Tolkien and Dungeons & Dragons

J.R.R. Tolkien once lamented, in a now famous letter (to a potential publisher) that his goal of creating an artful secondary world set in a faerie realm of his invention seemed then to be fading. He was having trouble finding a publisher for the The Lord of the Rings and the realization that his major artistic effort may never reach its full audience loomed large. He wrote in 1951, “[O]nce upon a time (my crest has long since fallen) I had a mind to make a body of more or less connected legend… and yet leave scope for other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama. Absurd.”

We now know that quite the opposite happened. Tolkien found a publisher and the influence of his imaginary work, primarily centred in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, is now a world-wide enterprise that has inspired a multi-billion dollar industry in literature, film and games. In addition to the revenue generated is Middle-earth’s influence on forming a cultural narrative: hobbits, orcs, dwarves (rather than dwarfs) and much more are now ingrained in the imagery of Western culture. Communicated in Tolkien’s work is not just the details of the characters and plot, but also core values and political beliefs.

The relationship between an artistically built imaginary world and the primary world is a complex one. Cultural studies scholar, Mark Wolf (2012) explains, “To give oneself over to a painting, novel, movie, television show or video game is to step vicariously into a new experience, into an imaginary world. This can be as true for the author of the work as it is for the rest of the work’s audience” (p. 70). An American political science professor, Murray Edelman (1995) adds that artwork doesn’t just describe our social/political world, but actually creates it.

I have argued elsewhere that culture is not monolithic: multiple narratives compete, and work in collaboration, to form a collective identity. In this article, I explore this premise by forming the argument that Tolkien’s work was an essential ingredient in the creation of the tabletop role-playing game Dungeon & Dragons (D&D), but in a critical turn D&D has altered, and re-imagined how Tolkien’s legendarium has been received in popular culture.

Dungeons & Dragons

Dungeons & Dragons (D&D), developed for the market by Tactical Studies Rules (TSR) in the 1970s, started as a paper and pencil role-playing game, allowing players to become heroes in a fantasy world, following rules supplied by the game designers. Originally, D&D was derived from historically-based war games such as Gettysburg and Napoleonic battle simulations. It was aided in its creation through a community-based war gaming society which built the game mechanics and play-tested them at early gaming conventions.

TSR, the corporate distributor of D&D, based in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, was co-founded by E. Gary Gygax, Don Kaye and Dave Arneson, along with a few of their friends and family—mainly by providing low-cost labour and financial backing. In essence, TSR began in a basement around a gaming table, in the 1970s, and grew into a multi-million-dollar business through the sales of the core rule-books and other game supplements. Others have documented the rise and eventual fall of TSR, including its financial ruin, as well as destroyed friendships. This is largely a tale about corporate mismanagement and inflated egos. Rather than retell that saga, it is enough to note that the obvious claim that the these passionate hobbyists seemed far out of their depth when trying to manage a complicated corporation. Yet, my purpose is not to assess D&D’s impact on the market, it is to support a more general claim on how it has shaped popular culture and the meta-narrative for generations of gamers and others. Despite TSR’s tumultuous and brief existence, the role-playing fantasy game phenomenon it was central to creating still has a significant and sustained cultural impact.

D&D: Crush Your Enemies

“Crush enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentation of their women” is the infamous quote, uttered by the character Conan (Arnold Schwarzenegger), from the cult classic John Milius film, Conan the Barbarian (1982). In many ways, it captures well the sentiment of the sword & sorcery narrative of the 1980s – the hero sees a problem, identifies an enemy and moves in directly for the kill: the stronger warrior or the more adept wizard wins the battle. Then, of course, you get your reward: you take the defeated enemy’s possessions and make it part of your ‘loot.’ It also involves a fair amount of saving the damsel in distress and taking her as a prize.

A generation of gamers have been raised on this narrative; many have become artists in the game industry and leaders in many other fields. The influence of this aspect of the D&D worldview is present in a variety of media, movies, graphic novels, video games, sitcoms, etc. D&D has also resurged as a cultural force, due to a revamped edition of the game published by Wizards of the Coast, and hit D&D live-stream shows like Critical Role and Dice, Camera Action.

The evidence I muster to support the claim that early D&D rests on a ‘Crush Your Enemies’ (CYE) trope is captured in the AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide and the Players’ Handbook published in 1979, which both credit Gygax as the sole author. It is evident that he had a very clear idea on how the game was meant to be played. He prescribes a strata for organizing play; he (1979) asserts: “By ordering things as they should be, the game as a whole first, your campaign next, and your participants thereafter, you will be playing Advanced Dungeons & Dragons as it was meant to be” (p. 230). Therefore, his rules system came first, the game master’s needs are second, and the players expectations and enjoyment followed. In addition to this clear hierarchy, in Gygax’s version of the game, players were expected to conform to player character archetypes – fighters needed to fight, thieves stole loot and wizards cast spells from a distance.

The DMG allowed the dungeon master (DM) to withhold experience points for those who didn’t “pull their weight” and play their character, as prescribed by Gygax. Moreover, there was little incentive for players to find non-violent ways to resolve encounters. The rules here are clear, “Monsters captured or slain always bring full experience point award. Captured monsters ransomed or sold bring a gold piece: experience point ratio award” (p. 107) Although, the rules did allow the DM to award experience for avoiding monsters using a ‘subjective’ system – however, the scant attention given to this implies the author didn’t expect this award would be used often.

Moreover, Gygax also makes assumptions about the moral character/values of those who would play D&D, and suggests they will follow a CYE trope: “Participants will always be pushing for a game which allows them to become strong and powerful far too quickly” (p. 7). He asserts that they will not only attempt to push their own agenda as a player character to become more powerful than they should, they will also try to take over the game completely, “Each will attempt to take the game out of your hands [DM/GM] and mold it to his or her own ends” (p. 7). Gygax also applies a rigid perspective on the tactics employed in the game in order of have a ‘successful’ adventure, this includes a militaristic doctrine prescribing parties to set objectives, avoid getting lost, retrieve slain characters, etc. (p. 109).

Gygaxian Adventures

As mentioned previously, Gygax saw himself as the sole-author of the AD&D games system; in the preface of the Players’ Handbook, the core rulebook for the AD&D system, he claims, “The whole of Advanced Dungeon was a project involved varying degrees of my thought (emphasis added); imagination and actual working time over a period of more than a year…” (p. 5). He goes on to cement his claim by stating, “Who better than the individual responsible for it all as creator of the “Fantasy Supplement” in Chainmail, the progenitor of D&D; and as the first proponent of fantasy gaming and a principle in TSR…” (p. 5)

He not only prescribed a fairly rigid rules system but he forcefully advocated an approach on a process for play. His primary trope and game style is reinforced in the game adventures (modules) he published, again, as sole-author.

During his career at TSR, Gygax was a prolific author and penned numerous modules including: B2 Keep on the Borderlands, S1 Tomb of Horrors (1978/81), S3 Expedition to the Barrier Peaks (1980), S4 The Lost Caverns of Tsojcath, D1-2 Descent into the Depths of the Earth (1978/ 81), D3 Vault of the Drow (1978/81), G1-2-3 Against the Giants (1978), T1 The Village of Hommlet (1979/81), T1-4 The Temple of Elemental Evil (1985), WG4 The Forgotten Temple of Tharizdum (1982), WG5 Mordenkainen’s Fantastic Adventure (1984) and WG6 Isle of the Ape (1985).

A survey of the content of these adventures show a clear ‘Crush Your Enemies’ theme. I will consider a few of them in a little more detail in order to make this point.

B2 Keep on the Borderlands (1981)–the ‘CYE’ theme cannot be more clearly expressed than in this adventure. It was distributed as part of the D&D basic-set and seemed to be intended as an introductory skill-building test for new players–thus, setting the tone for the overall feeling for the game and an example of how Gygax expected that game to be played. It features a limited open-world sandbox where characters can travel from a wilderness- based keep (their home base) to a nearby swamp, a forested area, and two caves–the Cave of the Unknown and the Caves of Chaos.

A party adventuring to the Caves of Chaos will be expected to encounter a series of caves in a ravine-like area: settled within these caves are kobolds, goblins, orcs, a minotaur, gnolls, zombies, skeletons, evil cultists, and a medusa. Their lairs are constructed with a variety of evil temples, torture chambers, crypts and cells (as well as storage rooms and the like). The narrative link between this diverse cast of monsters is not overtly apparent in the text of this adventure, they just seem to dwell there in order to await the arrival of the party. In the “Notes for the Dungeon Master” section, Gygax tutors new game masters on how to train your players to fight effectively, he notes, “The DM should be careful to give the player characters a reasonable chance to survive. If your players tend to be rash and unthinking, it might be better to allow them to have a few men-at-arms accompany them even if the party is large… Hopefully, they will quickly learn that the monsters here will work together and attack intelligently, if able. If this lesson is not learned, all that can be done is to allow the chips to fall where they may. Dead characters cannot be brought back to life here!” (p. 2). The lesson is clear – play like a smart wargamer or your character will be terminated.

The overriding assumption is the party will defeat the mash-up of monsters through combat. There is little (or no) incentive to use other means, in fact, diplomacy or mercy is actively discouraged. For example, the last encounter in the module is set in a cell, which features an imprisoned “fair maiden,” but players quickly learn she is a medusa chained to the prison wall. Characters who have not been turned to stone by her gaze outright will find that she will then bargain with them for her release; however, as Gygax notes, “If freed she will attempt to “stone” her rescuers” (p.23). There is no game mechanic presented where she will allow her captures to depart untouched. Again, the message is made clear to players: monsters should be killed and mercy is rewarded with betrayal.

Another example which presents the ‘Crush Your Enemies’ theme in an introductory adventure is Gygax’s module: T1 The Village of Hommlet. This scenario is presented as a novice adventure for first-level characters. What is notable is the lack of a coherent narrative or story “hooks” beyond simply seeking ‘fame and fortune.’ This is significant because it frames D&D for new players as a simple ‘Crush Your Enemies’ trope. Although, the introduction presents some information on the context of the adventure and situates it’s geographic and historical context, yet none of it has any bearing on the rest of the adventure. For example, Viscount of Verbobonc is mentioned as a significant noble in the region, but players do not meet him in the adventure and he doesn’t seem to have any impact on the village. Also, there is mention of the Temple of Elemental Evil, but that location is not included in this adventure and it took six years before the sequel to this module would be published by TSR.

In short, players are presented with a random village that they are simply assumed to want to explore. The second part of this sixteen-page adventure has characters confront some monsters in a Moathouse in the outskirts of the village. Within dwells a strange array of creatures who have no apparent connection to each other and no overall story. Monsters simply seem to be waiting there to be slain (or to slay) the player characters.

Like B2 Keep on the Borderlands, characters find a series of rooms and a dungeon in the Moathouse, including a torture chamber and various other cruel crypts. The monster list includes: an ogre, bugbears, ghouls, gnolls, guardsman, giant frogs and a giant snake (amongst others). Again, none of these creatures seem to be aware of each other or have a narrative hook. The players never learn what is compelling these creatures to slay whomever they met.

An aside, there is an interesting surface connection to Tolkien’s work – in one room in the Moathouse, players encounter guardsman, “garbed all in black, with gold eyes of fire embroidered upon their tunics and cloaks” (p. 15). A not even subtle adaptions of the imagery of Sauron’s lidless eye—the antagonist in The Lord of Rings—into the symbols employed by guards linked to the Temple of Elemental Evil. Moreover, these same guardsman make a “low hooting sound” to alert their companions in the adjacent room—reminiscent of the tactic the dwarves advise Bilbo to employ when he encounters the trolls in The Hobbit.

The point here is that, as an introductory adventure, it imprinted on the first generation of D&D players on how the game should be played. The CYE frame is implied and overtly stated, there is no mechanic which allows players to navigate the Moathouse without murdering human and monsters alike. Some even refer to it now as a classic fundamental aspect of D&D.

An opportunity to expand Gygax’s adventuring trope beyond the CYE format presented itself in S3 Expedition to the Barrier Peaks (1980/81). In this adventure, the players’ are given the task of traveling to the Barrier Peaks (a mountain range) to investigate monsters in the countryside that seem to be terrorizing the Grand Duchy of Geoff. Typical of almost all of Gygax’s assumption is that player characters will follow the path which is laid before the party, often this is referred to in gaming culture as a ‘railroad’ or an adventure on ‘rails’ – this adventure has a twist though, the dungeon the party finds is actually a futuristic spaceship which has crashed in the peaks. Players enter the ship through a mountain entrance and from there they proceed to investigate a world of robots, alien creatures and a variety of nasty traditional D&D monsters (e.g. Mind flayers and an intellect devourer). The concept is interesting enough – although it is curious to note that this storyline was created in order to support a then potential new science fiction game METAMORPHIS ALPHA and also to potentially link to their existing futuristic role-playing game GAMMA WORLD (S3, p. 2). Therefore, S3 was very much designed as a marketing exercise to give fantasy role-playing enthusiasts a taste of a different genre.

While S3 clearly presents players with a replication of the CYE frame, where Gygax presents six levels of a spaceship where every creature therein exists as a threat to destroy the party – there is absolutely no incentive to do anything else but engage in combat with everything on board, while attempting to appropriate their technology, usually laser weapons, grenades, etc. This story is devoid of a plot, it is not clear where this ship comes from or its purpose. One could argue that Gygax was simply presenting a basic framework, where he then expects DMs to supply the narrative detail; yet, the expectation that players are in a ‘hunt or be hunted’ environment is reinforced in every encounter. It would be tedious to recount every combat encounter in this module; it is sufficient to say that the vast majority of encounters are expected to be met with violence by the party. Also, Gygax returns to his familiar trope of ‘a beautiful woman as a threat’ (recall the medusa in Keep on the Borderlands discussed earlier). Consider the numbered encounter: 4: “MOTIONLESS FEMALE FORM: This is a seemingly unconscious beautiful human female, but in reality it is a “berserk, malfunction android” (p. 7).

I do not think it is trite to point out that if one encounters a helpless ‘beautiful’ woman in a Gygax adventure, there is a pretty good chance she will turn into a monster and attempt to kill your character.

In summary, this offering is a thirty-one page adventure which only allows characters to succeed by defeating a virtual army of monsters (and looting their stuff). Indeed, I cannot find a single example of a Gygax adventure which does not predominately follow the CYE format.

Gygax and Arneson – is there a difference?

Dungeons & Dragons, as a corporate game system, is officially co-created by Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson (a third initial creator, Don Kaye died during the formative years of TSR’s growth). Arneson worked briefly for TSR and clearly tension developed between Gygax and him. Eventually Arneson resigned (or was fired), but his co-creator status was maintained as TSR continued to pay royalties to him for the sale of the game as the result of an undisclosed legal settlement. Part of Arenson’s creative contribution to D&D was his original D&D campaign setting titled, Blackmoor (Greyhawk was the other setting developed primarily by Gygax). He co-wrote three modules to commercially support it: DA 1 Blackmoor, DA 2 Temple of the Frog, and DA 3 The City of Gods. A fourth module was published, but without authorial assistance from Arneson. Why it is relevant to this analysis is that the ferocity in which Gygax asserted the CYE trope in his modules is not quite as evident in Blackmoor.

The Blackmoor modules are more story-based adventures. Yes, there is treasure and monsters to be fought, but it also supports a fairly well-developed narrative frame to animate it all. For example, in the Temple of the Frog, players are motivated by in-text exposition to follow the path of the warrior—Baronese Ryssa Aleford, who has been reported missing after leading a band of her warriors to repel bandits terrorizing her realm. Players are introduced to an intricate plot involving time-travel, court politics and eventually they uncover an alien spaceship. The DM is greeted with over two full-pages of dialogue designed to acclimatize the party to the scenario. Also, players have an extended journey over an ocean, rivers, then a swamp before they find “frog island.” Along the way they may be aided by a cast of NPCs (back-up party-members) and a ship captain and crew. There is even exposition where the DM is encouraged not to have their sailing ship too damaged and other forms of guidance to help facilitate the story; in addition, the party can work with some of the NPCs to aid in the revealing of an intricate story.

When reviewing Arenson’s work, his passion for a varied and complex setting and plot contrasts significantly with the content supplied in Gygax’s modules. One wonders how D&D may have developed if Arneson’s vision was able to flourish over Gygax’s?

A counter to my claim about Gygax’s affinity for CYE is the various rules manuals he authored in which he merely sketched a broad framework, potentially allowing the DM and players take control of their game and tell the stories they want by not following the rules too closely. Yet, this claim is contradicted by the many assertions he makes about how the game should be played, and it is reinforced by the incentive system present in the game adventures he authored. A CYE alternative simply doesn’t fit into Gygax’s game system.

D&D: Gygax’s Playground Wins

It is now clear that the cultural frame Gygax championed, captured in CYE, has found a receptive audience and flourishes today. Transmedia elements of Gygax’s adventures have dramatically influenced contemporary cultural media; evidence of this is apparent through multiple versions of his “classical” modules being reprinted and converted to subsequent editions of D&D and indirectly through the almost countless examples of his core game mechanic and story-line being expressed in other platform and mediums. For generations of role-playing gamers CYE is an accepted trope and a preferred game style.

However, one could argue that The Wizards of the Coast, Dungeons & Dragons: 5th edition departs from CYE by allowing for a wider variety of narrative options and game mechanics which do not overtly reward characters who simply slay monsters. For example, the ‘story reward’ mechanic in the 5th edition version of the vampire tale, Curse of Strahd, allows players to progress by reaching story milestones which are not contingent on slaying or looting NPCs found in the game. An adventuring party starting at first-level will not likely find success beyond the mists of Barovia if they follow a strict ‘hack and slash’ strategy.

That said, CYE is still very present in the current version of D&D; Wizards of the Coast has published an entire hard cover game supplement, Tales from the Yawning Portal, which reprints (edited and converted to 5th ed) many of the early game adventures – including Gygax’s Tomb of Horrors, and Against the Giants.

CYE is also apparent in Mathew Colville’s Kickstarter funded (over two millions USD) 5th ed D&D game supplement, Strongholds and Followers, which provides players a game mechanic to use their loot and forge their own castle (or similar structure) and maybe expand it to build an empire. As Colville often asserts on his popular YouTube channel, D&D is about “killing monsters”, but it seems, in Colville’s view, it also about amassing political power and military strength.

Many other table-top RPGs and card games entirely depend on CYE as their core mechanic and narrative push. Examples include Magic the Gathering, and Vampire: The Masquerade. Even board games that are licensed to use Tolkien’s IP adopt, as a core mechanic, CYE; consider Warhammer’s Middle-earth series, chess games, etc.

Video games, which by some estimates is a 116 Billion dollar industry, expresses CYE in many of the industry’s leading titles, including: World of Warcraft, Grand Theft Auto, Dark Souls, D&D Online, The Witcher series, Final Fantasy (to name a few). Also, the HBO television series A Game of Thrones is thought to have evolved from the author’s experiences with D&D and embodies CYE; but it does seem fair to note that in Season 8 of Game of Thrones (the series finale), the main characters’ obsession with political power and conquest seem to lead many of them to a tragic end.

Tolkien and Enchantment

There is no evidence J.R.R. Tolkien ever heard of E. Gary Gygax, or was familiar with Dungeons & Dragons. Given Tolkien died in 1973, around the same time as D&D was entering the market in the United States, it is, therefore, unknowable how Tolkien would have reacted to his legendarium being appropriated into this game system. My purpose here is not to enter into a speculative debate over how Tolkien would have responded to D&D, but, rather, it is to address the competing tropes evident in Tolkien’s secondary world and Gygax’s game system/ published adventures. I have built a case throughout this essay that Gygax evoked a Crush Your Enemies (CYE) frame in his version of D&D, while Tolkien’s competing frame is what I term an ‘Enchantment Narrative.’

The sense in which I evoke the term enchantment in Tolkien’s work is in the context of his treatment of political and military power in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. There is a tradition in Tolkien scholarship where enchantment is related to Tolkien’s concept of Elvish Craft, which some have related to his writing craft/style; indeed, my co-authored articles with Dr. Anna Smol contribute to this sense of enchantment.

Moreover, Tolkien himself addressed enchantment in the context of Elvish Craft in his famous essay, On Fairy Stories My claim here is different from that scholarly tradition; for my purpose, I make a distinction between enchantment and magic in relation to how characters and institutions approach armed conflict and political intrigue in Middle-earth.

From the outset, it is important to remember that Ardra/Middle-earth is a fairy realm of Tolkien’s invention. It is not a field manual on military tactics or a guide to what a primary-world state should do if threatened with annihilation by a hostile power – this is a faerie story and primary-world laws and mores do not directly apply (although they may be applicable). So, as a tactical guide for wargamers wanting to bust out their miniature figures and play a wargame, Tolkien’s Middle-earth may prove wholly unsatisfying, especially since members of the Fellowship of the Ring and other ‘good’ characters often do not behave in a way that a military tactician would find plausible.

I maintain that Tolkien’s enchantment, in this context, describes the relationship between the peoples of Middle-earth and nature. In particular, it applies to the elves (especially the Noldor) who draw great ‘magical’ power from nature and are in return in tune with it. For elves, gaining knowledge and achieving a ‘state of enchantment’ are ends in themselves, and are sought in order to better understand and contribute to the natural balance in Middle-earth. Elvish skill as creators and nurturers is gleaned over long study and communion with the earth. Using personal ‘magic’ to dominate or persue one’s narrow self-interest is a spiritual sin for elves and runs counter to their core.

This is captured artfully in the concept of the ‘long defeat’ where elves accept their racial decline in Middle-earth, but bear it with grace and fade willingly, accepting their role in a greater tapestry. Elves reluctantly go into battle and do not seek personal wealth or attain political office to satisfy personal pride.

Another example of elvish enchantment is found in the properties of the Three Rings forged by the Elves, which governed much of what they created in Middle-earth. During the Council of Elrond, in Book II of The Lord of the Rings Elrond describes the properties of these Rings:

The Three were not made by Sauron, nor did he ever touch them…they were not made as weapons of war or conquest: this is not their power. Those who made them did not desire strength or domination or hoarded wealth, but understanding, making, and healing, to preserve all things, unstained. These things the Elves of Middle-earth have in some measure gained, though with sorrow.

Of course, there are examples of elves who succumb to the ‘dragon sickness’ such as King Thingol in the lay of Beren and Luthien, leading to not only his personal destruction but also the near ruin of his realm. In Tolkien’s secondary realm, elves are not perfect beings, and some fail. In addition, elves do seem to honour martial heroism and respect skill in battle.

The distinguishing feature is the elvish trait of seeking to understand and appreciate the ‘other,’ rather than trying to exploit others for personal gain (there are exceptions, such as the self-interest apparent in Feanor and his brothers from the Silmarillion). This understanding is often mediated through art – songs, poems, sculpture, etc. – elves seek to understand the complexity (and beauty) of the living world by making art about it. In essence, enchantment involves love, grace and respect for the ‘other’ – something notably absent from the CYE frame.

In addition, elvish enchantment recognizes the damage of violence on all involved. In D&D your character is rewarded for violent conquest – you gain levels, more abilities and magical power. In Tolkien’s world, a character may improve their martial skill over time, but it takes its toll in other ways. Recall that Frodo never recovered from the bite of the morgul blade at Weathertop. J. Trilling explains Tolkien’s thinking in this regard well:

These and other such passages in the letters explain why, although there is a great deal of enchantment in Tolkien’s work, there is very little overt magic: magic represents an unhealthy extension of the will, a gratification of the “I want it now” impulse. (p.297)

Whereas Gygax’s adventures encourages players to seek wealth and power, Tolkien’s good characters caution against it; in brief, the use of magic in Tolkien’s frame seems compatible with CYE–Sauron, Saruman and their respective followers all employ magic and CYE as a dominating tool to force submission on those who oppose them.

Tolkien’s message seems clear, even the study of the craft of Sauron (magic/ CYE) may lead to the corruption of the character who adopts it; that is, the more one inhabits the study of magic the greater the risk of succumbing to it. An obvious example in The Lord of the Rings is the fall of Saruman from the Istari order (the council of wizards). Elrond attributes this decline chiefly to his immersion in the study of Sauron’s craft: “It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill. But such falls and betrayals, alas, have happened before” (p. 347).

Another major weakness in the CYE frame is the assumption of many of its adherents that most people think alike; that is, that given a certain strategic situation rational actors will think (and behave) similarly. Tolkien inserted this weakness into the most vile elements of Middle-earth; it can be argued that it was this blindness which contributed significantly to Sauron’s demise. Gandalf makes that point several times throughout The Lord of the Rings, for example, he observes of Sauron:

He supposes that we are all going to Minas Tirith; for that is what he would himself have done in our place. And according to his wisdom it would have been a heavy stroke against his power. Indeed, he is in great fear, not knowing what mighty one may suddenly appear, wielding the Ring and assailing him with war, seeking to cast him down and take his place. That we should wish to cast him down and have no one in his place is not a thought that occurs to his mind. (p. 115-116).

Moreover, it is this flaw which underscores the entire strategy of destroying the Ring, contemplated at the Council of Elrond, Gandalf defines it:

Let folly be our cloak, a veil before the eyes of the Enemy! For he is very wise, and weighs all things to a nicety in the scales of his malice. But the only measure that he knows is desire, desire for power; and so he judges all hearts. Into his heart the thought will not enter that any will refuse it, that having the Ring we may seek to destroy it. If we seek this, we shall put him out of reckoning. (p. 353)

Indeed, the need to constrain power is evident into the make-up of the Istari itself – Gandalf, as well as the other wizards in this order, have been placed by the Valar into the bodies of old men, seemingly in an effort to constrain the temptation to depart from enchantment into the ‘quick fix’ of magic. Obviously, given Saruman’s fall as the head of of the Istari, this constraint was not sufficient. This point is made effectively by Frank Riga, through contrasting Gandalf and the archetype wizard, Merlin – who seemingly had no qualms about using his power to dominate others.

For Tolkien, enchantment can overcome magic (and perhaps CYE). This sentiment is evident in The Hobbit when Thorin Oakenshield seems to mourn his ‘dragon sickness’ by expressing on his deathbed that another path would seem more profitable, he states: “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world…” (p. 271)

Perhaps the strongest repudiation of the magic/CYE frame is apparent in Sam Gamgee’s struggle with the Ring when he decided to wear it for a time while attempting to retrieve Frodo from his capture by the orcs. Tolkien’s text is a powerful affirmation of enchantment:

Already the Ring tempted him, gnawing at his will and reason. Wild fantasies arose in his mind; and he saw Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age, striding with a flaming sword across the darkened land, and armies flocking to his call as he marched to the overthrow of Barad-dûr. And then all the clouds rolled away, and the white sun shone, and at his command the vale of Gorgoroth became a garden of flowers and trees and brought forth fruit. He had only to put on the Ring and claim it for his own, and all this could be.

In that hour of trial it was the love of his master that helped most to hold him firm; but also deep down in him lived still unconquered his plain hobbit-sense: he knew in the core of his heart that he was not large enough to bear such a burden, even if such visions were not a mere cheat to betray him. The one small garden of a free gardener was all his need and due, not a garden swollen to a realm; his own hands to use, not the hands of others to command. (p. 206)

It seems Tolkien armoured Sam with a power greater than The One Ring – a deep sense of self-awareness, including a love for himself and others.

Indeed, enchantment, at its core, is a respect (even love) for the other and one’s self, and the willingness to devote energy and study to the understanding of multiple frames/narratives. It also asks for a focus on creative acts in order to facilitate this understanding – this, to me, suggests enchantment rests not just on rational considerations, but also the subjective insertion of feelings. To feel another’s pain or joy is to join with them in a process of making and delight, something which is central to the success of Tolkien’s art.

Enchantment also reimagines political power – dominant control over others is as damaging to the one who wields such authority as it is to those subject to it; a condition which is evident in the primary-world as well as many thoughtfully developed imagined worlds. Tolkien presents other options for sharing political (including military) authority, which is absent from the CYE frame.

Tolkien and D&D

It does not seem to be a controversial claim that TSR built D&D on the back of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Middle-earth. This has been well documented by others, for example, see John Rateliff and Jon Peterson So much so that in the 1970s Tolkien Enterprises, a production company owned by Saul Zaentz, sent a cease-and-desist letter to TSR claiming that the creators of D&D appropriated Tolkien’s intellectual property. TSR responded by altering some of the more obvious examples of where content was copied from Tolkien’s work. For example, Hobbits were changed into halflings and the Balrog became a Type V demon. Indeed, the recently published tome on the history of the art in D&D shows a hand-written chart (p. 53) by Gygax, ‘Balrog’ is written on the table where demons are being converted into game statistics – the notes describe this creature as having bat-wings, with a whip and jagged sword – a clear reference to the Balrog demon encountered by Gandalf, and the rest of his companions, in the Mines of Moria. . Another subtle reference to Tolkien is found in the first edition AD&D Players’ Handbook (authored by Gygax), where character progression titles for the ranger class bestow the title of ‘Strider’ (p. 25) at second level; Strider, of course, is the nickname given to Aragorn the ranger by the people of Bree and used affectionately by Sam Gamgee in the The Lord of the Rings. Moreover, on a general design level, Tolkien’s concept of a small party of multi-ethnic and multi-classed ‘adventures’ who seek to claim (or destroy) an ancient artefact is entirely captured in the core structure of D&D. A fantasy trope, before the time of D&D’s creation, present in Tolkien’s work and few others of this genre.

As TSR became more successful Gygax attempted to minimize Tolkien’s influence. In an article in a TSR published marketing magazine, Dragon, Gygax explains it by asserting,“As anyone familiar with both D&D games and Tolkien works can affirm, there is no resemblance between the two, and it is well might be impossible to recreate any Tolkien-based fantasy while remaining within the boundaries of the game system” (p. 13).

It seems apparent that Gygax is making a distinction between the core game mechanic and the overall flavour of the narrative of his conception of D&D (AD&D) with Tolkien’s lengedarium. Although it is easy to refute Gygax’s claim that he didn’t borrow heavily from Tolkien’s secondary world, there may be a valid argument in Gygax’s claim that he altered Tolkien’s content to suit his game system, and by extension removed many of the important characteristics present in Tolkien’s original work.

For example, lost on Gygax is Tolkien’s deep consideration of the relationship between magic and enchantment, including the harmful impact that using naked military and magic force will have on those who use power aggressively (as well as the destruction wrought on the recipients of such attacks). Thus, for Gygax, a fantasy character’s usefulness rests entirely on their martial/magical power to defeat opponents in direct melee. This isn’t surprising given his wargaming roots, but it also points to a blindness to the value of alternative elements of fantasy literature.

His bias is further revealed when he takes Tolkien to task for not supplying his characters with sufficient power, he laments, “Gandalf is quite ineffectual, plying a sword at times and casting spells which are quite low-powered” (p. 12) (in terms of the D&D game). In Gandalf’s defence, he did defeat an ancient demon (Balrog), was raised from the dead, and devised the strategy to defeat an ancient devil (Sauron). Yet, he used his abilities in a subtle way, he did not need to employ overt/dominating forms of magic, but Gandalf’s use of power is not recognized as valid by Gygax. That is why, in general, Tolkien’s characters cannot be easily converted into the D&D game mechanic without losing much of the original flavour in Tolkien’s lore. Although Gygax can be heavily criticized for having a limited appreciation for dynamic world-building, his assertion that Tolkienian and Gygaxian artworks are minimally related seems sound.

As an aside, it is interesting to note that in the very magazine that the CEO of TSR rages against Tolkien’s influence, there is a full colour ad for a Hobbit RPG produced by Iron Crown Enterprises only a few pages from Gygax’s article -profiting from Tolkien’s IP never seemed to be a problem for Gygax.

In brief, D&D (as constructed by Gygax) is not an extension of Tolkien’s secondary world; in many ways it lies entirely in opposition to its central themes and core values. Tolkien tilled the cultural soil for D&D to take root, but D&D has grown into its own garden that often competes, and even negates, the tree Tolkien planted.

Middle-earth and D&D

So there you have it: Tolkien was first, Gygax and TSR’s work came later and in many ways is derivative of Tolkien’s legendarium. Yet, Gygax/TSR and the resulting gaming industry have been able to significantly re-image Tolkien’s art work from an enchantment frame to CYE.

My argument, in summary, is that Tolkien should be given much credit for establishing a cultural landscape prepared to accept role-playing games where players assume the persona of fantasy heroes in worlds inspired by Middle-earth. Indeed, it is probable that Dungeons & Dragons would not exist without Tolkien’s work, but these later art-works have managed to unmake much of the original trope in Tolkien, and altered it to form a very different narrative.

Moreover, I assert that the core mechanic of D&D, including the current 5th edition version, resists a credible conversion to a Tolkienian RPG. Even Gygax conceded that developing a Middle-earth RPG, or even a module/ adventure, would be problematic, as he states in an interview when responding to the question: “Did you ever consider making the Lord of the Rings into a module?:

“No, because it seems to me that the RPG system would have to be tailored to accommodate the environment, its magical features. Perhaps more importantly, what JRRT fan would want to alter the plotlines and outcomes of the underlying work?

What could be done is to create “later-time” spin-off material for Tolkienesque adventuring. That sort of approach might be viable, given licensing and some really good writers and game-adventure designers”

Even as early as 1972, Gygax notes that D&D rules are not suitable for a Middle-earth campaign:

“Tolkien purists will not find these rules entirely satisfactory, I believe, for many of the fantastic creatures do not follow his “specifications”, mainly because I believe that other writers were as “authoritative” as he.”

There have been attempts to employ the D&D mechanic (and variant game systems) unto a Middle-earth campaign system. For example, in the 1980s Iron Crown Enterprise released a series of adventures in Bree, the Wilderlands and Rohan. More recently, a UK-based company, Cubicle Seven, published a players’ guide and game master’s guide specific to Middle-earth (under license from The Saul Zaentz Company). Yet, despite these and other attempts to capture the D&D phenomenon in Middle-earth, none have seemed to penetrate the market to create a significant audience. Perhaps part of the reason why Middle-earth has not been easily adapted into D&D as a popular campaign setting is that the CYE mechanic is not able to capture Tolkien’s enchantment frame. In order to play an RPG in Middle-earth, and get a satisfying experience for those familiar with Tolkien’s secondary world, would require a major revision of the dominant D20 game mechanic; it is not enough to adorn it in the shell of the characters (names/descriptions) but in order to evolve it into an authentic Middle-earth experience requires a major rethinking of the D&D core game mechanic. It is beyond the scope of this essay (and my skill) to outline a framework for a new game system which could support an enchantment frame, but, I assert, it is a necessary step for those who want to experience Middle-earth as an RPG.

The Future of D&D

At this point, it must be stated that it is not my goal, in this work, to dictate to anyone how to play Dungeons & Dragons or to prescribe what cultural content to create or enjoy. I am merely pointing out what I’ve observed as the impact of Gygaxian D&D on Tolkien’s legendarium. Yet, I do think an artist/designer does have some responsibility for the impact their content has on their audience, even after recognizing that the artist only has limited control on how their work is received. The core of enchantment, as an art process, is the artist and audience participate together to create the artwork. In that sense, Gygax, to me, has done some damage in developing an artful game that prescribes violence as the main remedy to solving problems. Yet, in fairness, he alone certainly can’t be held to account for this – comic books, video games and movies (and other table-top games) of fantasy art/culture of the 1970/80s in North America have reverberated with this style of imagery/narrative.

Dungeons & Dragons is remarkable, although Gygax did not solely create it, his work certainly propelled it, and fortune and clever marketing placed it before a general audience. Over fifty years after its inception, D&D is experiencing a mighty revival as a tabletop RPG, largely through the 5th edition platform authored by Wizards of the Coast. Through a revamped rule system, and inclusive marketing, WotC has allowed a greater variety of narratives to flourish. The popular D&D livestream Critical Role has assisted by demonstrating, in an artful manner, that this game can be about varied content and play-styles, including having great fun – while still vanquishing dreaded foes. In short, D&D can be about something more than the sum of its parts: it taps into the essential human trait to make art; and game designers and players have embraced a wider canvas to play with. Perhaps, this new renaissance, and the inclusion of more diverse creative influences in geek/nerd culture, now allows for the possibility that Tolkien’s enchantment may experience a revival – a welcome thought for those who hold an affection for Tolkien’s brand of elvishness (and the old wizard, Gandalf).

Footnote: I would like to thank Mount Saint Vincent University professors, Drs. Anna Smol, Diane Piccitto and James Sawler for their editorial advice on this article. Also, I am grateful to the audience for my panel presentation at Hal-C0n, 2018 (Halifax, Canada) and The Culture Studies Association, 2019 Annual Meeting, Tulane University for their support and feedback on early drafts of this essay. Also, my thanks is extended to Ms. Katelyn O’ Brien for her editorial assistance.

What do you think? .