Frodo listened with naive skepticism as Gandalf recalled the fates of Ringbearers past. The Ring, he explained, desired above all to reunite with Sauron, as torment and treachery awaited anyone with the potential to threaten this one objective. As symbolized by the Ring’s attraction, J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy shows that all are capable of justifying their lust for power, therefore reflecting also the ideological means by which totalitarianism successfully corrupted the masses during Tolkien’s lifetime. Whether by a King of Gondor or a sheltered Hobbit, all who either bore or sought to gain possession of Sauron’s “One Ring” were led astray by its virulent will. As Soviet dissident Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn notes in his masterful exposé1 The Gulag Archipelago, “the line separating good and evil” passes “through all human hearts,” (Solzhenitsyn 312) demonstrating that this universal fallibility applies far beyond the fictional confines of Middle-earth, constituting an ever-present humanitarian threat. Per the World Population Review, there have been eleven totalitarian nations in the past, and another two in current operation, indicating that such governance has yet to face extinction. The first step towards enabling its swift resurgence, however, is broad ignorance of its temptation.
(This literary cross-analysis will be completed by investigation of three relevant excerpts from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings series, the first of which pertains to Gollum’s backstory as narrated to Frodo Baggins by Gandalf in Book One, Chapter Two, titled “The Shadow of the Past” spanning pages 54-57)
Smeagol, as Gollum was once known, was immediately overcome with a burning impulse to hold the Ring that his companion, Deagol, had just retrieved from the River Anduin’s murky depths, insistent that it should be his birthday gift. Acquiring the Ring was now an “at all costs” mission, therefore prompting him to commit an unspeakable action. After being denied this “sensible” request, the once pure being proceeded to kill Deagol, only concerned with the shimmering reward that awaited him once the deed was done. One glance, and the Ring became the focal point of Smeagol’s existence; One moment, and a beloved friend became a foe deserving of death. Albeit more gradually, the same moral perversion that spurred Smeagol towards commiting murder became an enforced staple of Soviet totalitarianism, as the Communist Party consciously suffocated the empathy from its society. For instance, In The Gulag Archipelago, Solzhenitsyn reflects upon the viewing of a state-sponsored film, a relative privilege afforded to prisoners like himself on a triennial basis. The leadership had a clear message: “The result is what counts, and the result is not in your favor” (Solzhenitsyn 306). Simply put, any foolish notions of compassion or individuality must be discarded, since such trivial concepts only serve as obstacles to the state’s final goals. This frigid logic matches precisely the methodology of totalitarian entities outlined by political theorist Hannah Arendt in her best-known work, The Origins of Totalitarianism. Through her incisive prose, Arendt asserts that the totalitarian will for domination hinges on the grim basis whereby “everything is permitted” (Arendt 568) in the struggle towards eventual victory. What results, at varying speeds, is a sort of ethical dystrophy, for which the only known painkiller is cession of one’s own moral compass.
Frodo’s eyes widened as Gandalf continued, the wizard now detailing how Smeagol’s crooked behavior eventually caused his own “relations” to expel him into the solitude of the Misty Mountain caverns. Employing totalitarian-style strategy, the Ring purposefully guided Gollum into isolation, therefore making the processes of manipulation and terrorization far simpler endeavors. Fitting here is another one Hannah Arendt’s most enduring observations, that isolation provides “most fertile ground” for the growth of terror and totalitarian sentiment. Elaborating further, Arendt argues that both factors render people “impoten[t],” “powerless,” and only able to interact with their surroundings as “the human artifice.” Solzhenitsyn’s bleak memoirs within The Gulag Archipelago only fortify Arendt’s claims. He frequently laments the broad fear and distrust people experienced under Communist repression: How the omnipresence of a ruthless secret police force coupled with a vast network of anonymous civilian informants ushered in an “epidemic” of loneliness. Arrests in the U.S.S.R., as Solzhenitsyn describes, were something “of the most varied kind” (Solzhenitsyn 8). At the time, factors deemed irrelevant by the state included place, time, privacy, or even the action in question. In many cases, arrests were conducted even without “profound reason,” meant solely to fill an arbitrary quota. This caused the destruction of interpersonal trust, the overall cohesion of Soviet communities. Both of these cultural assets were supplanted by self-preservation, which developed into the default priority. The resultant paranoia brought about a spiritual crisis, whereby surrender to falsehood became “the only safe form of existence” (Solzhenitsyn 325). Fear and betrayal, evermore banal phenomena, actuated what Solzheitsyn coined the “slave psychology.” Alas, just as Gollum grew accustomed to life without sunlight, so too did many Soviet citizens lose their impulse to “shudder in revulsion” at the horrors surrounding them.
Countering Frodo’s reaction of sheer disgust, Gandalf instead insisted on the tragedy of Gollum’s plight, convinced that such misery could’ve easily awaited even those familiar to him. Tolkien strategically juxtaposes Frodo’s quickfire revulsion with Gandalf’s sound judgement, thereby highlighting key tenets of his own anti-totalitarian philosophy. A lifelong member of the Catholic Church, Tolkien’s worldview was largely a product of his faith. This is further evidenced by his characterization, namely his penchant for having the heroic and wise of Middle-earth to act within the stained-glass window of Judeo-Christian ideals. Chief among those values, as this dialogue implies, are sympathy and humility. Esteemed Tolkien scholar Janet Brennan Croft echoes this conclusion. In War and the Works of J.R.R. Tolkien, she notes that while the Englishman was by no means a pacifist, his writings did promote “just and merciful dealings,” even when said dealings involve an adversary (Croft 9). Unfortunately, this moral aptitude becomes rare in the face of totalitarian “rationality,” the Soviet “cult of personality” apparatus being no exception. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, however, was an admirable outlier. As an Orthodox Christian, he extols in his writing many of the same virtues present in Tolkien’s work. Despite having experienced the worst that mankind could offer, he somehow maintained his ability to recognize and respect the humanity of others. He even dedicates an entire chapter of The Gulag Archipelago to the pity and “understanding” of Communist Party “Loyalists” — those whose allegiance to the Soviet doctrine failed to spare them from “falling beneath the beloved ax.” Tolkien would almost certainly view such an inclusion as a testament to one’s strength of character, as well as a humble recognition of one’s own impurity.
(Here concludes the analysis of the first close reading. The next excerpt relates to the corruption of “Saruman the Wise,” as imparted by Gandalf the Grey to the Council of Elrond, found in Book Two, Chapter Two, titled “The Council of Elrond,” spanning pages 257-261.)
Gandalf stood in disbelief as Saruman declared his intention to join Sauron, his “old friend” now barely recognizable. In proposing this unthinkable pact, Saruman “the Wise” bends his own conceptions of right and wrong to mask his cowardice, therefore abandoning the greater good to ensure his own survival. The rising threat of Mordor presents Saruman with a dilemma akin to the “fork in the road” described by Solzhenitsyn in The Gulag Archipelago, by which those held in labor camps were forced to pick between life or conscience. Like many of Solzhenitsyn’s fellow prisoners, Saruman chooses to “survive at any price.” What follows this perverse exchange, in either case, is another “at all costs” effort. The main goal becomes finding justification for one’s own actions. Saruman hides his own fear by projecting certainty, crafting his own subjective “ultimate purpose.” To quote Winston Churchill, he is “All-strong without, he is all-weak within.” When discussing his plan with Gandalf, he asserts that an alliance with Sauron is their only hope. With jarring conviction, he suggests leaving behind the races of Free Men, condemning them as “weak and idle” impediments to progress. In doing so, Saruman cements himself as fundamentally corrupt in Tolkien’s view. As leading Tolkien expert Tom Shippey notes, Tolkien “hate[d] like poison” the idea of submitting to one’s enemies, something imbued in the young author during his World War I experience. Like his friend and contemporary author C.S. Lewis, he believed in a higher truth — an objective morality determined by natural law. To him, the consolidation of power endangered that very concept, facilitating the emergence of an artificial reality . The noblest path, then, is that which preserves and/or services the truth. Ergo, Saruman’s character is antithetical to everything Tolkien stood for, guilty of both tyrannical ambition and craven betrayal.
Saruman scoffed at the “insolence” of his lesser, standing firm in his belief that joining Sauron was the only reasonable path forward.It is this superiority complex which makes him undeserving of power, because it reflects an ability to disregard the humanity of others in the name of self-defined progress, something widely observed in totalitarian states. This attitude, in which a “muddied soul” can coexist with a “clear mind,” (Solzhenitsyn 325) has clearly afflicted Saruman’s reasoning. Certain it is that the wizard did not see the immorality of his ways2. Enamored with his own vision for the future, any means of accelerating towards it suddenly became necessary. Dissent became punishable, as Gandalf found out upon voicing his objection, leading to a rather brief imprisonment. When taken to the extreme, this mindset is unparalleled in its brutality. When taken to its “logical” conclusion, something as severe as murder becomes an act equally “impersonal as the squashing of a gnat” (Arendt 571). It is the same soulless rationalism that provided reason for the “substitution of numbers for names,” a practice utilized in both Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. Throughout the dialogue between the two wizards, Tolkien’s diction is telling. The irony, condescension, and misplaced self-righteousness that define Saruman’s words “unmask” his true nature, one in accordance with Solzhenitsyn’s coexistence model above. This becomes especially disturbing when Saruman’s background is considered. As established in The Silmarillion, Saruman is the leader of the Istari, an order of lesser divinities sent to Middle-earth for one reason: to keep Sauron from becoming too powerful. In submitting Sauron’s willpower, albeit unknowingly, he abandons his own purpose for being present in Middle-earth. To elaborate further, in leaving his own version of natural order behind, Saruman personifies Tolkien’s deep-seated fears about technology, most of all his belief that it could eventually cause a rift between reality and artifice. Moreover, as a being outranking even Gandalf, Saruman’s spiral into villainy demonstrates that even the wisest are not immune to the empty promises of power. In fact, Tolkien himself believed that those who actively pursued power were the “least fit” of all. Thus, Saruman embodies the excessive hubris that Tolkien outwardly abhorred, certain of his own noble intentions.
From Orthanc’s pinnacle, Gandalf gazed upon a valley once verdurous, now a sunken barracks for Saruman’s ambitions of conquest. This rapacious treatment of the natural landscape surrounding Isengard parallels the effects of advancing warfare and state collectivism during 20th century, because both relied on the same shortsighted reasoning. While imprisoned atop this massive tower, Gandalf realizes that Saruman is embarking on a total war effort. The captive wizard observes plumes of “dark smoke” that surround the area, continuously rising from the “pits and forges” below. In describing this scene, Tolkien creates a setting evocative of 19th century Manchester, an imposing eyesore blackened by pollution. Through this harrowing imagery, he implicitly conveys his own pessimism regarding technology and modernization. This outlook was shaped by two key elements of his upbringing: Rapid “industrialization of the English countryside,” and his time as a soldier during the First World War. In the same vein, Solzhenitsyn expresses his scorn for such ill-considered defacement of the natural world, having witnessed its detrimental impacts firsthand. He derides the “plowing under” of vegetable gardens, and the needless “cutting down” (Solzhenitsyn 141) of trees that resulted from Stalin’s relentless prison expansion efforts. The shared internal disgust of these two authors is well-founded. In Tolkien’s early adulthood, he is influenced by the horrors of trench warfare, cursed with the “ineradicable memory” of the cadaver-laden wastelands that dotted the French frontier (Croft 35). In Solzhenitsyn’s motherland, it was Communist Party’s resource seizures that molded his perspective. These state abuses lead to environmental catastrophes such as the draining of the Aral Sea, along with countless famines which yielded death tolls in the millions.
(The final close reading pertains to the Ring’s corruption of Boromir, his subsequent fatal redemption, and the Fellowship’s respectful honoring of his death . It is found in Book Three, Chapter One, fittingly titled “The Departure of Boromir,” spanning pages 414-418.)
Surrounded by the score of lifeless orcs he smote, Boromir informed Aragorn of his attempt to take the One Ring from Frodo, his last words of sincere contrition. Even following such a substantial lapse in judgement, Boromir manages to retain his honor in death, because his life’s conclusion was defined by honesty and courage. As a warrior of Gondor, Boromir is respected for his battlefield valiance. His final deeds exhibit this bravery, as he dies defending the Fellowship’s purpose. “You have conquered… Be at peace!” Aragorn assures him (Tolkien 414). Yet, perhaps an even more meaningful aspect of his redemption is his remorse. In his dying moments, Boromir atones for his wrongdoing. The context in which he does so also points to his sincerity. Aragorn did not witness the interaction between Frodo and Boromir, proving that he could have lied to Aragorn without being doubted. However, in proceeding truthfully, he concludes his mortal departure with “eucatastrophic, redemptive grace” (Croft 9), a motif seen throughout much of Tolkien’s work with a clear connection to his Catholic background. In the comparable doctrines of Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy, it is sacrifice and genuine free will that ensure the forgiveness of sins. Bearing this similarity in mind, Solzhenitsyn’s claims regarding the potential catharsis that totalitarian prison camp offered begin to sound more sensible. In The Gulag Archipelago, he argues that the soul “ripens in suffering,” capable of “ascending” with the aid of patience and diligent introspection (Solzhenitsyn 308). Employing this very logic, Boromir is a man absolved, having felt this very “ripening” as he lay mortally wounded, certain of death’s approach.
The Fellowship recognized in Boromir a soul deserving of forgiveness, granting him an honorable sendoff despite severely limited time. The group’s decision to “tend to the fallen” before continuing their quest is stark proof of their heroism, because it runs contrary to the depraved totalitarian belief that humanity is only a hurdle in the way of a finish line (Tolkien 414). Rather than leave Boromir as “carrion” food scraps for the approaching Orcs to scavenge, they decide to pay homage to the departed man’s image. They cast him adrift in a small boat, singing songs of praise as the “cairn” eclipsed the starry horizon. By carrying out this last ceremony, the Fellowship epitomizes Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s idea that the “spirit” is “what counts,” not purely a result (Solzhenitsyn 307). This innate respect for the worth of the individual was considered an irrational weakness in places like the Soviet Union. Rather, the individual was a mere cog in a massive machine; And since those in power were its technicians, any “defective” components could be declared worth removing. Through “ideological indoctrination” the goal was to engineer a collective humanity (Arendt 565) with monolithic adherence to the state’s rigid dogma. With humanity an expendable resource, heinous acts became increasingly acceptable. Rather than being floated down a gentle river below a starry sky, as Boromir was, people instead floated through the dingy sewer pipes of the Gulag complex, reduced into a vile concoction of bodily fluids. After all, once the conscience is “committ[ed] to another’s keeping,” then atrocity becomes little more than an order to be followed (Solzhenitsyn 385).
Totalitarianism and its laundry list of democides (mass murder by one’s own government) were the scourge of the 20th century, with an estimated death count of 262 million people left in their wake4. While this has certainly slowed during the opening quarter of the current century, it’s vital to be cognizant of the many subtle indications of its potential to reemerge at any moment. When Chinese president, and Communist Party leader Xi Jinping rewrote his nation’s constitution to ensure lifelong rule, this was a concerning step back, a reversion towards Maoist-style dictatorship. When5 the same country is exposed for running concentration camps for the purpose of forced religious conversion, this should also prompt worry. Even in the United States, precursors of the same wicked philosophy are becoming ever more relevant. With the rising dependency on technology, it is easier than ever to isolate oneself. With an increased surveillance infrastructure, and abuses by government agencies such as the NSA, it is perpetually unclear whether one is being observed. As a result of a consistent decrease in social capital, it becomes harder to trust one’s neighbors, or even to get familiar with one’s own community. Thus, the modern American is paradoxically connected, yet all the while more prone to isolation than ever before. Fatal overdoses and suicides, commonly known as “deaths of despair” are also heightening in frequency, causing the richest nation in world history’s life expectancy to be in decline, something never observed since the statistic was first tracked. Therefore, perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise that our discourse is charged with identity politics, fringe ideologies on both ends of the spectrum, and growing approval for socialism among those in the younger generations. It is out of desperation that totalitarianism spreads its wings, and many of the problems outlined above (e.g. widespread loneliness, waning community cohesion, increased suicides) should therefore be considered threatening — symptoms not to be ignored out of complacency.6
Rhetorical Technique Key:
1.) Ethos
2.) Anastrophe
3.) Isocolon
4.) Logos
5.) Repetition
6.) Pathos
Works Cited
Arendt, Hannah. The Origins of Totalitarianism. Franklin Classics, 2019.
Croft, Janet Brennan, and J. R. R. Tolkien. War and the Works of J.R.R. Tolkien. Praeger, 2004.
Farnsworth, Ward. Farnsworth’s Classical English Rhetoric. David R. Godine, Publisher, 2016.
Purtill, Richard L. J.R.R. Tolkien: Myth, Morality, and Religion. Ignatius Press, 2003.
Solženicyn Aleksandr, and Thomas P. Whitney. The Gulag Archipelago. Harper & Row, 1975.
Tolkien, J. R. R. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien: a Selection. HarperCollinsPublishers, 2006.
Tolkien, J. R. R. The Lord of the Rings / 50th Anniversary, the Complete Classic in One Volume. HarperCollinsPublishers, 2005.
Leave a Reply