(I wonder whether Mrs Eileen Elgar has saved Tolkien's letter - reading it
in its final draft would be interesting)

[A reply to a reader's comments on Frodo's failure to surrender the Ring in
the Cracks of Doom.]

Very few (indeed so far as letters go only you and one other) have observed
or commented on Frodo's 'failure'. It is a very important point.

From the point of view of the storyteller the events on Mt Doom proceed
simply from the logic of the tale up to that time. They were not
deliberately worked up to nor foreseen until they occurred.[1] But, for one
thing, it became at last quite clear that Frodo after all that had happened
would be incapable of voluntarily destroying the Ring. Reflecting on the
solution after it was arrived at (as a mere event) I feel that it is central
to the whole 'theory' of true nobility and heroism that is presented.

Frodo indeed 'failed' as a hero, as conceived by simple minds: he did not
endure to the end; he gave in, ratted. I do not say 'simple minds' with
contempt: they often see with clarity the simple truth and the absolute
ideal to which effort must be directed, even if it is unattainable. Their
weakness, however, is twofold. They do not perceive the complexity of any
given situation in Time, in which an absolute ideal is enmeshed. They tend
to forget that strange element in the World that we call Pity or Mercy,
which is also an absolute requirement in moral judgement (since it is
present in the Divine nature). In its highest exercise it belongs to God.
For finite judges of imperfect knowledge it must lead to the use of two
different scales of 'morality'. To ourselves we must present the absolute
ideal without compromise, for we do not know our own limits of natural
strength (+grace), and if we do not aim at the highest we shall certainly
fall short of the utmost that we could achieve. To others, in any case of
which we know enough to make a judgement, we must apply a scale tempered by
'mercy': that is, since we can with good will do this without the bias
inevitable in judgements of ourselves, we must estimate the limits of
another's strength and weigh this against the force of particular
circumstances.[2]

I do not think that Frodo's was a moral failure. At the last moment the
pressure of the Ring would reach its maximum - impossible, I should have
said, for any one to resist, certainly after long possession, months of
increasing torment, and when starved and exhausted. Frodo had done what he
could and spent himself completely (as an instrument of Providence) and had
produced a situation in which the object of his quest could be achieved. His
humility (with which he began) and his sufferings were justly rewarded by
the highest honour; and his exercise of patience and mercy towards Gollum
gained him Mercy: his failure was redressed.

We are finite creatures with absolute limitations upon the powers of our
soul-body structure in either action or endurance. Moral failure can only be
asserted, I think, when a man's effort or endurance falls short of his
limits, and the blame decreases as that limit is closer approached.[3]

Nonetheless, I think it can be observed in history and experience that some
individuals seem to be placed in 'sacrificial' positions: situations or
tasks that for perfection of solution demand powers beyond their utmost
limits, even beyond all possible limits for an incarnate creature in a
physical world - in which a body may be destroyed, or so maimed that it
affects the mind and will. Judgement upon any such case should then depend
on the motives and disposition with which he started out, and should weigh
his actions against the utmost possibility of his powers, all along the road
to whatever proved the breaking-point.

Frodo undertook his quest out of love - to save the world he knew from
disaster at his own expense, if he could; and also in complete humility,
acknowledging that he was wholly inadequate to the task. His real contract
was only to do what he could, to try to find a way, and to go as far on the
road as his strength of mind and body allowed. He did that. I do not myself
see that the breaking of his mind and will under demonic pressure after
torment was any more a moral failure than the breaking of his body would
have been - say, by being strangled by Gollum, or crushed by a falling rock.

That appears to have been the judgement of Gandalf and Aragorn and of all
who learned the full story of his journey. Certainly nothing would be
concealed by Frodo! But what Frodo himself felt about the events is quite
another matter.

He appears at first to have had no sense of guilt (III 224-5); he was
restored to sanity and peace. But then he thought that he had given his life
in sacrifice: he expected to die very soon. But he did not, and one can
observe the disquiet growing in him. Arwen was the first to observe the
signs, and gave him her jewel for comfort, and thought of a way of healing
him.[4] Slowly he fades 'out of the picture', saying and doing less and
less. I think it is clear on reflection to an attentive reader that when his
dark times came upon him and he was conscious of being 'wounded by knife
sting and tooth and a long burden' (III 268) it was not only nightmare
memories of past horrors that afflicted him, but also unreasoning
self-reproach: he saw himself and all that he done as a broken failure.
'Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same, for I shall not
be the same.' That was actually a temptation out of the Dark, a last flicker
of pride: desire to have returned as a 'hero', not content with being a mere
instrument of good. And it was mixed with another temptation, blacker and
yet (in a sense) more merited, for however that may be explained, he had not
in fact cast away the Ring by a voluntary act: he was tempted to regret its
destruction, and still to desire it. 'It is gone for ever, and now all is
dark and empty', he said as he wakened from his sickness in 1420.

'Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured', said Gandalf (III
268) - not in Middle-earth. Frodo was sent or allowed to pass over Sea to
heal him - if that could be done, before he died. He would have eventually
to 'pass away': no mortal could, or can, abide for ever on earth, or within
Time. So he went both to a purgatory and to a reward, for a while: a period
of reflection and peace and a gaining of a truer understanding of his
position in littleness and in greatness, spent still in Time amid the
natural beauty of 'Arda Unmarred', the Earth unspoiled by evil.

Bilbo went too. No doubt as a completion of the plan due to Gandalf himself.
Gandalf had a very great affection for Bilbo, from the hobbit's childhood
onwards. His companionship was really necessary for Frodo's sake - it is
difficult to imagine a hobbit, even one who had been through Frodo's
experiences, being really happy even in an earthly paradise without a
companion of his own kind, and Bilbo was the person that Frodo most loved.
(Cf III 252 lines 12 to 21 and 263 lines 1-2.) But he also needed and
deserved the favour on his own account. He bore still the mark of the Ring
that needed to be finally erased : a trace of pride and personal
possessiveness. Of course he was old and confused in mind, but it was still
a revelation of the 'black mark' when he said in Rivendell (III 265) 'What's
become of my ring, Frodo, that you took away?'; and when he was reminded of
what had happened, his immediate reply was: 'What a pity! I should have
liked to see it again'. As for reward for his pan, it is difficult to feel
that his life would be complete without an experience of 'pure Elvishness',
and the opportunity of hearing the legends and histories in full the
fragments of which had so delighted him.

It is clear, of course, that the plan had actually been made and concerted
(by Arwen, Gandalf and others) before Arwen spoke. But Frodo did not
immediately take it in; the implications would slowly be understood on
reflection. Such a journey would at first seem something not necessarily to
be feared, even as something to look forward to - so long as undated and
postponable. His real desire was hobbitlike (and humanlike) just 'to be
himself again and get back to the old familiar life that had been
interrupted. Already on the journey back from Rivendell he suddenly saw that
was not for him possible. Hence his cry 'Where shall I find rest?' He knew
the answer, and Gandalf did not reply. As for Bilbo, it is probable that
Frodo did not at first understand what Arwen meant by 'he will not again
make any long journey save one'. At any rate he did not associate it with
his own case. When Arwen spoke (in TA 3019) he was still young, not yet 51,
and Bilbo 78 years older. But at Rivendell he came to understand things more
clearly. The conversations he had there are not reported, but enough is
revealed in Elrond's farewell III 267. From the onset of the first sickness
(Oct. 5, 3019) Frodo must have been thinking about 'sailing', though still
resisting a final decision - to go with Bilbo, or to go at all. It was no
doubt after his grievous illness in March 3020 that his mind was made up.

Sam is meant to be lovable and laughable. Some readers he irritates and even
infuriates. I can well understand it. All hobbits at times affect me in the
same way, though I remain very fond of them. But Sam can be very 'trying'.
He is a more representative hobbit than any others that we have to see much
of; and he has consequently a stronger ingredient of that quality which even
some hobbits found at times hard to bear: a vulgarity - by which I do not
mean a mere 'down-to-earthiness' - a mental myopia which is proud of itself,
a smugness (in varying degrees) and cocksureness, and a readiness to measure
and sum up all things from a limited experience, largely enshrined in
sententious traditional 'wisdom'. We only meet exceptional hobbits in close
companionship - those who had a grace or gift: a vision of beauty, and a
reverence for things nobler than themselves, at war with their rustic
self-satisfaction. Imagine Sam without his education by Bilbo and his
fascination with things Elvish! Not difficult. The Cotton family and the
Gaffer, when the 'Travellers' return are a sufficient glimpse.

Sam was cocksure, and deep down a little conceited; but his conceit had been
transformed by his devotion to Frodo. He did not think of himself as heroic
or even brave, or in any way admirable - except in his service and loyalty
to his master. That had an ingredient (probably inevitable) of pride and
possessiveness: it is difficult to exclude it from the devotion of those who
perform such service. In any case it prevented him from fully understanding
the master that he loved, and from following him in his gradual education to
the nobility of service to the unlovable and of perception of damaged good
in the corrupt. He plainly did not fully understand Frodo's motives or his
distress in the incident of the Forbidden Pool. If he had understood better
what was going on between Frodo and Gollum, things might have turned out
differently in the end. For me perhaps the most tragic moment in the Tale
comes in II 323 ff. when Sam fails to note the complete change in Gollum's
tone and aspect. 'Nothing, nothing', said Gollum softly. 'Nice master!'. His
repentance is blighted and all Frodo's pity is (in a sense[5]) wasted.
Shelob's lair became inevitable.

This is due of course to the 'logic of the story'. Sam could hardly have
acted differently. (He did reach the point of pity at last (III 221-222) but
for the good of Gollum too late.) If he had, what could then have happened?
The course of the entry into Mordor and the struggle to reach Mount Doom
would have been different, and so would the ending. The interest would have
shifted to Gollum, I think, and the battle that would have gone on between
his repentance and his new love on one side and the Ring. Though the love
would have been strengthened daily it could not have wrested the mastery
from the Ring. I think that in some queer twisted and pitiable way Gollum
would have tried (not maybe with conscious design) to satisfy both.
Certainly at some point not long before the end he would have stolen the
Ring or taken it by violence (as he does in the actual Tale). But
'possession' satisfied, I think he would then have sacrificed himself for
Frodo's sake and have voluntarily cast himself into the fiery abyss.

I think that an effect of his partial regeneration by love would have been a
clearer vision when he claimed the Ring. He would have perceived the evil of
Sauron, and suddenly realized that he could not use the Ring and had not the
strength or stature to keep it in Sauron's despite: the only way to keep it
and hurt Sauron was to destroy it and himself together - and in a flash he
may have seen that this would also be the greatest service to Frodo. Frodo
in the tale actually takes the Ring and claims it, and certainly he too
would have had a clear vision - but he was not given any time: he was
immediately attacked by Gollum. When Sauron was aware of the seizure of the
Ring his one hope was in its power: that the claimant would be unable to
relinquish it until Sauron had time to deal with him. Frodo too would then
probably, if not attacked, have had to take the same way: cast himself with
the Ring into the abyss. If not he would of course have completely failed.
It is an interesting problem: how Sauron would have acted or the claimant
have resisted. Sauron sent at once the Ringwraiths. They were naturally
fully instructed, and in no way deceived as to the real lordship of the
Ring. The wearer would not be invisible to them, but the reverse; and the
more vulnerable to their weapons. But the situation was now different to
that under Weathertop, where Frodo acted merely in fear and wished only to
use (in vain) the Ring's subsidiary power of conferring invisibility. He had
grown since then. Would they have been immune from its power if he claimed
it as an instrument of command and domination?

Not wholly. I do not think they could have attacked him with violence, nor
laid hold upon him or taken him captive; they would have obeyed or feigned
to obey any minor commands of his that did not interfere with their errand -
laid upon them by Sauron, who still through their nine rings (which he held)
had primary control of their wills. That errand was to remove Frodo from the
Crack. Once he lost the power or opportunity to destroy the Ring, the end
could not be in doubt - saving help from outside, which was hardly even
remotely possible.

Frodo had become a considerable person, but of a special kind: in spiritual
enlargement rather than in increase of physical or mental power; his will
was much stronger than it had been, but so far it had been exercised in
resisting not using the Ring and with the object of destroying it. He needed
time, much time, before he could control the Ring or (which in such a case
is the same) before it could control him; before his will and arrogance
could grow to a stature in which he could dominate other major hostile
wills. Even so for a long time his acts and commands would still have to
seem 'good' to him, to be for the benefit of others beside himself.

The situation as between Frodo with the Ring and the Eight[6] might be
compared to that of a small brave man armed with a devastating weapon, faced
by eight savage warriors of great strength and agility armed with poisoned
blades. The man's weakness was that he did not know how to use his weapon
yet; and he was by temperament and training averse to violence. Their
weakness that the man's weapon was a thing that filled them with fear as an
object of terror in their religious cult, by which they had been conditioned
to treat one who wielded it with servility. I think they would have shown
'servility'. They would have greeted Frodo as 'Lord'. With fair speeches
they would have induced him to leave the Sammath Naur - for instance 'to
look upon his new kingdom, and behold afar with his new sight the abode of
power that he must now claim and turn to his own purposes'. Once outside the
chamber while he was gazing some of them would have destroyed the entrance.
Frodo would by then probably have been already too enmeshed in great plans
of reformed rule - like but far greater and wider than the vision that
tempted Sam (III 177) - to heed this. But if he still preserved some sanity
and partly understood the significance of it, so that he refused now to go
with them to Barad-dûr, they would simply have waited. Until Sauron himself
came. In any case a confrontation of Frodo and Sauron would soon have taken
place, if the Ring was intact. Its result was inevitable. Frodo would have
been utterly overthrown: crushed to dust, or preserved in torment as a
gibbering slave. Sauron would not have feared the Ring! It was his own and
under his will. Even from afar he had an effect upon it, to make it work for
its return to himself. In his actual presence none but very few of equal
stature could have hoped to withhold it from him. Of 'mortals' no one, not
even Aragorn. In the contest with the Palantír Aragorn was the rightful
owner. Also the contest took place at a distance, and in a tale which allows
the incarnation of great spirits in a physical and destructible form their
power must be far greater when actually physically present. Sauron should be
thought of as very terrible. The form that he took was that of a man of more
than human stature, but not gigantic. In his earlier incarnation he was able
to veil his power (as Gandalf did) and could appear as a commanding figure
of great strength of body and supremely royal demeanour and countenance.

Of the others only Gandalf might be expected to master him - being an
emissary of the Powers and a creature of the same order, an immortal spirit
taking a visible physical form. In the 'Mirror of Galadriel', 1381, it
appears that Galadriel conceived of herself as capable of wielding the Ring
and supplanting the Dark Lord. If so, so also were the other guardians of
the Three, especially Elrond. But this is another matter. It was part of the
essential deceit of the Ring to fill minds with imaginations of supreme
power. But this the Great had well considered and had rejected, as is seen
in Elrond's words at the Council. Galadriel's rejection of the temptation
was founded upon previous thought and resolve. In any case Elrond or
Galadriel would have proceeded in the policy now adopted by Sauron: they
would have built up an empire with great and absolutely subservient generals
and armies and engines of war, until they could challenge Sauron and destroy
him by force. Confrontation of Sauron alone, unaided, self to self was not
contemplated. One can imagine the scene in which Gandalf, say, was placed in
such a position. It would be a delicate balance. On one side the true
allegiance of the Ring to Sauron; on the other superior strength because
Sauron was not actually in possession, and perhaps also because he was
weakened by long corruption and expenditure of will in dominating inferiors.
If Gandalf proved the victor, the result would have been for Sauron the same
as the destruction of the Ring; for him it would have been destroyed, taken
from him for ever. But the Ring and all its works would have endured. It
would have been the master in the end.

Gandalf as Ring-Lord would have been far worse than Sauron. He would have
remained 'righteous', but self-righteous. He would have continued to rule
and order things for 'good', and the benefit of his subjects according to
his wisdom (which was and would have remained great).

[The draft ends here. In the margin Tolkien wrote: 'Thus while Sauron
multiplied [illegible word] evil, he left "good" clearly distinguishable
from it. Gandalf would have made good detestable and seem evil.']

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
----

[1] Actually, since the events at the Cracks of Doom would obviously be
vital to the Tale, I made several sketches or trial versions at various
stages in the narrative - but none of them were used, and none of them much
resembled what is actually reported in the finished story.

[2] We frequently see this double scale used by the saints in their
judgements upon themselves when suffering great hardships or temptations,
and upon others in like trials.

[3] No account is here taken of 'grace' or the enhancement of our powers as
instruments of Providence. Frodo was given 'grace': first to answer the call
(at the end of the Council) after long resisting a complete surrender; and
later in his resistance to the temptation of the Ring (at times when to
claim and so reveal it would have been fatal), and in his endurance of fear
and suffering. But grace is not infinite, and for the most pan seems in the
Divine economy limited to what is sufficient for the accomplishment of the
task appointed to one instrument in a pattern of circumstances and other
instruments.

[4] It is not made explicit how she could arrange this. She could not of
course just transfer her ticket on the boat like that! For any except those
of Elvish race 'sailing West' was not permitted, and any exception required
'authority', and she was not in direct communication with the Valar,
especially not since her choice to become 'mortal'. What is meant is that it
was Arwen who first thought of sending Frodo into the West, and put in a
plea for him to Gandalf (direct or through Galadriel, or both), and she used
her own renunciation of the right to go West as an argument. Her
renunciation and suffering were related to and enmeshed with Frodo's : both
were parts of a plan for the regeneration of the state of Men. Her prayer
might therefore be specially effective, and her plan have a certain equity
of exchange. No doubt it was Gandalf who was the authority that accepted her
plea. The Appendices show clearly that he was an emissary of the Valar, and
virtually their plenipotentiary in accomplishing the plan against Sauron. He
was also in special accord with Cirdan the Ship-master, who had surrendered
to him his ring and so placed himself under Gandalf's command. Since Gandalf
himself went on the Ship there would be so to speak no trouble either at
embarking or at the landing.

[5] In the sense that 'pity' to be a true virtue must be directed to the
good of its object. It is empty if it is exercised only to keep oneself
'clean', free from hate or the actual doing of injustice, though this is
also a good motive.

[6] The Witch-king had been reduced to impotence.