Living a life, then, in which one is actively seeking justice and self-improvement, seems to be a necessary part of the way practical reason is supposed to work, as opposed to living a life devoted to power and domination. On this view, no list of rules will be sufficient. Recognizing that ethics is too complicated to be reduced to any short list of moral rules, virtue ethics offers no simple procedure for making moral choices. Instead, it offers a broad framework for thinking about ethical issues and responsibilities. It urges us to focus, first, on the ultimate goal of human striving: to flourish as happy, fulfilled human beings. It then asks what virtues or admirable traits of character we need to achieve that flourishing or fulfillment. The endeavor to form good character through practical reason is not a certain path to the well-lived life, but it seems to be the most likely strategy. If one can orient oneself towards these virtues, one can seek to act in ways that promote them. As Tolkien reminds us, this is the best insurance against corruption and destruction.8
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1 Chiefly in Nicomachean Ethics, translated by Terence Irwin (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1985).
2 Complicating matters is the fact that Saruman is not a human but a wizard. The conditions for living a good life may be different for humans and other species. But on the other hand, even other wizards seem to think that Saruman has misjudged the nature of his own good.
3 While hobbits are not humans, they are sufficiently like humans that a lot of the same theories of the good life would apply. Elves, by contrast, are strikingly dissimilar to both humans and hobbits. But Aristotle’s ethics, like almost everything else in philosophy, is meant for humans, so I will not speculate on what Aristotle might say is the good life for an elf.
4 It doesn’t help to note that Boromir is less wise than Gandalf or Galadriel, whose refusals to accept the Ring are informed by magical foresight. Aragorn is capable of discerning this with lesser powers, and is thus a more relevant comparison.
5 Hesiod, Works and Days, 336–340, quoted in Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, pp. 6–7, 1095b10.
6 Immanuel Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals, third edition, translated by James W. Ellington (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993), pp. 7–8.
7 See, for example, Jeremy Bentham, An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (New York: Hafner, 1948), pp. 1–4; and John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1979), pp. 6–26.
8 I am grateful to Eric Bronson and Gregory Bassham for suggesting several useful clarifications and emendations to this essay.
PART IV
Time and Mortality
10
Choosing to Die: The Gift of Mortality in Middle-earth
BILL DAVIS
Aragorn’s love for Arwen makes the safety of Frodo and the Ring especially important to him. He very nearly fails to guide Frodo and the Ring from Bree to the safety of Elrond’s house. And had he failed, the price would have been very great. In possession of the Ring, Sauron would have been unstoppable. All the good in Middle-earth would have been destroyed. Aragorn would never have been allowed to marry Arwen, Elrond’s daughter, and all his hopes would have been dashed.
Arwen’s love for Aragorn, however, is even more complicated. The movie The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring shows the two of them discussing their future during Aragorn’s stay at Rivendell. On a bridge in a lush garden they speak tenderly of their commitment to each other. She asks if he remembers her promise. He does, saying, “You said you’d bind yourself to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people.” Her reply is unwavering, “And to that I hold. I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. I choose a mortal life.” She clearly loves him, but what does death have to do with her choice?
Aragorn’s love will send him on a long and dangerous road to protect Frodo and the Ring. Arwen’s love demands even more. If he succeeds, she will marry him and accept his fate as a mortal. How can Aragorn ask this of Arwen? And why would Arwen choose to pay such a high price?
Questions like these can be answered on two levels that ultimately converge. On the first level, we might look for answers that would make sense to Tolkien’s characters inside his story. Tolkien’s world is rich and complex, and explaining his characters’ choices is challenging. By the end of this chapter I hope to show why Arwen doesn’t cling to immortality and why Aragorn accepts death peacefully. Answers on the second level concern death and immortality in our own lives. The choices made by Arwen and Aragorn raise important questions about our own death and what will happen to us afterwards. And thoughtful answers to these questions are all around us in popular culture and in religious and philosophical writing. On the way to explaining Arwen’s choice, I will consider some of these responses. Even though we cannot choose to avoid death, we can learn to face it more thoughtfully by considering Tolkien’s difficult suggestion that death can be a gift.
Death in Middle-earth
Although they are allies in the struggle against Sauron’s efforts to dominate Middle-earth, elves and men1 face very different fates. Like humans in the real world, Tolkien’s men and hobbits are mortal. Whether from old age, sickness or injury, a time comes when their bodies are no longer able to support life. And when their bodies die, their souls leave Arda, the earth.2 Elves, on the other hand, face a different fate. Elvish bodies can grow weary or be hurt so that they can’t sustain life. But when they do, elvish souls remain “within the circles of the world.” Men aren’t sure what will happen to them after death. Elves know that no matter what happens to their bodies, their souls will have an active place in the life of Arda.
Arwen must choose between these two fates because she is half-elven like her father, Elrond. Half-elves are very rare, but they must choose whether they will share the fate of men or the fate of elves. Arwen chooses to share Aragorn’s fate, making her own death inevitable. The process of dying in Middle-earth is no more pleasant than it is in our world. But even though it involves pain and separation from loved ones, wise men and most elves refer to mortality as a “gift” to men (RK, p. 378; S, p. 265; L, p. 285). Elves have the “gift” of immortality, of lasting as long as the world endures. Curiously, most elves and men wish they had the other race’s fate. Most elves envy the ability to die, and most men envy elven deathlessness.
Two groups of mortals, however, do not envy the elves. The first group consists of the Ringwraiths, the shadowy figures who chase Frodo to Rivendell. In the first movie, The Fellowship of the Ring, scenes flash of black horses being unleashed, ridden by heavily cloaked shapes also in black. These Nine Riders pursue Frodo and the Ring, nearly catching them in the Inn at Bree. Halfway to Rivendell, five of the Riders attack Frodo among the ruins of Weathertop. Frodo, terror-stricken, reaches for the Ring as they approach him; but when he slips it on he sees them for what they are, emaciated old men wearing crowns. These Black Riders are the Nazgûl, or Ringwraiths, the undead human kings that accepted the nine Rings of Power and became Sauron’s slaves.
When Frodo puts on the Ring, it is as if he enters another reality. But the reality of the undead Ringwraiths had been there all the time. Putting on the Ring only made it visible to Frodo. The Ringwraiths are horrific because they are undead: they are not dead, and for them not dying is a curse. The kings who accepted the rings from Sauron are men. Because their lust for power led the Nine to join with Sauron, their existence continues past the time when they should have received the gift of death. They are thus the “undead,” specters who should be dead, but who are held in existence by the cruel will of their master, Sauron, and an undying lust for the Ring. They pursue Frodo because he possesses the Ring; and their existence is consumed completely by the desire to get it. At the Ford of Bruinen a watery torrent of horses washes away the horses they are riding, but the Nine are not drowned. The horses are lost, but the undead cannot die, and that is part of their punishment for their greed.
In his treatment of the Ringwraiths, Tol
kien assumes that existence isn’t always better than non-existence. While we are tempted to think that living is always better than dying, Tolkien follows the philosopher Aristotle in thinking that only natural existence is a good thing. Continuing to exist in any other way—any unnatural way—is worse than death. Like every natural thing, Ringwraiths have a nature, a way that they are supposed to be. Even though the Ring dominates them, they are still by nature men. The way a thing is supposed to be—its nature—determines not only the limits of what it can do, but also how it finds fulfillment.3 A flower finds its fulfillment in blossoming and providing the seeds for reproducing itself. A beaver dams a river, builds a lodge, and mates. Men by nature develop civilizations and reproduce; and they die when their time is spent.
When any natural thing is prevented from fulfilling its natural purpose, it is frustrated. If it is conscious, it feels this failure and knows it is incomplete. A beaver prevented from building and mating would languish, aware that something was missing. Similarly, for the Ringwraiths, unending existence is a fate worse than death; it involves the perpetual pain of having their natures frustrated.
A second group of mortals who do not envy elven deathlessness includes noble men like Aragorn and faithful hobbits like Frodo. They are somehow able to embrace death without despair. As a reward for his heroism and suffering, Frodo is permitted to cross the Sea to the Undying Lands. In this land of peace and deathlessness Frodo recovers from his wounds and sadness. But he doesn’t remain in Aman forever. Eventually he chooses to give up his life and pass beyond the circles of this world (L, p. 328). After defeating Sauron and reigning as King, Aragorn also accepts death freely (RK, p. 378). So, eventually, does Arwen. Aragorn, Frodo and Arwen all reap the “gift” of being able to leave Arda when their years are full.
It isn’t hard to see why the Ringwraiths would welcome death as a release from endless torment. But it is harder to understand why both the men and elves of Middle-earth would call death a “gift.” Most elves expect that when men die their souls will be annihilated, ceasing to exist altogether.4 Why then would elves envy the ability to die? Elves admit that men have the “gift” of not being bound to the circles of this world, but they don’t distinguish between two very different ways this might be true. An example might help to illustrate the difference.
Suppose an ingenious police officer has put you and a friend under house arrest in two different houses. Both of the houses are full of things to do, but if your friend ever attempts to leave, the doors will either be locked or will lead back into some other part of the same house. Your friend has the fate of the elves: lots to do, but no way to leave. If instead you had the fate of men, before long you would be required to leave the house/prison. Some of the doors would open and lead somewhere other than another part of your house. In this situation, your friend might well say that you have the “gift” or “privilege” of being able to leave.
But is this gift a blessing? If at least one of the doors leads away from the house to somewhere else with things worth doing, then it is a blessing to be able to leave. In this case being able to leave the confines of the house—or the circle of the world—is good. But what if every open door leads to unending pitch-black nothingness, or off the edge of an enormous cliff onto jagged rocks? In that case is it a blessing to be able to leave? Feeling trapped in a world with no escape,5 elves envy even the possibility of annihilation. In uncertainty and despair, most men in Middle-earth fear that their fate is the enormous cliff (annihilation). Concerning our own uncertainty about death, philosophers have had a lot to say.
Death on Planet Earth
Because we share with Tolkien’s men and hobbits the “gift” of death, we don’t find it difficult to understand their fears about death and what comes after it. Hamlet’s famous “To be or not to be” speech deals with the problem directly: death is “the undiscovered country.”6 It may be sleep; it may bring fantastic dreams; or it may bring hellish torment. For Hamlet, not knowing what comes next is a good reason to avoid death. Classical literature like Dante’s Inferno, cartoons like The Far Side, and even television commercials depict hell as a fiery land of personalized torment. Similar sources depict heaven as a happy place—angels lounging on clouds, winged saints with harps and no cares—but one that might be a bit boring. The standard story is that after death souls continue to live, but that their quality of life depends upon whether they were good or evil while on earth. We are fascinated by the afterlife because of the great difference between torment and bliss. Uncertainty about what we’ll find can make the subject frightening. It also makes the topic attractive to philosophers.
The most common conclusion among philosophers is that we shouldn’t be afraid of death. Their reasons differ, but the earliest Western argument against fearing death is probably the most famous. In 399 B.C., Plato’s mentor, Socrates, was convicted of a variety of crimes. The jury that had convicted him then had to decide whether to have him executed (as the prosecution wanted) or to impose whatever Socrates offered as a suitable punishment. The jury expected Socrates to propose exile instead of death, but he surprised them. At first he asked to be treated as a town hero with the right to free meals for life, but finally he proposed a small fine. In his Apology, Plato records Socrates’s reasons for taking such a bold step. Refusing to be ruled by fear of what he didn’t know, he was confident that after death he would be better off. He may sleep forever. Or he may end up talking to heroes who have already died. Neither prospect scared him enough to make him beg the jury for a lesser punishment than execution. He reasoned his way to accepting death calmly.
Socrates is famous for accepting death “philosophically,” meaning that he based his actions on a reasoned argument rather than on his emotions. For over two thousand years intellectuals have pointed to Socrates as a shining example of a philosophical approach to death. But part of Socrates’s reason for accepting death was his confidence that his soul would continue to exist afterwards. He believed that his soul was immortal.
Not everyone expects death to be followed by a conscious afterlife. Some philosophers have warned that it is possible that after death we will simply cease to exist altogether. Like many elves in Tolkien’s world, these philosophers insist that human death won’t be a transition; it will be the very end. But many of the same philosophers who expect annihilation refuse to fear death. In his book, On the Nature of Things, the Epicurean philosopher Lucretius argued that only the superstitious fear death. He was convinced that we are only our bodies and that we cease to exist completely when our bodies die. While this might seem to be a depressing conclusion, he insisted that we should find it liberating. The process of dying may be unpleasant, but being dead isn’t scary, because once we’re dead we won’t experience anything at all. For Lucretius this is good news. It means that we can stop wasting time trying to please priests or saying useless prayers.
Lucretius is not alone in thinking that impending annihilation can be liberating. Existentialists such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus want us to see that the inevitability of death can be helpful. Because we know that we are going to die soon, we are not tempted to take this life for granted. Our impending death keeps us from forgetting that this life is all there is, and that we have only a short time to live as richly and meaningfully as we can. It takes great courage to live with full knowledge that this is all there is, but death keeps us from thinking that we have forever to get it right. For Sartre and Camus, dying itself isn’t a blessing, but unflinching awareness that we will die is a great advantage.7
Immortality in Middle-earth
While many philosophers wrestle with the possibility of their own annihilation, the elves of Middle-earth face the prospect of unending consciousness. Unlike the Ringwraiths who persist without bodies of their own, elves always have bodies. Even if their bodies die, their souls do not long remain disembodied; they get new bodies, and even recover all their past memories (L, p. 286). The most common afterlife fate depicted in
Tolkien’s story is reincarnation (L, p. 189). The clearest and most spectacular example of reincarnation in The Lord of the Rings is Gandalf’s return. Passing through the Mines of Moria, Gandalf enables the other eight members of the Fellowship to escape by standing alone against the Balrog. He prevents the black menace from passing the bridge, but Gandalf is dragged into the abyss by a last desperate stroke from the Balrog’s whip. As far as anyone can tell at the time, the wizard plummets to his death (FR, p. 371).
It is a crushing blow to the company, and their hopes steadily fade until a changed Gandalf reveals himself to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli as they search for Pippin and Merry. The story that Gandalf tells of his long fall into the pit, his struggle with the Balrog and eventual return is vague, hinting at both death and victory. But as Tolkien makes clear in his letters, Gandalf the Grey did die, was given a new body, and was returned by Ilúvatar to Middle-earth as Gandalf the White (L, pp. 201–03).
The Lord of the Rings and Philosophy Page 14