Christopher Garbowski
Maria Curie-Sklodowska University, Lublin, Poland

Abstract

The article explores the problem of film's adaptation of a literary work's religious sensibility. Although some of the Christian elements of Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings remain and others have gained a different emphasis, the author maintains that the spiritual dimension of Jackson's adaptation is a more promising field for comparison. One of the major narrative metaphors in the literary and film trilogy is life as a journey; consequently, the problem of choice highlights the essential role of the conscience for human spiritual development. The journey's terminal point, death, likewise becomes a major concern, and a key to understanding the spiritual dimension of Jackson's work.

Introduction

[1] Much has been written on the religious themes in Tolkien's work.[1] This is hardly surprising. The author was an Inkling, one of the Oxford Christians, as the group has been dubbed. Moreover, in a letter to his close friend Reverend Robert Murray, Tolkien himself claimed that his novel was ultimately "Catholic." [2] When examining Peter Jackson's film in relation to the literary Lord of the Rings, the question naturally arises as to how much of this sensibility informs the cinematic adaptation of the novel? [3]

[2] Jackson himself admits an awareness of the book's religious themes, but claims he felt no obligation to deal directly with them.  Frances Walsh, one of the project's three screenwriters, likewise recognizes the faith that informs the novel: "The values in them, they give you a sense of hope: that it isn't chaos, that it isn't arbitrary, that it isn't without a point." [4]  Despite his disclaimer, a closer analysis of Jackson's film trilogy [5] would no doubt reveal overtly religious themes in his version. Some of them are even recognizably Catholic, such as the moment of grace in the form of a vision of Galadriel that visits Frodo in Shelob's lair while he seems to succumb to exhaustion and despair. However, on the whole a more fruitful line of analysis is to look at the spiritual dimension that permeates the cinematic Middle-earth narrative, since that is where the filmmaker engages in a creative dialogue with the literary original.

Self-Transcendence and the Spiritual Dimension in Fantasy

[3] Among the most sustained and complex metaphors in The Lord of the Rings is that of life as a journey. [6]   If we treat the Tolkien's Silmarillion mythology as a guide, then the nature of this journey becomes fairly clear. Iluvatar, the godhead of that mythology, imparts a "strange gift" upon his human subjects in "that the hearts of Men should seek beyond this world and should find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to shape their life, amid the powers of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else." [7] If we ignore the "Music of the Ainur" for the time being, then a key factor governing the characters of the mythology expressed in the passage is a hunger for the transcendent very much akin to and likely inspired by the Augustinian sense that life on earth is a pilgrimage.

[4] To examine the spiritual dimension of Jackson's version of Tolkien's novel, this paper will use the religious humanistic psychology of Viktor E. Frankl and his concept of self-transcendence. Frankl, similarly to Tolkien, believes that "[a]t the base of our existence lies such an insatiable yearning, that its object can be none other than God." [8] Much as in Tolkien's Augustinian-inspired mythology, this yearning endows individuals with a "virtue to shape their lives." This is the gist of Frankl's concept of the individual's capability for self-transcendence. [9]

[5] More practically, this yearning is evidenced in our will to meaning, the major motivating force for human actions, which Frankl believes to be evidence of our spiritual nature. This is not an instinct and is governed by choice on the part of the agent. However, it does not discount instincts: for instance, Freud's pleasure principle is not rejected as such. Likewise Alfred Adler's will to power is considered an explanation for a major sphere of human motivation. But each of the above has its place. When people fail at discovering meaning in their lives they may rely too heavily on their instincts or power on account of an existential vacuum that ensues. Through values we find meaning in our lives, giving us the strength to fulfil our human potential.

[6] The interaction of these various motivating forces is quite complex in human actions. Narrative art requires a narrower focus in order to be effective. In his essay on the Anglo-Saxon epic Beowulf, Tolkien notes the paring down of the hero by the author: "Beowulf is not, then, the hero of an heroic lay, precisely. He has no enmeshed loyalties, nor hapless love. He is a man, and that for him and many is sufficient tragedy." [10] Tolkien uses the fantasy genre to convey his own epic story; it is evident that a similar process of conscious simplification and selection takes place in his narrative.

[7] Of the three major motivating forces for human actions, primarily the will to meaning and power have significance in Tolkien's novels. Total submission to power is also seen in terms that approximate Frankl's existential vacuum. When Gandalf faces the Witch King at the broken gate of Minas Tirith, he calls out: "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your master!" [11] The Witch King symbolises a being that has lost meaning in a literally absolute manner.

[8] The above are prerequisites for understanding the spiritual dimension of life as a journey in the narratives of both Tolkien and Jackson. By traversing many types of terrain and homelands, the journey forces upon the protagonists the issue of choice. Hardly surprising, then, is the importance of the conscience in the literary and film epics. Frankl largely agrees with religious tradition that the conscience is grounded in the transcendent, ultimately safeguarding the individual from conformity. [12]   The conscience is the bedrock of human spiritual nature.

[9] Crucial for such an understanding is that the journey in The Lord of the Rings has a major existential significance. Tolkien stresses that point within a response to a criticism of his work by W.H. Auden, who observed that most people seem to lead static, predictable lives. "That is another good reason for sending 'hobbits' - a vision of a calculable people in long-settled circumstances - on a journey far from settled home into strange lands and dangers," argued Tolkien, "especially if they are provided with some strong motive for endurance and adaptation. Though without any high motive people do change (or rather reveal the latent) on journeys: that is a fact of ordinary observation without any need of symbolic explanation." [13]   The above is also why Frankl's pragmatic perception of the spiritual dimension best elucidates the artistic presentation of life as a journey.

The Journey from Fiction into Film

 [10] Tolkien and Jackson are dedicated in their own mediums to what might be called a realistic fantasy.  The narrator of the novel refers to the "history" he has to communicate, while the filmmaker has gone on record claiming he intended to film The Lord of the Rings  as if it were history, i.e., as if the fantastic events really took place. Tolkien, among other things, creates an alternative world utilising a prose style that "might actually be called unusually mimetic." [14]   Jackson makes use of traditional filmmaking techniques in conjunction with modern ones, building real sets where possible, thus actors spent a minimal time before blue screens, while conventionally crafted miniatures complement computer graphic images, etc.

[11] Simulating lived history, Tolkien employs a rambling episodic prose in which he nevertheless manages to maintain and even build on the level of suspense. At times adding little to the plot of the former, the various havens and painstaking descriptions of Middle-earth nonetheless play an important function. Among others, they elevate the adventure and struggle against evil above a simplistic dualism. The involved reader comes to care for the alternative world itself, thus the struggle matters. As Brian Rosebury notes, Jackson has likewise surprisingly managed "the realisation of Middle-earth as a diverse and expansive world of lands and cultures under threat, a world we need to fall in love with in order to care sufficiently about the outcome of the plot." [15]

[12] Major filmmaker John Ford claimed that if he could be called an artist, his art was rather that of an architect than an author, balancing various creative vectors. Peter Jackson certainly is the master architect of the cinematic Middle-earth. Despite appearances to the contrary, his is hardly a Hollywood film: it is a New Zealander's film project and the spirit of place leaves its stamp in more than just the scenery. A sense of place must of necessity be personal, but for the both author and filmmaker it seems crucial to impart this in their respective Middle-earths. For any journey to be convincing, it must have a tangible point of departure.

 [13] Like Tolkien, Jackson concentrates much of his efforts in the evocation of the Shire, the enchanting home of the hobbits. Yet this decision has its consequences. Jackson rightly surmises that the Shire emanates an innocence that sets the tone for the kind of hero who can be accepted by a viewer, as opposed to the reader. In prose, Tolkien can somewhat vary the denizens of the Shire and present a mature hobbit - Frodo is in his fifties - developing his character so that the resonance between the character and the communal environment can be explicated. Jackson's Frodo is virtually an embodiment of the Shire. The very first shot of the hero sitting with his back against a tree while reading a book connects him organically with his environment, and throughout the first film he seems to represent the quintessence of his homeland: the power of innocence, without the often attendant silliness.

[14] As an "embodiment," formative moments have less meaning for the protagonist, and some key literary ones are removed. At the cinematic level, Elijah Wood has carried out the exceedingly difficult task of creating "a good character without becoming sappy or dear." [16] This innocence does not develop, but is rather corroded by the Ring. In some ways, once he consciously crosses the Rubicon at Elrond's council, Frodo devolves rather than evolves. This devolution gains value through its connection to sacrifice. Frankl's existential analysis accepts this as an element of self-transcendence, thus reiterating in non-denominational terms the truth common to a number of traditional religions that in losing the self we regain it. This is symbolised in the film through Frodo's voiceover at the end of the trilogy connecting him to the community in which he is no longer physically present.

[15] Tolkien reminds us in his essay "On Fairy Stories" that children are meant to grow up. Similarly, if the filmic Shire represents the reassuring aspects of the literary Lord of the Rings with its strengths and weaknesses, darkness dominates outside its bounds. In the scene where Frodo and Sam cross the farthest point the latter has ever explored, a conspicuous scarecrow bears witness in the background. Like Strawman in The Wizard of Oz (1939), it has no power to frighten crows - three of them are perched on its shoulders and head - and the viewers are subtly informed that they are no longer in the children's story the Shire sequences resemble.

[16] It is worth remembering The Lord of the Rings itself developed from a book for children. Originally it was intended to be a continuation of The Hobbit, and in some aspects its genesis remains evident in the text. Jackson portrays this in the delightful scene with the small hobbits seated by the fire and listening in wide-eyed wonder as Bilbo relates the tale of his adventures. The viewer is reminded of the expectations children's stories raise and inevitably disappoint when Frodo encounters Bilbo in Rivendell and tells him that his own adventures were unlike the ones he had heard of from his mentor. Children's stories, however, remain an important stage in preparing us to move on in life's journey.

[17] If life is a journey, implicit in the Shire chapters and sequences is the insistence of both Tolkien and Jackson that a sense of wonder is vital at its outset for proper growth. A provocative theme in this regard, at least in our times, is that the departure from childlike innocence - though it may result in severe trial - does not necessarily entail an arrival at cynicism. If that were the case, then however painful the process, the sooner the child loses his or her innocence the better. Rather, the significance of the idyllic early portion of The Lord of the Rings in fiction and film suggests the need for adults to retain at least a portion of their innocence.

Life as a Journey

[18] Frodo's journey, and those of the other hobbits, continue outside the Shire where they will make the mature choices that lead to their personal and spiritual growth. The character who sends them on their way and helps them at different junctures is Gandalf.  The benevolent wizard is obviously a mentor, both spiritual and earthly. For a Catholic sensibility like Tolkien's, although its inherent dangers are recognised, authority is understood to be a necessary element for community cohesion and the full development of its members; the prominence of Gandalf is a recognition of this. [17]

[19] The not unrelated theme of the dangers of mixing religion and power is alluded to in the narration of The Silmarillion: "[I]f ever in their dealings with Elves and Men the Ainur have endeavoured to force them when they would not be guided, seldom has this turned to good, howsoever good the intent." [18]   Unlike the angelic Ainur mentioned in that passage, Gandalf represents a spiritual authority relatively bereft of power, at least for coercion; consultation and persuasion are his strengths. Even when consultation leads him into dire straits, such as when he seeks guidance from Saruman, he does not abandon the basic line of his strategy of reasonable openness.

[20] Spiritual growth is directed toward attaining the responsible freedom of the individual. The above is graphically illustrated in the culminating moment of Tolkien's The Fellowship of the Ring, where Frodo has donned the Ring in order to escape Boromir and is subsequently almost discovered and cowed by the Satanic Sauron, when he hears a familiar voice:

For a moment, perfectly balanced between their piercing points, he writhed, tormented. Suddenly he was aware of himself again. Frodo, neither the Voice nor the Eye: free to choose, and with one remaining instant in which to do so. [19]

[21] Gandalf's interference (it was his "Voice") can be likened to the transcendent element in Frodo's conscience, i.e., the element that is external, but which ultimately has a liberating effect on him. This is entirely proper in religious humanism, which in Christian tradition is succinctly encapsulated in Irenaeus' declaration: "The glory of God is humanity fully alive." Such a sentiment corresponds with the non-denominational claim of Frankl that we fulfil our human potential most by imitating God, meaning, among others, the higher we set our sights in life the more we expand our potential for growth. [20]

[22] Although the moments of choice and conscience differ in the film - for instance the above scene has a different tone than in the book - most retain their sense of heightened urgency. The most obvious ones will be examined here. The importance of Frodo's accepting the task of Ring-bearer at Elrond's Council has already been mentioned. The key question here is to what degree he took on the task with full consciousness of what it might entail for him. The wound received at Weathertop plays much the same role in both book and film: to teach Frodo the consequences of bearing the Ring of Power. Thus when he accepts his task at the Council, he is fully conscious of the price he may be asked to pay for his decision and the sacrifice it may entail. It is symbolic that the scar Frodo bears from the event is visualised in the film when he is lying naked in the tower at Cirith Ungol after he has suffered a brush with death similar to the Weathertop incident.

[23] On their journey the members of the Fellowship come across various havens, which are necessary for recuperation and a chance of reflection in order to get one's bearings. One of the more striking havens on page and screen is Lothlorien. The queen of the realm, Lady Galadriel, is generally more threatening in the film. [21]   Despite her talk of the healing qualities of Lothlorien she brings to the Fellowship the spiritual sword. Nonetheless, this is basically an extension of certain Tolkienian possibilities. Galadriel's shove propels awareness of vocation. Fellowship means something beyond mere handholding unity: each member must find his true vocation. Although diverse routes are eventually taken, a deeper level of unity is actually achieved by them through the complementarity of tasks.

[24] Among the most important words concerning vocation by any of the characters are those of Faramir when he praises the Shire for the honour it bestows upon gardeners; fortunately the words are retained in the extended version of The Two Towers. The words refer to Sam and his vocation as a servant. Few of us are called on to be leaders, nor are many called on to make heroic sacrifices, but most of our callings entail lesser or greater degrees of service. Frankl's existential analysis would see this as a valid way to find meaning and achieve self-transcendence. However, in an individualistic society such as ours, "gardeners" are rarely held in great esteem. In popular culture, it seems the crucial role of service has either been gendered female or avoided altogether now that the latter is considered politically incorrect. Yet part of Tolkien's accomplishment is in portraying the heroism of service.

[25] Jackson visualises the inter-relatedness of master and servant through the metaphor of hands that reach for each other. At the conclusion of The Fellowship of the Ring, the hand of the master reaches into the depths of the water to pull out his devoted servant. Conversely, at the climax of The Return of the King the hand of the servant reaches into the abyss to save his fallen master. Moreover, one of the most moving scenes in the entire film trilogy is when Sam lifts Frodo on Mount Doom when his master's strength fails. It is hardly surprising that for some Sam is the true hero of the film.

[26] Before he takes the Ring across the Anduin River, the filmic Frodo offers it to his "superiors" a symbolic three times. Temptation is a traditional religious theme; what gives it a modern edge in Tolkien's work is connecting it with the problem of the corrosive nature of power. Up until Lord Acton in the nineteenth century it was generally believed that although power was obviously dangerous in the wrong hands, the virtuous individual could wield it. [22]

[27] Although Jackson's version of the temptation scenes largely follows the literary source, interesting differences occur. The most apparent one concerns Aragorn, perhaps the most transformed of the major characters. Not only is his expanded temptation moved to the end of the first instalment where it directly contrasts with Boromir's failure, there is another crucial difference. When he enters the story, Aragorn is less of a finished character and his vocational doubts are more obvious. Noting, among others, how disdainfully Elrond speaks of his potential son-in-law, Greg Wright perceptively concludes:

[I]n a version of  Tolkien's story where almost every act of faith is replaced by an act  solidly supported by knowledge and fact, Jackson has elected to remove  the certainty of Aragorn's fate with a Modern's portrayal of self doubt .... For Tolkien, Aragorn is heroic because he is a Hero. For Jackson, Aragorn is a hero because he becomes one. [23]

[28] Thus with his proclivity toward doubt Jackson's Aragorn is potentially a much greater target for temptation. Needless to say, the Ring would be a temptation for him for much the same reason as it would be for Boromir: to save the failing strength of humans. This rejection of temptation at the crucial juncture of the film in effect strengthens Jackson's Aragorn, since it allows him to make the conscious choice of which road to take, and his acceptance of the role of a leader of men is less circumstantial. Yet allowing Frodo to take the Ring on his own into Mordor demonstrates Aragorn's awareness of the limitations of his own role.  The potential monarch's success rests on the success of the ordinary person, with his own externally active role in the quest essentially subordinated to the far more spiritual struggle of Frodo. Although neither character is two-dimensional, generally Frodo represents the more spiritual dimension and Aragorn the more active dimension of life's journey, while the narrative demonstrates how closely the two are interrelated.

The End of the Journey?

[29] Every journey has an ending; the journey that is life has the most dramatic one for us mortals. One of the major changes of Jackson's film sheds light on his interpretation of the theme of death in Tolkien's trilogy. Much has been made of the enhancement of the elf-maiden Arwen's role in the film. For instance, her rescuing Frodo from the Ringwraiths at the Ford of Bruinen sequence has garnered considerable attention. Jeffrey Mallinson rightly indicates the Marian touch in Arwen's tears of grace in her effort to save him at its end. [24] However, the most important element in the transformation has been Jackson's forwarding the story of Aragorn and Arwen's romance and death scene from the novel's fictional appendix to the body of the main narration in The Two Towers.

[30] To remind readers, Tolkien's conceit in The Lord of the Rings is that if an elf wishes to wed a mortal, she must give up her immortality.  Nonetheless, a compensation for doing so exists. Whereas the elf's immortality is connected with the duration of life on earth, at best a possible few billion years if we wish to get scientific about it, becoming "human" involves the same benefits of humanity's participation in the divine: a chance at entering eternity through genuine death. To put it another way, Tolkien's chosen elves participate in a quasi-Pascalian wager.

[31] This does not necessarily make accepting death any easier when it comes. Despite Aragorn's parting assertion that "we are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory," [25] the literary Arwen experiences despair upon her husband's demise, as peaceful and benign as the latter is described. The question arises: what happens if right from the start there is no promise of eternity in the bargain? What can Aragorn offer his beloved besides mortal love?

[32] Consider the scene in the extended version of The Fellowship of the Ring. Aragorn is singing the Lay of Beren and Luthein, which deals with the prototypical case of elf-mortal love. Frodo interrupts, asking: "Where is she? ... The woman you are singing about." Aragorn tellingly responds: "She's dead." This rather secular hero bears the consciousness of not having anything but himself to offer Arwen, which explains his acceptance in Rivendell of Elrond's argument against the union. What does Arwen gain in her choice? Much as in Wenders' Wings of Desire (1987), where a similar theme is treated, Jackson suggests the ennui of deathlessness could add an attraction to the mortal, yet full, life. However, whereas in the work of the German filmmaker the consequences of the "choice" are simply understood, in Jackson's film the question of death is directly confronted.

[33] In the sequence of the film that projects a vision of Aragorn's death and Arwen's subsequent despair, there seems to be no room for the Tolkienian words uttered to his spouse. Death is final. One can counter that an equivalent of the literary Aragorn's words is substituted in Gandalf's attempt at solacing Theoden at the site of his son's grave, with much the same effect - the king remains unconsoled. The wizard reiterates the theme with a more positive result in his moving dialogue with Pippin during the siege of Minas Tirith in The Return of the King. Furthermore, the significance of these words is strengthened through the agency of Gandalf's person and his experience, especially his being "sent" once again after his physical death. Visual clues associating Gandalf with Christian hope occur often enough in the film. For instance, during his fall into the abyss in Fellowship, his arms are outspread in cruciform.  Moreover, during the course of Gandalf's message to Aragorn in ThØoden's stable in The Two Towers, one of the upper windows emanating light forms a cathedral-like rosette around his head. Obviously the light surrounding him during his revelatory-like "return" bears a rather heavy-handed religious symbolism.

[34] The above might be true, but it seems in light of the evidence that the same message is deliberately separated from the Aragorn-Arwen relationship and dramatises the issue between them. Thus a parallel truth is added to the overall narrative. Elrond, who evokes the vision of the death scene for his daughter, makes no mention of anything resembling Tolkien's idea of death as a "Gift of Iluvatar" intimated in Aragorn's words cited above. And as we have seen, if Jackson's Aragorn has such knowledge, he seems not to believe it. In a sense, Jackson's Middle-earth is more like our own with a number of truth-claims available, and the central issue of death becomes more of an open question.

[35] This is not completely out of line with Tolkien's intent. He once affirmed that the dominant theme of The Lord of the Rings is a contemplation of death, further quoting Simone de Beauvoir's words: "All men must die, but for every man his death is an accident, and even if he knows and consents to it, an unjustifiable violation." [26] Theologian Gabriel Moran expresses what might be called the paradox at the heart of the adaptation: "The one who loves intensely in this life finds it difficult to believe that anything survives death. The lover simply finds it still harder to accept that death is the end of all." [27] Even upon seeing Aragorn and Arwen united in The Return of the King, the earlier death scene haunts us.

The Journey Continues?

[36] Through Gandalf's words of encouragement to Pippin, borrowed and elaborated from the literary Frodo's dream at Tom Bombadill's house, the question is raised as to whether death is indeed the final journey. It is worth considering Bilbo's birthday party where he "disappears." Upon doing so, he goes on a journey and is never seen again by his neighbours: thus he dies to the community. If we recall that for Catholics, the day of death is considered a day of birth into a new life - wherever possible the liturgical calendar of saints' feast days commemorate their day of their death - the hobbit's party becomes more of a symbolic wake.

[37] Before making the final "journey," a Catholic makes an effort to attain a state of grace in which the cares of this world are left behind. Bilbo attempts to achieve this by relinquishing the Ring of Power that he treasures, and that holds him back, to say the least. We learn later in the story he has not fully accomplished this state of grace, thus his journey in both fiction and film has a purgatorial dimension to it. Rivendell is the place where he stays until he is indeed ready for the "final" journey.

[38] Whatever we make of Bilbo's allegorical journey, [28] it is to some extent paralleled by Frodo's life journey. Like Bilbo he does not want to give up the Ring at the end of his task. More importantly, Frodo successively gives up more and more of his self during the course of his mission, and this process continues during the time of peace for others. Frankl insists "we must never forget that we may also find meaning in life when confronted with a hopeless situation as its helpless victim, when facing a fate that cannot be changed." [29] Frodo continues his task of Ring-bearer often without any sense of hope, at least not for himself, and realises that suffering will likely be his lot even upon the mission's success.

[39] Part of the meaning he discovers in the situation after his mission is in art, through the process of writing. It is the meaning he discovers at different stages that transforms his experience of suffering into a purgative one and allows him to attain self-transcendence. Thus in the film's sequence of Frodo's final departure, we see him united with Bilbo in the carriage. His smile before embarking on the ship at the Grey Havens says more about his acceptance of the final journey, however we interpret it, than his parting words. The white-out at the end of the scene expresses hope that is in accordance with the logic of the narrative at that point.

Conclusion

[40] Tolkien has claimed that The Lord of the Rings is a Catholic novel; Peter Jackson and his team honour that aspect of the novel, but give it an open-ended spirituality more closely reflecting the diverse religiosity of their potential audience. In both cases, conscience and "choice" are the key. While somewhat unusual for a pre-Vatican Council Catholic like Tolkien, this stress possibly derives from the Newmanian influence exerted upon him by his guardian [30] and his own personal aversion to coercion; in Jackson it seems to approximate Frankl's conception of the spiritual, which is neither secular nor necessarily religious. A theme of both the fictional and filmic The Lord of the Rings is the need for isolated parties to find common ground to face a mutual threat. The conscience is at once highly personal but likewise a "common ground" for the secular and religious search for foundational values on the journey of life.

[41] The autonomous self has rightly been critiqued by postmodernism. The common ground suggested above is possible because the conscience has a deeper foundation than the "self." For the secular individual, Frankl claims the spiritual dimension is its source, for the religious person, the conscience is further grounded in the absolute "Thou." Either way it is crucial in our becoming "fully alive" on life's journey.

Notes

[1] The bibliography of works and articles dealing with religious themes in Tolkien's works is quite rich. I would recommend the collection of essays in the volume Tolkien: A Celebration, edited by Joseph Pearce (London: HarperCollins, 1999) as a starting point, if only for the variety of approaches the authors represent.

[2] J.R.R. Tolkien, The Letters of JRR Tolkien, Humphrey Carpenter, ed. (London: HarperCollins, 1995), 172.

[3] Jeffrey Mallinson asks the same question in: "A Potion too Strong? Challenges in Translating the Religious Significance of The Lord of the Rings to Film," Journal of Religion and Popular Culture, Vol. 1 (Spring 2002): http://www.usask.ca/relst/jrpc/article-tolkien.html. However, he looks at Tolkien's work and Jackson's film from the perspective of Jungian psychology. The present analysis is largely inspired by Viktor E. Frankl's psychology. I have examined the spiritual dimension in Tolkien's work in greater detail in my book: Recovery and Transcendence for the Contemporary Mythmaker: The Spiritual Dimension in the Works of J.R.R. Tolkien (Lublin: Maria Curie-Sklodowska Press, 2000).

[4] See Steven D. Greydanus, "The Return of the King: Filmmakers contemplate journey, significance of books and films," Decent Films: http://decentfilms.com/commentary/lotr_junket.html (04-04-14).

[5] I use the term "trilogy" for Jackson's project as a useful term to indicate that it was released in three instalments: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001); The Two Towers (2002); and The Return of the King (2003). Each instalment is a part of the full The Lord of the Rings, which is more properly one film. In this, Jackson's work resembles Tolkien's "trilogy," which also comprises one novel, and whose division was a result of a marketing strategy at a time of paper shortages in post-war Britain.

[6] Brian Rosebury, Tolkien: A Cultural Phenomenon (Hampshire/New York: Palgrave, 2003), 29-31.

[7] Tolkien, The Silmarillion, Christopher Tolkien, ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977), 41.

[8] Viktor Frankl, Homo Patiens. Proba wyjaśnienie sensu cierpienia. Roman Czarniecki, trans. (Warszawa: Instytut Wydawniczy PAX, 1984), 113.

[9] The most succinct version of Frankl's psychology is presented in his Man's Search for Meaning: An Introduction to Logotherapy (New York: Pocket Books, 1973).

[10] Tolkien, The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays, Christopher Tolkien, ed. (London: HarperCollins 1997), 18.

[11] Tolkien, The Return of the King (New York: Ballantine, 1965), 113.

[12] Frankl, Man's Search for Ultimate Meaning (New York, London: Plenum Books, 1997), 59-65.

[13] Tolkien, Letters, 240.

[14] Rosebury, 15.

[15] Rosebury, 213.

[16] Charles Taylor, "The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers," Salon.com Arts & Entertainment: http://www.salon.com/ent/movies/review/2002/12/18/two_towers/index.html (03-02-18).

[17] See Andrew Greeley, The Catholic Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 141-42, passim.

[18] Tolkien, Silmarillion, 41.

[19] Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring (New York: Ballantine Books, 1965), 472

[20] Frankl, Homo Patiens, 104.

[21] This is especially the case in the theatrical version, but is muted somewhat in the extended DVD director's cut.

[22] Cf. Tom Shippey, The Road to Middle Earth (London: Grafton, 1992 [1982]), 124-26. Acton made the famous observation "Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely." which Shippey feels could effectively serve as a motto for The Lord of the Rings.

[23] Greg Wright, "Elrond and Peter Jackson's Aragorn," The Lord of the Rings at Hollywood Jesus: http://www.hollywoodjesus.com/lord_of_the_rings_feature_02.htm (03-01-06).

[24] See n 3 above.

[25] Tolkien,  The Return of the King, 389.

[26] Quoted from JRRT: A Film Portrait of JRR Tolkien. Visual Corporation, 1992.

[27] Gabriel Moran, The Present Revelation: In Quest of Religious Foundations (New York: Herder and Herder, 1972), 293.

[28] Tolkien claimed on occasion to be averse to using allegory in his art. However, in the short story "Leaf by Niggle," he certainly uses allegory, and if my reading of Bilbo's "journey" is warranted, it also broaches the Catholic theme of purgatory by means of a journey and an artistic haven.

[29] Frankl, The Unheard Cry for Meaning: Psychotherapy and Humanism (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1979), 39.

[30] Tolkien's guardian after his mother's death was Father Francis Morgan, a member of the Birmingham Oratory where John Henry Newman had built an Oratory House. See Humphrey Carpenter, J.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography (London: HarperCollins, 1977), 51, passim.