by Peter Archer
Which are you?
While this moment marks the end of Bilbo’s transformation, it is not the end of his hero’s journey. The purpose of the journey is to create a hero—not for the mere sake of it, but in order that this individual can confront the great evil that is threatening the land.
From this point on in The Hobbit, Bilbo is a doer of heroic deeds. With his sword and his ring and his brain, he rescues the dwarves from the spiders, and then from the Wood-elves, and then from the dragon itself, and finally from the Battle of Five Armies. Had the dwarves not been given their reluctant burglar from Bag End, they would’ve perished ten times over and never reached, much less won, the object of their quest.
Are you a doer of great deeds? Are those in your care protected because you are in their lives? Slay your monster, name your sword, and take your place among the heroes.
Conclusion
Bilbo faced great fear and evil, and he emerged a hero. We could trace Frodo’s journey just as well, for it follows the same path from childlike victim to responsible champion.
What have been the steps of your hero’s journey? Where are you on that map? What might you do to advance to the next phase?
Should you take it, the journey will change you forever. You will never again be the innocent you once were. The fears faced and the responsibilities accepted transform you.
It is said that the person who returns home after going on his hero’s journey will never need to go on it again. Instead he becomes the mentor, the wise wizard to a new generation of those just beginning the journey. If you have been on this journey—there and back again—who around you might benefit from what you have learned?
When Gandalf chose Bilbo to be the burglar for the dwarves, he said this to ease their misgivings: “There is a lot more in him than you guess, and a deal more than he has any idea of himself.”
So it is with you.
Carrying Rings and Other Responsibilities
O Sam!” cried Frodo. “What have I said? What have I done? Forgive me! After all you have done.
It is the horrible power of the Ring. I wish it had never, never, been found. But don’t mind me, Sam. I must
carry the burden to the end. It can’t be altered. You
can’t come between me and this doom.”
—Frodo in JRR Tolkien’s
The Return of the King
When The Hobbit begins, Bilbo Baggins is a typical member of hobbit society.
The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected; you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. (The Hobbit, chapter 1)
Being among the hobbit aristocracy, as it were, Bilbo had certain obligations to maintain. If it’s true he never did anything unexpected, then it means he did everything that was expected of him. Doubtless he took part in civic affairs when called upon, weighed in on matters of import, and took his turn in a variety of leadership posts over his long lifetime before he went on his unexpected journey.
But he had not always been like that. As with the rural Brits of the 1930s, upon whom Tolkien’s hobbits were modeled, Bilbo and his contemporaries doubtless avoided responsibility for as long as possible, especially during the irresponsible tweens.
Even into adulthood, hobbit males preferred to fish or drink or smoke or eat—and preferably all in a single outing—rather than tend to crops or brush down the ponies or do anything else that resembled work. If the women of the Shire didn’t catch them, even hobbit grandfathers and other worthies would sneak out for a little libation instead of sweating under the sun.
In short, Bilbo was a leading member of a group of reluctant workers always pining for the end of the workday, rather like school children. Responsibility might be thrust upon them, and indeed they might do well when forced to exercise it, but it was never their preference.
So how is it that Bilbo came to command the respect of battle-hardened dwarves, men, and elves? How is it that Frodo—a fine young hobbit if ever there was one—came to bear the weight of Middle-earth on his narrow shoulders? And what can we learn from their examples?
Let us see. (Note: This chapter is best read with Howard Shore’s soundtrack to The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings playing in the background. It’s suitably thoughtful and even somber at times.)
Do What Must Be Done
All of us would rather play than work. Doing what we want is always preferable to doing what we must do. Even things that are themselves enjoyable—like art, playing a game, being at Disney World, or going on safari—can become tiresome and unpleasant if we’re not careful.
How lucky are those who truly love what they do for a living? To wrap one’s genuine joy into a job that provides a comfortable living, to love getting up in the morning and going to work, is the dream of pretty much every adult.
Someone in a job he or she doesn’t entirely love needs to find something to love in that job. Maybe the work is mind-numbing, but your coworkers are interesting and worth investing time and attention in. Maybe the working conditions are less than desirable, but you’re doing something that will benefit and perhaps even protect others. It could be that the office dynamics are somewhat dysfunctional, but the wage you’re bringing home allows you and your family to take trips, thereby creating memories you will treasure.
Doing the thing you don’t want to do, simply because it must be done, is being responsible.
Bilbo and his fellow hobbits knew this. Even the most irresponsible twentysomething hobbit male understood that if he wanted food, someone would have to prepare it—maybe even him. It wasn’t by Gandalf’s magic that the Green Dragon was supplied with meat and drink. Nor did Wood-elves sneak in at night and build the furniture or furnish the rooms or load the firewood. Rangers of the North might have guarded the borders of the Shire, but they weren’t hunting, dressing, and cooking deer for the hobbits to eat.
Play is what a hobbit earned by his work. The idea that a person must contribute to the welfare of the group before he can partake of that group’s bounty is not something we’ve invented in the age of men. You must eat your vegetables before you get your dessert. You must do the schoolwork before you get to play on the team or march in the band. You retire with a nice pension only after you have given your decades of faithful service.
Are there areas in your life where you might need to work a little harder? Have you let something important slide because it’s more fun to go out and play? Or, are you working too long or too much and not giving yourself the fun you sorely need? If hobbits can be counted on for anything, it’s to be examples of how to cut loose. Maybe you need to do a bit more of that yourself.
Play is vital to mental health, but we emulate the responsibility of a Bilbo or a Frodo when we defer our fun times until we have first accomplished what must be done.
Responsibility and Character
At the beginning of The Hobbit, Bilbo is timid, uncertain, and complacent. He is passive. He does what is expected of him. Is it praise or condemnation when others say that he is so utterly non-noteworthy that his opinion is known without the need to ask it of him?
When he is whisked away with the dwarves as their untried burglar, he feels a correspondingly low sense of responsibility to the group. One wonders if he might even wish some calamity to come upon the dwarves that would allow him to scamper back to the Shire.
Sometimes we, too, are thrust into situations we did not choose. Selected for a task we didn’t want, “volunteered” for an errand that will eat up our Saturday, stuck taking the neighbor kids with us to the boat show.
When that happens, it is natural to feel that we aren’t responsible for what happens. It wasn’t our choice to be doing this (or to be doing it in this way), so who cares how it turns out? Our feeling of involvement is low.
So when Bilbo s
couted ahead and encountered three trolls eating roast mutton, he did not go back and warn the dwarves. Wouldn’t they have appreciated knowing “that there were three fair-sized trolls at hand in a nasty mood, quite likely to try toasted dwarf, or even pony, for a change”? Oh, he thought he probably should tell them, but he didn’t.
When we feel put-upon to do something we don’t want to do, it often takes a while for us to think responsibly about the people we’re with or for whom we’re doing such put-upon things. “It’s not my car,” or “They’re not my kids.”
They’re not my dwarves.
Sometimes it takes calamity—or a near miss—to bring us to our senses and make us begin to care.
Bilbo watched the trolls capture all the dwarves except Thorin, and in the midst of this disaster, suddenly he engaged. He warns Thorin of the trolls, and when the dwarf began to fight the trolls, Bilbo actually dove in. Not that a hobbit holding on to a troll’s ankle would do much in a scuffle, but we’re looking at the size of his heart here, not the size of his body.
After the serendipitous return of Gandalf and the escape of their entire company, Bilbo was more—and permanently—engaged with the fate of the group. He volunteered the trolls’ key that opened the door to their stash, which led to the discovery of magical swords that benefitted not only his dwarven companions but a mighty wizard.
As his own reward, Bilbo received a knife in a leather sheath, “only a tiny pocket-knife for a troll, but … as good as a short sword for the hobbit.” In due time, others would feel the sting of this knife.
And it all came about because Bilbo went from not caring for the people he was with to throwing in with them. And with every adventure he would face with them, though the adventures became increasingly difficult and dangerous, Bilbo accepts more and more responsibility for the safety of the group and its mission.
Our own character is tested when we are put into situations against our will. Our resentment at being overruled may express itself in a lack of concern for the outcome of the effort or the welfare of those we’re forced to be around.
That’s natural (human, even) and isn’t really the issue. What matters is how we respond as the situation proceeds. Riding that nonchalance and disconnection for a long time reveals a lack of nobility in our character.
What reveals good character is when we decide that, even though we didn’t choose this development, we’re going to behave as moral, responsible people nonetheless.
When we do, who knows what rewards will come our way. Maybe they will come in the form of wealth or powerful new tools, or maybe it will just be the richness we receive when we honestly invest in the lives of those around us.
Use Your Rings Wisely
Wouldn’t it be nice to have a magic ring? Keeping in mind Gandalf’s warning that “There are many magic rings in this world, Bilbo Baggins, and none of them should be used lightly,” it would still be pretty amazing to have one.
Poor Frodo had almost none of the “fun” of having such a ring, but he had more than his share of the danger. It would be better to have been Bilbo back in the time when Sauron was just the Necromancer in Mirkwood and hadn’t the strength or the knowledge to come looking for the Ring in the Shire.
Bilbo could put that ring on whenever he felt like it. He’d vanish and a whole new realm of possibilities opened up to him.
Invisibility
What would you do with a ring that made you invisible? Spy on someone? Sneak away from obnoxious Sackville-Bagginses? Approach villains unaware and deal with them like a superhero? Shoplift? Leave anonymous gifts? Gain access to restricted areas?
A magical ring, like any great boon, reveals what is inside the bearer’s heart. Being given one is akin to being asked, “What would you do if you could do anything and get away with it scot-free?”
Bilbo’s ring, like the nine rings given to the great men of old, made the wearer invisible and granted long life. It wasn’t until the One Ring passed to Frodo that its power to corrupt became evident. But even without Sauron’s influence tugging toward evil, a magical ring would have the tendency to lead the wearer in the wrong direction.
How much of what we do—and don’t do—is determined by the fact that someone might catch us doing it? If you remove that accountability and give someone absolute anonymity, what might he or she become capable of?
The old saying, “Character is who you are when no one is looking,” takes on new significance when we’re talking about rings of invisibility.
But even without a magical ring, modern technology gives each one of us stealth capability, especially when dealing with people on the Internet. Give someone a username that masks his identity, set him loose among other people who may or may not be who they show themselves to be, and all manner of normally forbidden behavior becomes possible.
Spend an hour on an online multiplayer game, and you’ll see people using language and talking about topics that would make their friends and family gasp. Most likely, these gamers would never say such things when someone could hear them and identify them as the speaker. But grant invisibility, and who knows what will crawl out of his heart?
There have been many examples in the news of sexual predators using online chatrooms and Facebook to lure new victims. They give themselves harmless-sounding names—names that make them seem like another child, for instance—and start their stalking.
Bilbo showed remarkable character and restraint while using his ring. He put it on to save his friends or sneak into dungeons to effect their release. If the power of anonymity reveals what is in a person’s heart, then what was in Bilbo’s heart was great indeed. When you have power to help or harm and you choose to help, you are shown to be noble.
Faramir, Captain of Gondor, had such power over Frodo and Sam. When it came time for him to show his worth, he chose to help, not harm, though it might have cost him his very life. His character, as Sam says, is the very finest.
Do you have power to do good or evil to someone? Are you unwatched in certain situations, giving you opportunity to harm or help, protect or pilfer? If so, when it is time for you to show your worth, what will you do?
Very Long Life
The One Ring and the nine given to men gave not only invisibility but also long life.
What would you do with three lifetimes?
The elves never died of old age. They might be killed in battle or through some accident, but never due to advanced age. They spent their long lives honoring their traditions, making music and making skillful crafts, preserving their lands, and at times allying with others against evil.
In the Highlander series of movies and shows, certain characters were immortal. Unless they were killed by beheading, they lived endlessly.
Can you imagine living so long? You wouldn’t have to worry about dying before some project was finished or some person had come of age. You wouldn’t be bothered if something took “forever” to accomplish.
Would you make friends with those living a normal lifespan? Would it break your heart to marry and have children if you knew you would watch them grow old and die while you simply lingered? Would you prefer to be isolated?
What views would you hold if you were going to live indefinitely? What chances would you take if you knew you would survive virtually any mishap? How would you view fads and trends if you’d seen millions of them come and go over your lifetime?
What would a responsible life look like if it were measured in centuries instead of years?
We gain wisdom the older we get. That’s a nice way of saying that we make a lot of mistakes in this life. Hopefully we learn from them, at least enough so we don’t make them again. We may not have a magical ring giving us unnaturally long life, but the chances are good that there are people around us who could benefit from our hard-earned wisdom.
Who in your circle of friends and family might be helped by what you have to offer? You can’t come across as a know-it-all, of course, or no one will pay heed. But can you thi
nk of people or groups you could talk to who might find your knowledge useful? One person held back from making a bad decision because of what you said would be considered a victory.
Give someone the benefit of the lessons you’ve learned, whether you’ve learned them over many lifetimes or just one.
The Pull of Evil
Magic rings, like great wealth or unchecked power, can lead the owner either to good or to evil. As we have seen, such things reveal what is in the bearer’s heart.
How many lottery winners end up in misery? Some descend into depression. Many wind up in poverty. And some even commit suicide. How can this be? Surely having unlimited wealth thrust upon a man would make him happy.
That’s not to say that there aren’t very wealthy people who live full lives in joy and contentment, because there certainly are many people like that.
The point is that great wealth or power can change a person. Whatever things were kept repressed in a person’s heart when he did not have that wealth or power are now set loose. If you didn’t do something magnanimous because you lacked the money to do it, suddenly the option is back on the table. If you didn’t do something that perhaps the culture would frown upon, you might have kept it inside for fear of losing your job if it went wrong. But with no fear of losing your economic plenty, such things might occur to you again.
We are forever pulled in good directions and bad. Most of us are simultaneously blessed and cursed with the inability to follow those directions to any extreme. But with great power and wealth comes great freedom to do what might previously have been impossible.
The One Ring gave invisibility, enhanced hearing, and prolonged life. It gave vision into a previously hidden realm of existence. It gave a portion of power relative to the bearer’s strength of will. But it also exerted a malicious influence that tugged its bearer always toward darkness.