[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Somehow I missed this discussion when it was first posted, and when it was revived. Perhaps I can rectify that oversight now by attempting to respond to at least some of Bêthberry's teasers.

Firstly, I think that when it comes to morals, Tolkien knew almost instinctively that he could not afford to be ambiguous. Moral health is central to ultimate happiness and success in his world, and those who allow their moral weaknesses to rule their behaviour are as destined to fail as those who overcome them are to succeed. Saruman is, I think, a perfect example of one who embodies moral and psychological weakness: he can see no way to carry out his mission without recourse to brute strength. Although blessed with a Voice that can be used to persuade those whom he addresses of almost anything, he prefers to make his headquarters in Isengard and allow himself to become an authority, to whom people can come for help as supplicants. Saruman sees himself as a superior being, whose grand purpose is to save the weak mortals of Middle-earth from an enemy who is their utter superior; to seize power and order matters 'for their own good'. This arrogant pride is his first mistake, but it is his second mistake, that of choosing the One Ring as the instrument of his reformation, that brings about his downfall.
In this way, Saruman is a perfect foil for Gandalf. Where Saruman accepts political authority and seeks to dominate the enemy, Gandalf travels about among the peoples that it is his duty to protect. He takes an interest in races too small to be of interest to his proud colleague and utterly rejects the concept of forcing his protection on others. Often at times of conflict he disappears from the action altogether, trusting his protegés to find their own way; to be the heroes of their own stories without interference. His humility, which had led him to doubt his ability to defeat Sauron, makes him better able to recognise the virtues of smaller characters, such as Bilbo, Frodo and Sam. The juxtaposition of these two characters reaches its acme in The Voice of Saruman, in which we see the former leader of the White Council reduced from the appearance of wisdom and benevolence into a frank exposure of his bitter contempt for all but his own order. His moral weakness is arrogance, and it is his distrust of the Free Peoples' ability to save themselves that leads to his eventual alliance with Sauron and fall into petty evil.

Of course, the pettiness and misery of evil are two of its main characteristics in Tolkien. In Gollum we see the ultimate wretchedness of avarice, reduced almost to animalism by centuries of evading responsibility, and of slaking lusts instantly and brutally. In a sense, he is one of the greater 'weasels' in that he refuses utterly to admit to himself that he has done anything to deserve the misery and squalor into which he has plunged himself. Although we might believe that his is a tragic story of manipulation by the Ring, Tolkien is at pains to point out that it could only gain such a hold by his initial murderous act, which places him in the power of a merciless and implacable force that is beyond his comprehension, let alone his control. Gollum also acts as a foil, however. His disgusting habits and appearance; the many stories of his wickedness, and his relentless pursuit of the Ring all make him a dangerous and untrustworthy companion; and yet it is precisely this sort of character that is required to bring out Frodo's own compassion and empathy, allowing the reader to be shown what good should do when confronted by evil. Frodo's first instinct when faced with the reality of Gollum is mercy, instinctive and unflinching, which contrasts dramatically with Sam's violent, although entirely justified, mistrust.

Tolkien also plays characters off against one another in more comic situations. In The Houses of Healing we see Gandalf locked in a battle with that paragon of learning without wisdom, the Master. Having treated Ioreth, whose prattlings have been to a purpose, with indulgence, we see a very different character as he is confronted with a string of academic inconsequence: "Then in the name of the king, go and find some old man of less lore and more wisdom who keeps some in his house!"

Naturally a foil in its most simplistic sense is a character who reveals the strengths of another, usually the hero, through their own weakness. However, Tolkien uses this more subtly than does Conan-Doyle, for whom every character seemed to have provided an opportunity for Sherlock Holmes to prove his astounding abilities. Tolkien uses characters as simple foils in one scene that are showing great strength of character in others. Pippin's theft of the Palantír, in which Gandalf's wisdom and understanding are demonstrated in his dealing with the miscreant, contrasts nicely with his sensible and prompt action in The Pyre of Denethor (in which he demonstrates a great deal more wisdom than Denethor himself). At one time Frodo's bungled attempt at inconspicuousness in the Prancing Pony shows up Aragorn's discretion and insight, whereas at another his decisiveness actually forces the future king into taking the path to his kingdom. In the Master of the Houses of Healing, we see a rare example of a character who really is just a foil: a man whose abilities do not match his pretentions. Bill Ferny is another such, demonstrating by his cowardly and cynical behaviour the courage and integrity of the Hobbits. Note that Aragorn is passive in the apple scene, Ferny being as beneath him as it is possible to be, and that the humblest of the walkers, Sam, is the active party in providing a satisfying comeuppance. It is this same quality of intolerance that comes out in the pivotal scene on the stairs of Cirith Ungol in which Gollum's die is cast.

Sympathy for villains in The Lord of the Rings is fairly thin on the ground, but we do see it. Commensurately with Tolkien's view of evil as something weak and lacking, it is the weaker characters of Gollum, Wormtongue, and in an absent sense Lotho Sackville-Baggins that inspire this because they have been pulled into evils more terrible than they would have conceived for themselves by evil minds of greater power. Although this view is possible of Sauron, it requires a knowledge of exterior texts to receive this impression, so that for the purposes of the work under discussion it is largely evil defeated or evil so small as to pose virtually no threat that is intended to inspire our pity. Who could not pity Gríma's utter inability to make peace with Théoden and to take part in his people's finest hour; his self-imposed exile with a character who holds him in contempt? Who could not pity Saruman's inflexible insistance on carrying his fall to its utmost depth; falling further than his Valinorean self could have dreamed possible? But this is not the pity of understanding, but the pity of one who sees the right course and witnesses pride taking the other wilfully. It is the pity of knowing what might have been, rather than that of empathy with the motives of the character. It is the pity of a saint for a sinner, and very revealing, I think, of Tolkien's spiritual beliefs.

I am by no means sure that I have covered these points in sufficient detail, but tempus is fugiting mercilessly. I hope that my efforts can serve to put some life back into an old topic that deserved more responses.