The world of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings–Tolkien’s world–is replete with warriors and kings, wizards and Elf-lords, noble shield-maidens and fierce bowmen. These characters fight, they forge weapons, they wield swords and axes and magical Rings of Power. No one would look at Aragorn or Thorin Oakenshield and think “there’s an easy target.” No one would call Elrond a chump, or try to pick a fight with Galadriel.
Even the bad guys in these stories have impressive rap sheets. Saruman is the head of the White Council, Sauron has boundless resources and ambition–even that slimy weasel Grima Wormtongue has some kind of malicious magic that grants him influence over those who hear him.
The people in positions of leadership–both the evil and the good–in Middle Earth, have one thing in common: they are tangibly powerful, whether through magic or weaponry or sheer strength.
Bilbo Baggins, then, in all his pudgy, short-statured, snug and comfy Hobbit-ness, appears distinctly disadvantaged in the face of these titans. He was not made for heroic deeds. He was made for Hobbiton, for armchairs and leather-bound books, for cozy fires and overgrown gardens–and he readily admits it. The “wide world,” with its many dangers and epic battles, is no place for a Hobbit.
And yet Bilbo, not Thorin, is the hero of Tolkien’s magical story The Hobbit–hence its title. An unlikely hero, maybe, but a hero. The hero.
“It never ceases to amaze me,” the ancient dwarf-warrior Balin says to Bilbo in the film, as the hobbit prepares to enter the dragon Smaug’s lair. “The courage of Hobbits.”
Balin’s observation comes after Bilbo refuses to turn back, and squares his shoulders toward the beast’s treasure horde, saying, “I promised I would do this, and I think I must try.”
That, I think, is one of the most powerful lines in any film. I think I must try.
The simplicity of it, the conviction and the humility. In this moment, Bilbo demonstrates the true source of his courage.
He has no great powers, no army at his disposal, no quick Elvish reflexes. He has only himself. Nothing but a love of riddles to arm him against the dragon’s cunning. Certainly no hidden gifts that would prove useful against Smaug, Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities, in a fair fight.
One wrong move and Bilbo will be toast–literally.
And yet he is determined to try. Determined, despite the danger, despite the odds, despite his own fear. Bilbo peers down the tunnel toward his probable demise and, strikingly, measures his fear as insignificant compared to the cost of turning back. He thinks of his friends, who–perhaps a bit unfairly–asked him to become their burglar in an epic heist. He thinks of their loss, their dignity, their desire for a home.
He thinks of himself, and his own desire for home. He knows exactly who he is–a Barrel-Rider, who, because of his unique weaknesses, has been forced to improvise solutions no one would have expected. Bilbo knows he is under-prepared and unequipped, and yet, at the same time, he realizes exactly what his help could mean to these dwarves that burst so unexpectedly into his ordinary life.
He rejects the selfish desire to break his promise, to give up and return to a life of comfort knowing he could have tried, but didn’t. That choice is Bilbo’s moment of heroism.
What makes Bilbo a hero? His courage. Courage, which comes not from his assets or his powers, but from his intrinsic sense of justice, and a childlike hope that inspires him to look beyond himself. Courage which is perhaps more inspiring for the simple fact that it is Bilbo’s only weapon against the evil in the world.
In times of darkness, that kind of courage is the only weapon we truly need.
“Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid, and he gives me courage.” -Gandalf
