What Tolkien Taught Me about Good and Evil

I watched all six of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings movies last week. After spending several days immersed in Tolkien’s Middle-earth, I found myself thinking less about the fantasy itself and more about the philosophy underlying the story. Tolkien was a devout Catholic, and while The Lord of the Rings is not a simple Christian allegory, it is hard to miss the Christian moral vision that permeates the entire narrative.

At its most fundamental level, Tolkien presents something modern philosophy sometimes seems reluctant to acknowledge: there is such a thing as good and evil. Evil is not merely a difference of opinion or a competing political ideology. Sauron represents something much deeper—the desire to dominate, to possess absolute power over others and to bend the world to one’s will. But perhaps even more important is the way evil operates. Evil divides. It isolates people, appeals to their pride, exploits their fears, and persuades them that they can achieve something good through morally corrupt means.

That is the Ring’s genius. It doesn’t simply tempt people with evil; it tempts them with power—the power to accomplish good. Boromir doesn’t want the Ring because he wants to become evil. He wants it because he believes he can use its power to save his people. That is one of Tolkien’s most profound observations about human nature: we can convince ourselves that immoral means are justified because we believe our ends are morally superior.

This is where Tolkien’s Christianity intersects with classical philosophy. Aristotle understood that virtue is not simply knowing what is right; virtue is developing the character necessary to do what is right when circumstances become difficult. For Aristotle, courage isn’t the absence of fear. It is the proper response to fear. Frodo is therefore a much more interesting hero than the traditional warrior. He isn’t particularly strong, he isn’t a great fighter, and he isn’t a king. He’s a hobbit. Yet this seemingly insignificant creature accepts a burden that warriors, kings and powerful men cannot safely carry. Frodo’s greatness is not that he isn’t afraid. It is that he continues despite being afraid. That is courage.

That is why Tolkien’s conception of heroism differs so dramatically from our modern obsession with power. The hero isn’t necessarily the person who can defeat everyone else. The hero may be the person who refuses to become what he is fighting against.

That brings us to the Christian idea that runs through the entire story: sacrifice. Gandalf sacrifices himself. Aragorn repeatedly risks his life for others. Sam refuses to abandon Frodo. Frodo carries a burden that gradually destroys him. This is not merely friendship; it is a conception of love that demands sacrifice. Christianity teaches that the highest expression of love is not possession but self-giving, and Tolkien understands this profoundly.

Then there is mercy. Bilbo has the opportunity to kill Gollum but doesn’t. Frodo ultimately shows mercy as well. At the time, that mercy appears almost irrational, yet without Gollum, the Ring might never have been destroyed. Something deeply Christian is in that idea: we don’t always know what God can accomplish through an act of mercy.

Perhaps the greatest lesson of Tolkien’s story, however, concerns power. The Ring represents the temptation to believe that we can acquire absolute power, use it for righteous purposes, and somehow remain morally pure. Tolkien’s answer rejects that idea. Power is dangerous not simply because evil people acquire it, but because human beings are imperfect. That is why Gandalf refuses the Ring, why Galadriel recognizes the danger of possessing it, and why even Frodo eventually struggles to surrender it. The destruction of the Ring, therefore, cannot be understood as a military victory. The real battle is taking place inside the human soul: pride versus humility, power versus restraint, fear versus courage, self-interest versus sacrifice, vengeance versus mercy, and ultimately evil versus good.

This is where I think Tolkien gives us something that is both Christian and profoundly philosophical. A good society cannot depend on powerful people having good intentions. It requires people of good character. Aristotle would call that virtue. Christianity would add something even deeper: humility—the recognition that human beings are not God and should not attempt to assume God’s place. The Ring ultimately tempts us to become something we were never meant to be: absolute masters of the world and other human beings.

And that may be Tolkien’s most important warning. You cannot defeat evil by becoming evil yourself. You cannot preserve freedom by embracing tyranny, create justice through injustice, or make yourself morally superior by acquiring unlimited power. Sometimes the greatest victory belongs to the person who refuses the power to dominate.

That is why the smallest characters in Tolkien’s world become so important. Bilbo, Frodo and Sam remind us that greatness isn’t necessarily measured by strength, wealth, status or power. Sometimes greatness is simply having the courage to do the right thing when it’s difficult.

After watching all six films, I found myself thinking that The Lord of the Rings is ultimately much more than a story about hobbits, wizards, elves, and kings. It is a story about the human condition. It asks some of the oldest philosophical questions: What is good? What is evil? What is courage? What does power do to the human soul? Why should we sacrifice for another person? And perhaps most importantly, what kind of person do we become when we have the opportunity to hold power over others?

Tolkien’s answer is both ancient and Christian: character matters, virtue matters, humility matters, love requires sacrifice, and mercy matters. The smallest person, acting courageously and virtuously, can sometimes change the world.

Not a bad set of philosophical lessons from six fantasy movies.