“Waiting Perhaps for a Change of Days....”

I am happy to report that I am in the process of securing a publisher for my second book, The Destiny of the Species, which is a popular treatment of the biblical idea that man is hardwired for eternity and cannot be satisfied with anything less. In the weeks to come I will be posting small selections of what I have so far, just to whet your appetite for the finished product. I'll provide more details as I learn them.

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“Waiting Perhaps for a Change of Days”


This idea that there is a malicious intent compelling us to place our allegiance where it ought not be placed is vividly illustrated by that seemingly innocuous piece of jewelry that precipitated what became the age-defining conflict chronicled in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. The “Ring of Power,” as it is called, looked no different from any ordinary ring. But therein lay its subtlety and deceit, for whenever its bearer put it on, it would render him invisible (a benefit useful for all kinds of questionable activities), but it would also begin the slow process of enslaving him and bringing him into subjection to Sauron, the dark lord who originally crafted the Ring. Very few in Tolkien’s tale were immune to the Ring’s allure, but those who were tempted by it were drawn for various reasons, some external and some internal. The same is true in the spiritual realm for us today. In our next chapter we will consider the internal foothold that causes us to ignore the destiny of the species (a three-letter word beginning with “s” and rhyming with win), but here we will continue to restrict our attention to what’s outside of us.

In his essay “The Rings of Tolkien and Plato: Lessons in Power, Choice, and Morality,” Eric Katz raises the question, “If a mortal being—a human or a hobbit, for example—possesses a Ring of Power, would he choose a moral life?” He continues:

[I]n this essay I am not primarily concerned with the physical aspects of the use of the Ring; I am rather concerned with the moral aspects. Does the use of a Ring of Power entail any moral or ethical limits? Is there a morally right or morally wrong way to use a Ring? These questions become even more important when we consider not just any Ring of Power, but the One Ring of Sauron, for the possessor of the One Ring can wield almost unlimited power, and a being who possesses such power would seem to have little reason to concern herself with the dictates of morality.[1]

Katz points out how that the various characters in Tolkien’s saga respond to the temptation of the Ring in various ways: Sméagol is utterly consumed by his need for the Ring, eventually (like Merton’s “selves” discussed earlier) splitting himself into two distinct personalities: the well-meaning Sméagol he always was, and the malicious creature Gollum, a pale shadow of his former hobbit-like self (Samwise the hobbit refers to these identities as “Slinker” and “Stinker”). Neither wants to see the Ring destroyed or delivered into the hands of Sauron its maker: “Don’t take the Precious to Him! … Keep it, nice master, and be kind to Sméagol. Don’t let Him have it. Or go away, go to nice places, and give it back to little Sméagol…. Sméagol will keep it safe; he will do lots of good, especially to nice hobbits.”[2] Frodo’s response is to point out to his companion that “Already you are being twisted.”

The noble warrior Boromir is likewise ensnared, albeit out of an expressed desire to wield the Ring for good, saying to the council that is called to determine what to do with the Ring: “[The Ring] has come into our hands to serve us in the very hour of need . . . . Wielding it the Free Lords of the Free may surely defeat the Enemy . . . . Let the Ring be your weapon . . . Take it and go forth to victory!”[3] Although he initially acquiesces to the council’s rejection of his plea, he eventually succumbs to the Ring’s allure and attempts to obtain it by violent force.

Two characters in Tolkien’s tale that completely resist the temptation to claim the Ring and use it for themselves are an elf, the Lady Galadriel, and the enigmatic and joyful Tom Bombadil. Galadriel, one of Middle-earth’s most powerful rulers, laughs when offered the Ring by Frodo, its bearer (she could easily just take it if she wanted to). Yet, she says, “I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer.” She continues:

“You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!”

Then she let her hand fall…. She was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad. “I pass the test,” she said. “I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.”[4]

Another character who resisted the Ring’s temptation is Tom Bombadil. He is mysterious, for he is neither a wizard nor an elf nor a mortal man (in fact, Tolkien never really explains who or what, exactly, Bombadil is). His wife describes him thusly: “He is, as you have seen him…. He is the Master of wood, water, and hill,”[5] while Bombadil describes himself as “Eldest… here before the river and the trees.”[6] What is especially remarkable about Bombadil is that, at one point in the story, he obtains the Ring from Frodo and puts it on his finger, and it has absolutely no effect on him. He then gives it back as if it were a mere trifle or trinket unworthy of concern.

In seeking to explain the varying effects the Ring has on those who possess it, Katz writes:

It is clear that Tolkien is demonstrating to us the progressive forces of corruption of the possession and use of the One Ring, for even Frodo, the hero of the book, succumbs to its corruption in his failure to destroy the Ring. He begins with innocent and accidental uses of the Ring’s power, but eventually gives over to its seductive power by making conscious and deliberate decisions to wear the Ring, and even, at last, not to destroy it.

[T]he key feature of the corruption caused by the Ring is the corruption of the soul, the “heart,” or the personality of the wielder of the Ring. To resist the Ring is to remain oneself, to be the person you are without any extraordinary powers. All who come in contact with the Ring (except, it appears, Bombadil) lose themselves (at least momentarily) in the desire to be greater than they are.[7]

Katz is hinting here at what I referred to above as the “internal foothold” that compels us toward illicit desires (which, as I said, we will look at in detail in our next chapter). What I would like to highlight for our purposes here, though, is the fact that both of the characters who resisted the Ring’s power understood themselves to be, for lack of a better word, above the affairs of Middle-earth. Galadriel’s true homeland was to be found “in the West,” and of Bombadil and the prospect of seeking his counsel, Gandalf says, “I should not [say that he has a power over the Ring, but] rather that the Ring has no power over him. He is his own master…. And now he is withdrawn to a little land, within bounds that he has set, though none can see them, waiting perhaps for a change of days, and he will not step beyond them.” When asked whether the Ring can be entrusted to Bombadil and kept within his realm, Gandalf replies, “He would not understand the need. And if he were given the Ring, he would soon forget it, or most likely throw it away. Such things have no hold on his mind.”[8]

Swinging the discussion to our investigation of the destiny of the species, it is not simply the case that one needs a lack of attachment to this world in order to resist its allure. We all live in this world, we breathe its air, we enjoy its art, and we partake of its fruits. No amount of mystical detachment can ever be achieved that would inoculate us against our present earthly context. “Then why bring up the examples of Galadriel and Bombadil?”, you may be asking. My point is to highlight, not their detachment from this age, but their attachment to another one—not their hatred of the temporal, but their love for what is eternal.

It is the same with us. The life God calls us to, despite the impression given by some of his followers, is not a solely negative one that is characterized by asceticism and denial of all things physical.[9] No, coupled with every disincentive from something is an alternate incentive toward something else. Just as Tom Bombadil was “waiting perhaps for a change of days,” so we who have come to discover and embrace the destiny of the species are sufficiently drawn by what’s ahead of us that we refuse to be driven by what lies behind. As I argued in chapter 1, we are not pushed, but pulled.

And this is precisely what makes us human.


[1] The Lord of the Rings and Philosophy, 5, emphasis original.


[2] Tolkien, The Two Towers, 273, quoted in The Lord of the Rings and Philosophy, 9-10.


[3] Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, 300, quoted in Ibid., 10-11.


[4] Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, 410-11, quoted in Ibid., 12-13.


[5] Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, 140, quoted in Ibid., 13.


[6] Ibid., 13-14.


[7] Ibid., 18-19.


[8] Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, 279.


[9] For a more detailed discussion of this, see my previous book, Dual Citizens.