Gift-Giving in Middle-earth

Jack R. Parnell

Spring, 2025

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I know of no culture which has not arranged some form of peculiar social custom around the giving of a gift. Of course there is the childlike delight in receiving near any gift at all; there is, too, a special joy involved when someone observes a need, which you might not realize you had, and addresses it in the form of a gift. By contrast, some gifts bear grim implications—consider the pit of guilt accompanying  a gift that you feel you should’ve reciprocated, but had nothing to hand. A sense of obligation may arise with a gift (perhaps even by design), which weighs on the recipient. Other gifts can facilitate the jockeying for status and approval, in the form of giving the best gift, or, can intone the cruelty of a calculated barb—which must be accepted gracefully, or else one be thought ungrateful. All of these considerations are timeless, and it’s no surprise that the stricter social hierarchies characteristic of the past only raise the stakes.

 

As it happens, the gift is a special literary device in Middle-earth. It’s a thing with which Tolkien delicately engages in a critique of the Anglo-Saxon custom in the old heroic poetry, for whom the act of gift-giving was elevated perhaps so high as an art. But before we look at Tolkien’s careful handling of those themes in more detail, we ought to examine a few of the historical episodes—which the professor studied so closely himself. First to Beowulf, in which we find that the character of several kings is introduced to the reader specifically by way of their open-handedness.

 

[17] The glorious Almighty, made this man renowned.

Shield had fathered a famous son:

Beow’s name was known through the north.

And a young prince must be prudent like that,

Giving freely while his father lives

So that afterwards in age when fighting starts

Steadfast companions will stand beside him

And hold the line. Behavior that’s admired

Is the path to power among people everywhere.

 

In these lines we find that Hrothgar’s grandfather—the noble King Beow—holds the giving of a gift to be an honorable means to power. In giving, he receives. Even as a prince, he laid the groundwork for his reign by securing the loyalty of his warriors through gifts. In the accounting of Hrothgar’s forebears, there are two things which evidence the fitness of his rule: His prowess on the battlefield, and his willingness to share the prizes. This is a lesson Hrothgar learned well apparently, as when he constructs the ill-fated mead-hall, Heorot, it was described with one purpose in mind:

 

[67] So his mind turned

To hall-building: he handed down orders

For men to work on a great mead-hall

Meant to be a wonder of the world forever;

It would be his throne-room and there he would dispense

His God-given goods to young and old

 

This, as with those of his bloodline—Shield and Beow—is the root of his control over the realm, and as such, forms a bond more out of duty than of selflessness, or care. A king, then, is as duty-bound to offer gifts to his warriors as they are to offer back their service. So it is that a pact is formed with Beowulf, to bring an end to Grendel:

 

[375] This man is their son,

Here to follow up an old friendship.

A crew of seamen who sailed for me once

With a gift-cargo across to Geatland

Returned with marvelous tales about him:

A thane, they declared, with the strength of thirty

In the grip of each hand. Now Holy God

Has, in His Goodness, guided him here

To the West-Danes, to defend us from Grendel.

This is my hope; and for his heroism

I will recompense him with a rich treasure.

 

Of course Beowulf, having heard of the plight of the Danes, journeys to Heorot in order to defeat Grendel out of a debt incurred by his father to Hrothgar. The terminology of “recompense” renders the act transactional; further removed from the selfless aspect of gift-giving. According to this picture of the custom, it falls to Beowulf to perform his role in the tradition, and his boast serves in a way to demonstrate both his character and credential.

 

[417] To come here to you, King Hrothgar,

Because all knew of my awesome strength.

They had seen me boltered in the blood of enemies

When I battled and bound five beasts, 420

Raided a troll-nest and in the night-sea

Slaughtered sea-brutes. I have suffered extremes

And avenged the Geats (their enemies brought it

Upon themselves, I devastated them).

Now I mean to be a match for Grendel,

Settle the outcome in a single combat.

And so, my request, O king of Bright-Danes,

Dear prince pf the Shieldings, friend of the people

And their ring of defense, my one request

Is that you won’t refuse me, who have come this far,

The privilege of purifying Heorot.

 

So we understand that Beowulf and Hrothgar both experience the bonds of duty; both must defend their people from the predations of their enemies, embodied in Grendel. Tolkien however, for his part, offers a very particular reading of this chain of events. In his Ofermod—which follows the conclusion to his work on the Battle of Maldon poem—he argues that certain motivations pushed king and hero to exceed their duties. “Beowulf (according to the motives ascribed to him by the student of heroic-chivalric character who wrote the poem about him) does more than he need,” Tolkien observes, “eschewing weapons in order to make his struggle with Grendel a “sporting“ fight: which will enhance his personal glory; though it will put him in unnecessary peril, and weaken his chances of ridding the Danes of an intolerable affliction.”

 

We will return to this point and to the Battle of Maldon in due course, but here it is enough to note that Tolkien takes a position not just about the nobility of what is portrayed, but also about the role of the poet in its portrayal. The pursuit of personal glory at the peril of duty is vice. This is not to say that Beowulf’s actions are not heroic, or even that they should be viewed more negatively, but rather that in counting virtue so too must vice be counted. Especially so in this case, where the nobility of the action itself incurs the peril. For Tolkien, seeking glory rather than seeking the goodness that duty requires, is to imperil that very good. So arrogance threatens the greatest heroes, because they are great and heroic. Of course these themes carry through Tolkien's work, but, for the purposes of this paper we will restrain our scope to the question of gift-giving: How does Tolkien wield this Anglo-Saxon cultural institution in Middle-earth, and how do his characters contend with the perils that caught his attention in Beowulf, and in Beorhtnoth at Maldon?

 

First, we might compare the historical picture of gift-giving with Tolkien’s cultural milieu in The Lord of the Rings. Where better to start than with the concerns of Hobbits? As perhaps the most humble folk living in Middle-earth, their gift giving practices reflect a culturally pervasive sense of humility. For example, among the Shire-folk Tolkien inverts what is probably the most familiar gift-giving custom: Hobbits give out presents on their birthdays instead of looking to receive them. Naturally it follows that sociable hobbits can expect to receive a gift rather often. On the face of it, the practice lends the halflings a rather cozy air; they seem a childishly whimsical people well-suited to a faerie tale. However, under scrutiny one can see how such a custom fosters a sense of consideration for others, and of the fundamental responsibilities one has to one’s friends. Importantly, as the case is, the only way that the One Ring can change hands without death is in the form of a gift. For Tolkien, the humility of the halflings is what enables them to even conceive of giving such a gift, rather than be content to assure themselves that the Ring is in the best possible hands already. It’s notable that both Gollum and Bilbo rationalize their receipt of the ring as a gift—one they deserved—and Bilbo seems only able to rid himself of it by making it a gift to someone he loves; to Frodo.

 

In contrast to giving selflessly; with a mind to others, Sauron corrupts the bonds of loyalty created by analogy with the gifts of Beow, and his father Shield, called “Ring-Giver” (as were many Anglo-Saxon kings including Hrothgar), into a much more literal force of bondage. Sauron’s ring-gifts of course functioned to turn the Kings of men into his most useful and trusted agents, they fostered a self-interested greed in the dwarves, and even turned the selfless love of the elves for their realms into an imperiled liability. The insidious nature Sauron’s rings is their ability to work on the minds of their recipients in much the same way that vainglory can undermine what good the hero of old might otherwise bring to bear. The rings of Sauron’s art push their bearers toward self-interest and tyranny. They impress the desire to strip the choices from others, toward their own aims. Here again we see two obverse sides to the gift. On the one hand it is a selfless gesture of bonding, but on the other, it becomes a Machiavellian tool of bondage.

 

We understand that the One Ring embodies the subjugation which Sauron would prosecute on Middle-earth. Its influence comes in the form of the subversion of others’ will, and its power to tempt stems from lending the Ring-Bearer the ability to enforce compliance. Because the Ring possesses that authoritarian purity, it can be used to divine the intentions of others purely by their willingness to utilize it; by identifying those willing to accept the “gift”. The One Ring is always rationalized as tribute or gift. Isildur claims it as wergild, the blood price of his fallen father. Gollum, when asked, says the Ring was a birthday gift, though Tolkien tells us that in truth it was stolen from a family member, whom he murdered. Bilbo claims later to have fairly won the Ring despite having stumbled across it and suborned it’s previous possessor. To wield the Ring is to be wielded by it, but beyond, it is fundamentally to accept that the choices of others can, and should be subject to the desires of the Ring-Bearer. For Tolkien this constitutes the elevation of vainglory over duty; raising oneself at the cost of responsibility to others. So it can be seen that the ability to resist the temptations of the Ring over time is closely related with the Ring Bearer’s desire to exert themselves over others. To offer the Ring up, then, is an act which expresses the duality of the gift. Giving the Ring forces a choice on the recipient—with it, Tolkien offers his characters the same peril which he observed in Beowulf and Beorhtnoth alike: Vainglory or duty.

 

We can observe that Frodo uses the Ring several times as a scale, against which to measure his companions, by offering it as a gift. It is a test not of their commitment to the good and wellbeing of others, as this can surely remain well intact even when deeply under the influence of the Ring. Boromir, Denethor and perhaps Saruman at the outset imagined the good they would do with its power, likely tempted by visions similar to those which tempted Galadriel, and Sam when the Ring sought to influence them in their turn. Rather, the Ring-gift is a gauge of the Ring-giver’s belief in the capacity of those around them to strive as they strive, that is, in the giver’s faith that others ought not to be be made to act. So it is that Gandalf, Aragorn, and Galadriel each refuse the gift of the Ring when offered not out of righteousness, but indeed, out of a lack of self-righteousness. Boromir, by contrast, falls to the influence of the Ring for the specific reason that he believed in despair that no other man could save Gondor. This heroic vainglory he confused for his duty to Gondor. Indeed, the moment of his fall is precipitated by his inability to convince the fellowship to travel to Minas Tirith, bringing his desire for the control of others to its peak. Aragorn and Faramir have a great deal in common with Boromir, as champions of Men against the forces of darkness, but, they differ in a few important ways. The most relevant difference is their belief in the willingness of others to preserve the good in the world, just as they do: Of their own accord. Naturally, offering an implement like the One Ring is extremely perilous and not to be done lightly—in gauging a stranger’s character. Frodo only offers the Ring to those he already trusts deeply, or else already suspects to be of noble nature before measuring them in this way.

 

But what do other gifts teach us about Tolkien’s view of Anglo-Saxon values? Indeed there are other instances in which malign power is mitigated by the making of a gift, in the course of the Lord of the Rings. When Tom Bombadil rescues Frodo and his fellows from the barrow wights, it is hardly a coincidence that only by leaving the gold out for passersby to take, can the barrow curse be undone. Other gifts are also magical in nature, either in themselves or in their prescience. The mithril shirt given to Bilbo is an example of just such a mystical material. Most of the gifts bestowed by Galadriel upon the fellowship not only have magical properties, but also exhibit the particular ability to solve a problem still unguessed by its recipient. More than this, however, each of these gifts reveals the particular character of their beneficiary. Bilbo’s mithril shirt represents the high esteem with which the dwarves came to regard him, despite at first having thought poorly of him. There afterward the mithril shirt becomes an elegant symbol of the secret robustness of hobbit-kind, easily hidden when unlooked-for but unbreaking when put to the test.

 

For Galadriel’s gifts, those bestowed upon the fellowship, much has been said by other scholars. And yet, those made to Aragorn and to Gimli however remain of special interest even still. The gift of the Stone of Eärendil had of course been foretold—“Ellesar” he became, on taking up the jewel. Further, in the Unfinished Tales Tolkien tells us that the Stone has healing properties. While this deals directly with the myth of Gondor’s King having “hands of healing,” it further signals Tolkien’s deep understanding of the role of lapidary mysticism in Indo-European healing arts, well into the Christian era. Perhaps most illustrative to the discussion at hand—that is, the role of the gift in revealing one’s character, and forming a binding tie—is Galadriel’s gift to Gimli.

 

There has been much attention drawn in particular to the special honor Galadriel elects to pay Gimli in making a gift of a lock of her hair, given that she long-ago denied this very same request to Fëanor—the creator of Silmarils—three times over. Why, we wonder, was one so noble as Fëanor refused where mere Gimli, then hardly an elf-friend, was indulged? What we find with some reflection on Tolkien’s studies of the Anglo-Saxon epics is that Galadriel’s shift expresses a newly gained humility for both herself, and for Gimli. Recall that at the moment Gimli makes his request, Galadriel has just resisted the temptation to take up the One Ring, to wield it in an attempt to revive her realm. Gimli, for his own part, has just overcome his pride and stubbornness with respect to the elves and has found the willingness to marvel at the beauty of elvenkind. In this exchange, Gimli suddenly requires coaxing to even name his desire, and in his humility, cannot even ask without simultaneously deeming it too great a request to be granted. In Galadriel’s case, she has overcome a certain threat of hubris; an unwillingness to fade, instead embracing the passage of time. In doing so she allows her realm to dwindle rather than resort to the measures that its preservation would require. This capacity differs greatly from the pride and self-regard with which she once refused Fëanor.

 

Although framing the gift as part of a test of character does have much in common with the Anglo-Saxon practices portrayed in The Battle of Maldon, and in Beowulf, there are a few noteworthy differences required to complete this particular picture of Middle-earth. Returning to Heorot, the formula is rather straightforward. We know that Hrothgar, ring-giver, would make the slayer of Grendel wealthy. Beowulf makes several heroic boasts before Hrothgar, Wealhtheow, Unferth, and all the rest in assembly to witness. He makes a statement of himself, his deeds confirm his boast, and he is rewarded with fame and treasure. This cycle repeats, when Grendel’s mother is slain, and it begins again when he faces the Dragon as king, although he himself is slain. In this case the hero fails his boast, and so leaves the pact of his claims unfulfilled. Is Beowulf any less a hero for this failure, when his works at last fall short of his words? Contemporary Beowulf scholarship would likely suggest that he is not reduced, indeed, he is perhaps enlarged by the grandeur of his demise. Yet dead men win no rings; had he been slain by Grendel there never would have been a poem.

 

To return at last to the Battle at Maldon, we can see another Anglo-Saxon treatment of boast, gift, and tragedy. To briefly summarize, the poem fragment describes the events of the historic battle by someone who according to historians’ consensus was likely a participant. What remains of the poem details the death of Beorthnoth—an Anglo-Saxon lord—at the hands of Viking raiders, and, the resulting deaths of his honored bodyguard. The poem is famous in particular for the boast of Beortnoth, which he makes in reply to the Viking demand for tribute. Instead of subordinating themselves to the invaders Beorhtnoth says they shall receive no gold, only spear tips. However, not all in the battle comport themselves honorably. When Godric fled upon his master’s horse, the Sons of Odda followed—which enticed the throng to flee. Godric in particular is rebuked for having received many horses as gifts from Beorthnoth, and for having boasted of how he would deal with the raiders—that is, his shame revolves around the gift of his horse. It is difficult to imagine that Godric retains any heroic note despite his failure, in this case.

 

The important difference between the gift-giving practice (and its relation to heroism) in the works of Tolkien, and his Anglo-Saxon predecessors is perhaps down to the difference between deed and intent. The gifts in Middle-earth govern intent. Either in the curbing of it (as in the case of the Ring), or in revealing some heroic capacity. The Anglo-Saxon heroes differ in the matter of the boast; those calls to glory which insist that reward is deserved because of the deeds to come. Tolkien’s heroes do not boast, nor do they strive for fame as a method to prove their worth. The gifts in Lord of the Rings do not serve as the pinnacle of exertion and so do not eclipse the nature of the noble undertaking. Beorhtnoth on the other hand, while boasting, allows the Vikings to cross the Panta rather than contesting their crossing. His penalty for this is his utter defeat. Tolkien’s heroes do not imperil their course in order to prove their worthiness, as Beowulf did when he insisted on facing the Dragon alone. This is Tolkien's critique of prior heroic lore. And while he treats the canon with reverence, he nevertheless claims the right of a poet to levy blame on those of little humility. This is a principle perhaps best embodied by Arwen’s gift to Frodo, in recognition of his wounds rather than his service. She intercedes to provide him passage to the Grey Havens—not to be heralded, but to be healed.

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end.