The Lord of the Kingdom

This year I have had the good fortune of meeting and getting to know Joshua Lake, an elvish young man with a love for God, others, and (naturally) Tolkien’s writings. At his eirenic blog, Quieted Waters, he asks,

“What are the obligations of a Christian writer?”

This is a very good question and one I feel quite ill-equipped to answer. Hopefully other online Christian writers (especially those who have written professionaly) will offer their own thoughts and feelings about this most important question. But there is no need to impose artificial limitations: all Christian bloggers would do well to consider the question since we are producing writings, whether ultimately Christian or not.

Not surprisingly, my own thinking on this issue has been influenced by J.R.R. Tolkien, the greatest Christian writer I have yet to read. I will lean on his wisdom (and that of others) as I attempt to answer Joshua’s question; without question, though, my answering will be as much for myself as for him. Thus, the reader should understand that my views represent a work in progress and not a definitive, dogmatic, final proclamation on the matter.

To consider the obligations of a Christian writer is to simultaneously discuss factors that distinguish Christian writing from all other writings. There is, to my mind, one essential to Christian writing: (more…)

One of the many wonderful things about the popularity of J.R.R. Tolkien is that there is no lack of books exploring Middle-earth from a variety of perspectives. This post reviews philosopher Peter Kreeft’s outstanding book, The Philosophy of Tolkien: The Worldview Behind The Lord of the Rings. The quotations are intended to whet the appetite of the reader and to provide a taste of what is contained in the whole of the book.

According to the back cover of the book,

Peter Kreeft, a professor of philosophy at Boston College, is one of the most widely read Christian authors of our time. His more than 30 best-selling books include Catholic Christianity; Heaven, the Heart’s Deepest Longing; and Socrates Meets Marx.”

The Philosophy of Tolkien is organized around fifty philosophical questions grouped into thirteen categories, including Metaphysics, Philosophical Theology, Angelology, Cosmology, Epistemology, Political Philosophy, and Ethics. The following quotes are from Kreeft’s fascinating Introduction.

“This book is not about Tolkien’s world,” Kreeft explains. “It is about Tolkien’s worldview, Tolkien’s philosophy.” That philosophy, however, is not as readily apparent as it might have been if Tolkien had chosen a different style to write his classic. Kreeft says,

If The Lord of the Rings were an allegory, the philosophy would be on the surface, like rocks. Instead, it is more like the molten core of the earth: central but hidden.”

One of the joys of Kreeft’s book is that it not only accomplishes its goal - to reveal Tolkien’s worldview - but provides insight and commentary regarding the culture and times in which we now live. He refers to numerous polls done in England to determine what the English people believed to be the greatest book of the last century; to the horror of the critics, The Lord of the Rings topped the lists no matter how many times the surveys were done or how they were worded to produce a different result. Kreeft observes:

The polls revealed one important thing about The Lord of the Rings: that it is a classic, that is, a book loved by humanity, by human nature, wherever it is found. And they revealed one important thing about the critics: that humanity isn’t found in that arrogant oligarchy of utterly out-of-touch elitists. And they revealed one important thing about our culture, the same thing revealed by many polls that ask questions about values and about philosophy: that our culture is not egalitarian at all, in fact, that it is perhaps the least egalitarian culture in the history of the world. For in what other culture has the worldview and life view of the teachers differed so radically from that of the students?

“Every human soul craves ‘the good, the true, and the beautiful’ absolutely and without limit. And it is precisely about these three most fundamental values that the gap is widest.”

Like many who write about Tolkien, Kreeft feels almost a sense of duty to defend the “Author of the Century” against the attacks of the professional critics. He continues,

Our artists deliberately prefer ugliness to beauty, our moralists fear goodness more than evil, and our philosophers embrace various forms of post-modernism that reduce truth to ideology or power . . .

“Those who love Tolkien are almost always good people, honest people. Some are Hobbit-like and some are Elvish, but none are Orcish. Not all Tolkien haters are Orcs, but all Orcs are Tolkien haters.”

It is the philosophy of The Lord of the Rings, Kreeft argues, that (among other factors) makes the work great. There are five aspects to any story, Kreeft says, and Tolkien succeeds at all five levels: plot, characters, setting, style, and theme. Kreeft re-works these five dimensions into work, workers, world, words, and wisdom.

‘Philosophy’ means ‘the love of wisdom.’ So a story’s philosophy is one of its five basic dimensions. Which ‘dimensions’ sold The Lord of the Rings? All five.”

Such is the influence of The Lord of the Rings that its power goes beyond transforming the individual to impacting Western society. Kreeft explains:

The Lord of the Rings heals our culture as well as our souls. It gives us the most rare and precious thing in modern literature: the heroic. It is a call to heroism; it is a horn like the horn of Rohan, which Merry received from Theoden and used to rouse the Hobbits of the Shire from their sheepish niceness and passivity to throw off their tyrants, first in their souls and then in their society.”

Demonstrating the connection between philosophy and literature, Kreeft says that “philosophy and literature belong together. They can work like the two lenses of a pair of binoculars.” He explains the importance of the two being considered together:

Philosophy argues abstractly. Literature argues too - it persuades, it changes the reader - but concretely. Philosophy says truth, literature shows truth.

“The Bible is primarily literature, not philosophy; concrete, not abstract; narrative, not explanation. Its wisdom literature, or philosophical books, are commentary on its historical books, in both Testaments.

“Human thought is both concrete (particular) and abstract (universal) at the same time . . . Because human thought is binocular, abstract philosophy and concrete literature naturally reinforce each other’s vision.”

Returning to the subject of allegory, Kreeft maintains that philosophy is illustrated in allegory by the one-to-one relationship of the concrete to the abstract. Tolkien’s writing, however, is not allegorical and rather embodies the worldview supporting it.

All literature incarnates some philosophy. Thus all literature teaches. In allegory, the philosophy is taught by the conscious and calculating part of the mind, while in great literature it is done by the unconscious and contemplative part of the mind, which is deeper and wiser and has more power to persuade and move the reader. Allegory engages only the mind, while great literature engages the whole person; for allegory comes from only the mind, while great literature comes from the whole person . . .

“One way literature tests philosophy is by putting different philosophies into the laboratory of life, incarnating them in different characters and then seeing what happens . . . Literature also tests philosophy in a more fundamental way. It can be expressed by this rule: a philosophy that cannot be translated into a good story cannot be a good philosophy.”

Further differentiating allegory from non-allegory, Kreeft identifies another important distinction between the two:

In an allegory, the philosophical frame becomes the story. The plot and the characters are there only for that reason: they are used as means to illustrate the philosophy. That is why we do not love the characters or care about them much as individuals . . . In non-allegorical stories, the philosophy serves the story, as a frame serves a picture; in allegory it is vice versa.”

In concluding his introductory remarks, Kreeft provides an insightful test for determining whether writing is allegorical or incarnational:

I know The Lord of the Rings is not an allegory because I don’t find myself saying, of anything in it, ‘That reminds me of this or that,’ but I constantly find myself saying, of this or that, ‘That reminds me of something in The Lord of the Rings.’ In fact, almost everthing reminds me of something in The Lord of the Rings.”

I accidentally deleted your comment. Very sorry, really. I’m so used to hitting the “mark all as spam” button that I sent your input to the black hole that is my database (I don’t know how to get it back from there).

I will post something on Boromir, but first I have to figure out if his is a case of restoration or salvation. In a pre-Christian era (such as the OT or LOTR), it’s sometimes hard to know. Boromir did have Númenorean blood in him, albeit not as much as his brother or father, but I don’t know if that makes him part of the covenant/chosen community. If I recall, however, the first movie made a lot more of his “salvation” than did the book. But I could be wrong: give me a little time and I’ll post my thoughts.

Again, sorry for wiping you out; thanks, though, for the comment.

On Friday afternoons I have the privilege of leading a group study on Christian themes and virtues, as well as glimpses of Christ, portrayed in the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien. The youth leader of our church helped organize the meetings and is an eager participant, as are a college volunteer leader and three or four high school students who faithfully gather each week at a Christian coffeehouse. We are working our way through Following Gandalf, Matthew Dickerson’s insightful and thoughtful treatment of Christian values in The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion.

Several weeks ago we were discussing Gollum and, in particular, Frodo and Sam’s treatment of him. Frodo, you will remember, had little sympathy for Gollum at the beginning. Before Frodo has so much as set foot on the path outside his door to begin his quest, he learns of the ill-nature and evil-doings of the former hobbit-like creature; he says to Gandalf with alarm,

‘But this is terrible!’ cried Frodo. ‘Far worse than the worst that I imagined from your hints and warnings. O Gandalf, best of friends, what am I to do? What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance!’

“‘Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity.’

“‘I am sorry,’ said Frodo. ‘But I am frightened; and I do not feel any pity for Gollum.’

“‘You have not seen him,’ Gandalf broke in.

“‘No, and I don’t want to,’ said Frodo. ‘I can’t understand you. Do you mean to say that you, and the Elves, have let him live on after all those horrible deeds? Now at any rate he is as bad as an Orc, and just an enemy. He deserves death.’

“‘Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment.’”

As Frodo and his companions make their way to Rivendell and then later to the Mines of Moria, there is little evidence that Frodo’s attitude towards Gollum has changed at all. In the darkness of Moria, however, Frodo gets his first “glimpse” of the creature: at first it is the hushed footfalls of Gollum as he follows the Fellowship; later it is two pin-pricks of pale green light peering at him over a ledge. Still, there is no tangible evidence of change or compassion on the part of Frodo.

It is not until much later when Frodo comes face-to-face with Gollum that pity begins to waft over the Ringbearer. While slowly and painfully finding their way through Emyn Muil, Frodo and Sam find an opportunity to capture Gollum and do so. A decision must be made whether to allow him to live or spare him. Fearful of what the creature will do to him and his Master, Sam is in favor of dispatching Gollum; Frodo, however, is not so sure:

He paused for a while in thought. Gollum lay still, but stopped whimpering. Sam stood glowering over him.

“It seemed to Frodo then that he heard, quite plainly but far off, voices out of the past:”

What Frodo heard was the voice of Gandalf (as quoted above), telling the then-merciless Frodo that pity and life are high and great values, the marks of wisdom. After replaying the conversation silently in his head, Frodo says:

‘Very well,’ he answered aloud, lowering his sword. ‘But still I am afraid. And yet, as you see, I will not touch the creature. For now that I see him, I do pity him.”

Someone has changed over the hundreds of miles of journeying southward, and it is not Gollum. Frodo now sees the wretchedness and misery of Gollum and cannot bring himself to kill him, even though he knows that in fact this vile creature might kill him. I say cannot bring himself, but it is obviously a choice that he makes freely based on the wisdom of Gandalf. Instead of killing him, Frodo chooses and Sam submits to make Gollum their guide on the way to Mordor.

Sam’s animosity towards Gollum grows as the creature leads them to a trap at the top of the stairs of Cirith Ungol. As Shelob the Great, “the last child of Ungoliant,” attacks Frodo, Gollum pounces on Sam, intending to kill the “fat, stupid hobbit.” He underestimates Sam, however, and soon it is Gollum, not Sam, who is in peril of his life.

Sam swept up his sword from the ground and raised it. Gollum squealed, and springing aside on to all fours, he jumped away in one big bound like a frog. Before Sam could reach him, he was off, running with amazing speed back towards the tunnel.

“Sword in hand Sam went after him. For the moment he had forgotten everything else but the red fury in his brain and the desire to kill Gollum. But before he could overtake him, Gollum was gone.”

But Gollum is not about to give up. At the foot of Mount Doom, he makes what seems to be his last attack on Frodo, only to be repulsed once again. Frodo goes ahead toward the Cracks of Doom and Sam is left at last with the opportunity to kill Gollum:

‘Now!’ said Sam. ‘At last I can deal with you!’ He leaped forward drawn blade ready for battle. But Gollum did not spring. He fell flat upon the ground and whimpered . . .

“Sam’s hand wavered. His mind was hot with wrath and the memory of evil. It would be just to slay this treacherous, murderous creature, just and many times deserved; and also it seemed the only safe thing to do. But deep in his heart there was something that restrained him: he could not strike this thing lying in the dust, forlorn, ruinous, utterly wretched.”

Assuming correctly that no one in the group had read the passage recently, I asked why Sam - who was ready to kill Gollum just a short time earlier - now could not bring himself to do so. Whether it was from memory or realization, the group gave the answer found in the continuing text for the sudden appearance of Sam’s compassion:

He himself, though only for a little while, had borne the Ring, and now dimly he guessed the agony of Gollum’s shrivelled mind and body, enslaved to that Ring, unable to find peace or relief ever in life again.”

Gollum had possessed the Ring for centuries while Sam had carried it and worn it only for a matter of hours. But Sam is changed by the experience. He suddenly understands the horror and power of the Ring, its crushing weight and seductive power. Where he had possessed no empathy or pity before, Sam now knows well enough what Gollum had suffered and was suffering still; knowing this, Sam is moved to exercise mercy rather than judgment, and his mercy saves his Master Frodo at the end.

As I wander deliberately around Christian cyberspace, I am dismayed by the lack of love, compassion, pity, and mercy evidenced at so many sites. It is especially prevelant among many - but by no means all - Reformed blogs; unfortunately, like a horrific, fatal accident on the side of the road, people cannot help themselves: they are inexorably drawn to the display of tragedy and sin.

Not so long ago, Pyromaniacs boasted of an imflammatory post (I agreed, to an extent, with the content of the post but struggled to get past the arrogant attitude so often on display by some of the writers there. If you’re looking for humility or compassionate treatment of others, you might skip “team pyro.”).

The post produced a “record” number of comments, too many of which were disrespectful and unloving. Christians attacked Christians with the same sort of red-hot fury that possessed Sam towards Gollum prior to his wearing the Ring. While not all participated, more than a few did what they could to fan the flames and keep the conflagration roaring on its record-setting pace. It was, sadly, an all-too-common display of the sort of behavior that brings disgrace to the Name of Jesus Christ and sows discord among the Body.

Elsewhere, Dan took a cheap shot at everybody’s favorite whipping boy, the dispensationalists. In handing out the fourth of his sarcastic, condescending Cowbell Awards, a significant number of believers in Christ were slandered as a group of “Hyperkinetic dispensationalism run amok.” Not hyperdispensationalism, which is a different breed of dispensationalist, but “hyperkinetic dispensationalism,” a brush broad enough to disparage a large segment of Christians.

(Dispensationalists are easy targets, I suppose, because they rarely fight back or defend themselves. I don’t think it’s because they are unable to fight back or lack the intelligence or wit to go toe-to-toe with their slanderers; I think they possess sufficient humility to understand that some of the criticisms are just and that those that are not do not warrant a similar, God-dishonoring reply. [I am a dispensationalist but it’s not something I think is worth dividing over or attacking others for: I find it to be little more than a hermeneutical tool to make sense of God’s work in history. Besides, the theological and hermeneutical alternatives are less satisfying and, to me, less consistent - although they are biblically defensible.])

All of this is to say that, for all the knowledge and so-called wisdom that attracts so many readers, there is a glaring lack of humility and decency on blogs like those mentioned above. Mercy is absent, as are compassion and wisdom. There is considerable knowledge but, as Paul predicted, a corresponding arrogance that renders the knower to be nothing.

If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.
If I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.” - 1 Cor 13.1-2

It is sad to see such zealous people possess so much knowledge but lack the understanding and wisdom that would transform that knowledge into love for other Christians. Why we feel the need to assail one another as we do baffles me at times; I have written about this elsewhere, both here and here. At the second site, I noted:

“Like the arrogant, secular philosophers and critics they so resemble, these blogging bullies’ ‘greatest joy is to be shocking, and their greatest fear is to be ignored’” (Peter Kreeft, p. 15).

I am not so naïve to believe that great numbers of people will stop reading these pugnacious blogs - it appeals too strongly to our fleshly lust for blood. But if only one person finds some compassion and, like Sam, can refrain from snuffing out a smoldering wick or breaking off a bruised reed, then some good will have come from this post.