in the minds of both Denethor and his people. In fact, Denethor's essential attitude toward the future is hatred. He shuns it and fights against it, in much the same way that Boromir fights to keep the present glory of Gondor continuing in the future. As Denethor says, “What was is less dark to me than what is to come” (FR, 330). The basically backward-looking quality of the Steward is shown in his land, where the glories now wane and life diminishes. In Gondor, house after house stands empty and still; few children laugh in the streets; and the White Tree, which is the symbol of Gondor's vitality, is dead in the midst of a fountain, whose “falling drops [drip] sadly from its barren and broken branches” (RK, 27). Despite omens of change, Denethor refuses to believe that the true King is actually soon to claim his throne, and the possibility fills him not with joy but with jealousy and the determination to hold fast to what he has. His last words typify his attitude: “I would have things as they were in all the days of my life and in the days of my long-fathers before me” (RK, 58). Such a sentiment shows plainly his dedication to a dying past, and it is a significant part of his final madness. Appropriately, we last see him in the house of the dead, destroying his life rather than facing and accepting change.

Galadriel shares Denethor's wish for a continuance of things as they were and are, and her attitude toward time provides another important element in the structure of parallels and contrasts which build up Tolkien's view of the proper attitudes toward and use of time. Like Denethor, Galadriel maintains the past into the present, and indeed “Preserv[ing] all things unstained” (FR, 352) is one of the functions of the Elven Rings. But her preservation of earlier days is of an entirely different sort. Rather than the sense of decay and aging that marks Denethor's Gondor, in Lórien all seems mint-new. Here the Elder Days “still lived on in the waking world” (FR, 453), and all “seemed at once clear cut as if [it] had been first conceived and drawn … and ancient as if [it] had endured for ever” (FR, 454). Yet despite the fact that Galadriel's maintaining of the past is of a different and worthier sort, even the golden woods of Lórien must pass away. It is a mark of the Elven queen's greatness and wisdom that she recognizes the necessity for change. For their impending loss, Galadriel says, the elves feel a “regret undying” which “cannot ever wholly be assuaged” (FR, 473). Yet unlike Denethor, she actively assists in the change. With precious and useful gifts, with counsel and sympathy, she aids the Quest which will lead to the end of her powers. Only by accepting the One Ruling Ring could she forestall her loss, but she refuses that temptation and accepts her future: “Her gentle voice was soft and sad. ‘I pass the test,’ she said, ‘I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.’” (FR, 474)

Like Galadriel, Gandalf labors ceaselessly to usher in an age when his role will be over. As with the other wizards, Gandalf is sent from the Far West at the beginning of the Third Age to challenge Sauron. With the destruction of the Ring, he knows that the Third Age will end and with it his own place and purpose in Middle-earth. But, again like Galadriel, he actively and energetically works to achieve the end of his mission, and his central concern is that the beneficent future which he occasionally glimpses may come to pass.

Frequently, critics regard Tolkien as a crotchety antiquarian who refuses to accept the modern age, and it perhaps is surprising for a mid-twentieth-century author to make such extensive use of material from ancient legend and medieval lore. But the values inherent in the characterization and narrative of The Lord of the Rings show that he recognizes the limitations and distortions possible in a love of the past. The work clearly reveals Tolkien's awareness that one cannot remain buried in a medieval manuscript, aloft in an ivory tower, or singing in a golden wood. But he does believe that the legends of the past contain “word of things that [are] needful for the wise to know” (FR, 484) and that “old songs [can] come down among us … and walk visible under the Sun” (TT, 197). In an interview with Henry Resnick, Tolkien makes the point that he always wanted to work with “mythological things like Greek or Norse myths.” “I tried,” he says, “to improve on them and modernize them … to make them credible.”⁴ Thus, Tolkien does for our world what Gandalf does for Middle-earth: he tries to reconcile the past of old story to present life. With a labor of love, Tolkien tries to enable the insights of old tales to speak to our present needs, to inspirit and enrich us. And like Gandalf, his concern is ultimately moral. In The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien strives to make us aware of the universal truths reflected in the works of the past so that in the future “what should be shall be” (FR, 473).

Notes

1. Foreword to The Fellowship of the Ring (New York: Ballantine Books, 1965), ix.

2. J. R. R. Tolkien, “On Fairy-stories,” Tree and Leaf (London: Unwin Books, 1964), 60.

3. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of the King (New York: Ballantine Books, 1965). 516. All subsequent page references to the trilogy will appear in parenthesis following the quotation. I use the following abbreviations: FR = The Fellowship of the Ring, TT = The Two Towers, RK = The Return of the King.

4. Henry Resnick, “An Interview with Tolkien,” Niekas, 18 (Spring, 1967):40.