Tolkien among the Moderns

Ralph C. Wood

• Publisher: University of Notre Dame Press
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9780268019730
• eBook ISBN: 9780268096748
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Literary Essays

It has long been recognized that J. R. R. Tolkien's work is animated by a profound moral and religious vision. It is less clear that Tolkien's vision confronts the leading philosophical and literary concerns addressed by modern writers and thinkers. This book seeks to resolve such uncertainty. It places modern writers and modern quandaries in lively engagement with the broad range of Tolkien's work, while giving special attention to the textual particularities of his masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings.

In ways at once provocative and original, the contributors deal with major modern artists and philosophers, including Miguel de Cervantes, Friedrich Nietzsche, Emmanuel Levinas, Iris Murdoch, and James Joyce. The essays in Tolkien among the Moderns also point forward to postmodernism by examining its implications for Tolkien's work. Looking backward, they show how Tolkien addresses two ancient questions: the problems of fate and freedom in a seemingly random universe, as well as Plato's objection that art can neither depict truth nor underwrite morality. The volume is premised on the firm conviction that Tolkien is not a writer who will be soon surpassed and forgotten—exactly because he has a permanent dwelling place "among the moderns."

CHAPTER 1

PHILOSOPHIC POET

J.R.R. Tolkien’s Modern Response to an Ancient Quarrel

Germaine Paulo Walsh

Perhaps more deeply than any other twentieth-century author, J.R.R. Tolkien reflects on the problematic question of human creativity, of man as maker. Tolkien maintains that the calamitous events of the twentieth century, events he witnessed firsthand, were due, at least in part, to a fundamental misunderstanding of human creativity. In accepting the notion that human beings are makers but not that they are made, that human beings are creative but not that they are created, modernity places man in the position of God, an arrogation that is both futile and self-destructive. What is needed, Tolkien suggests, is a reintroduction to an older view of human creativity, one recognizing both the dignity and the limits of man’s capacity as maker. Considered in this light, one may understand Tolkien’s work as being an attempt to reacquaint the modern mind with that complex human capacity referred to by the ancient Greeks as poiesis.1

The creativity theme underlies the whole of Tolkien’s legendarium, the vast collection of writings conveying the history of the mythical elves, recounting their origin, deeds, and final passage from Middle-earth. The primary focus of the saga is on one particular elvish clan, the Noldor, who are distinguished from the other clans by virtue of their extraordinary creative ability, their “maker’s power” (S, 68).2 In telling the history of the Noldor, Tolkien explores the sense in which the possession of this power is a gift, albeit a perilous one. As the Noldor develop their creative capacity in many and various ways, they forget that, although they are responsible for the use to which they put this ability, they are not responsible for the fact that they possess it in the first place. They forget that the source of their extraordinary power in making is not themselves but their creator, Eru, called Ilúvatar, who has gifted them, above all others of their kind, with a share in his own creative power; and so they become increasingly proud of their accomplishments in making “many new things fair and wonderful” (S, 63). Failing to recognize the inexorable contingency of their creative ability, the Noldor fail to recognize its limits, and they suffer for it.

In his essay “On Fairy-Stories,” Tolkien argues that, properly understood, all art, all poiesis, is “sub-creation.” In defending the often derided form of literature known as fairy story, from which the genre of fantasy emerged, Tolkien argues that the poetic art, like all human making, is not purely and simply “creative.” Given that human beings cannot bring forth something from nothing, the ability to “create” is, strictly speaking, limited to God. Yet within the limits and possibilities of the world established by God, human beings are capable of re-forming and reordering the objects of the world, and in this more limited way, share in the divine creativity. Tolkien’s deep reflection on the biblical teaching that human beings are made in the image and likeness of God underlies his own mythopoetic vision. For Tolkien, the human likeness to God is expressed most fully in the capacity for creativity. Furthermore, it is in light of this teaching, Tolkien maintains, that the underlying order of the world—which so often appears, paradoxically, as disorder—is most fully and comprehensively disclosed. As Tolkien writes in his poem “Mythopoeia”:

Although now long estranged,

Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed.

Dis-graced he may be, yet is not dethroned,

and keeps the rags of lordship once he owned. . . .

. . . though we dared to build

gods and their houses out of dark and light,

and sow the seeds of dragons—’twas our right

(used or misused). That right has not decayed.

We make still by the law in which we’re made.3

Tolkien’s account of subcreation, as with many aspects of his work, entails a reconsideration of modern conceptions and presuppositions in light of the older, deeper tradition of Western thought. In arguing that the artist is a maker, not a creator, Tolkien tacitly rejects one aspect of the modern view. Similarly, he stands in accord with ancient thought in viewing the poet as the quintessential maker,4 even as he also holds that the activity of the poet involves not just making5 but discovering. That is, Tolkien maintains that poetry entails the making of stories, but the stories disclose the poet’s vision, the poet’s discovery, as it were, of an intelligible order—despite the appearance of disorder—that underlies the world. In order to arrive at an understanding of this intelligible order, the poet must confront several central concerns of both philosophy and theology.

I shall explore Tolkien’s legendarium—the huge mythological system that he created over more than fifty years of labor, and that is found in The Silmarillion and in the twelve volumes of The History of Middle-earth, along with The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit—in light of what is commonly regarded as the most famous philosophical analysis of poetic art, Plato’s critique of poetry in the Republic, which culminates in his discussion of the “ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy.” I shall proceed by providing a brief discussion of each charge that Plato raises against poetry, followed in turn by some reflections on how Tolkien’s legendarium may be regarded as offering a response, as it were, to each charge.

Approaching Tolkien through the lens of Plato’s two-pronged critique of poetry, I shall argue, leads to some previously overlooked insights into the philosophic character of Tolkien’s work. In particular, this approach may enable us to acknowledge and more fully grasp Tolkien’s comprehensive vision of the whole, a poetic achievement intended both to rekindle the experience of wonder and to defend its enduring value. Furthermore, this approach may lead us to more fully appreciate Tolkien’s deft and complex depiction of moral virtue and its development. In following this approach, we will eventually be drawn to the character of Éowyn of Rohan, and thereby, perhaps most surprisingly, to consider the aspects of Tolkien’s work that deal most directly with the claims of modern feminism.

PLATO’S CHARGE THAT POETRY OFFERS “LIES” MASQUERADING AS TRUTH

In book 10 of the Republic, Socrates states that there is an “ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry” (607b).6 It proves to be a long-standing quarrel, predating Socrates and his contemporaries. Plato suggests, by having Socrates report several seemingly well-known statements made by poets against philosophers, but none by philosophers against poets, that the poets have been the more contentious parties to the quarrel.7 Subjecting the poetic art to philosophical questioning, and arguing presumably on behalf of philosophy, Socrates raises two distinct but related charges against poetry. The first charge is that by producing images of things rather than providing direct access to the things themselves poetry offers lies masquerading as truth. This charge, which centers on the role of imitation (mimesis)8 in poetry, is connected to what is generally known as the Platonic theory of forms, or ideas, the most explicit discussion of which occurs in the Republic. The second charge is that poetry undermines morality, and thus the good of the political community, by supporting the rule of desire rather than the rule of reason. Poetry on its surface seems to exalt models of heroic virtue, but Plato holds that a deeper examination of poetry reveals that it does not ultimately support virtue.

In considering these charges, there are several matters of which one should be mindful. First, in speaking of poetry, Socrates refers to the whole tradition of ancient Greek poetry, including epics, tragedies, and comedies. However, given the preeminent place held by the Homeric epics, Socrates’ comments about poetry are often aimed directly at Homer. Furthermore, Plato conveys his critique of poetry in a text that is itself a work of poetry. Although Plato offers, through Socrates, a sharp criticism of the role of imitation in poetry, he himself engages in imitation. In reading the Republic, as in reading all of the Platonic dialogues, one encounters an author who excels at the poetic art, revealing himself to be a master at imitating a variety of characters, from Socrates to Thrasymachus, and at employing an array of images and myths, from the Allegory of the Cave to the Myth of Er. With this in mind, it may not be surprising to find that, the more deeply one examines the charges made against poetry, the more ambiguous and insufficient these charges seem. Hence one must consider not only the arguments themselves but also Plato’s intent in raising them.

In discussing the first charge against poetry, Plato explores the question of whether poetry is, given its very nature, necessarily detrimental to human life. Book 10 opens with Socrates expressing approval of the interlocutors’ earlier decision to ban all imitative poetry from the city-in-speech, since such works “maim the thoughts (dianoia) of those who hear them and do not have knowledge of how they really are as a remedy (pharmakon)” (595b).9 As Socrates proceeds to explain why this is the case, he alludes to his earlier discussion of the “forms” or “ideas,” according to which all sensible objects are understood as being images or representations of real things. Each particular thing we see in the world is in fact an image, participating in some way in the unseen original, which is the form or idea of the thing. For example, in regarding a flower as beautiful, what we see with our eyes is an image that participates in the form or idea of Beauty. With this theory in the background, Socrates alleges that the poetic imitation of being, by its very nature, is a form of deception. Poets, by producing false images, intentionally deceive people about reality.

Likening poets to painters, Socrates uses the rather curious example of a painting of a bed. Such a painting would be an image of a particular bed, which is itself an image of the “idea” of bed.10 Thus the poet, like the painter, is “at the third generation from nature” (597e), a maker of a “phantom” (601b). Though Allan Bloom concedes that there is “a kind of surface plausibility” to this argument, he maintains that one nevertheless gets the sense that it is “somehow very wrong.”11 What, precisely, is wrong with this argument begins to come into focus in considering the next step in Socrates’ argument. He acknowledges that Homeric poetry refers to many subjects—such as military strategy, legislation, and education (599c–d)—but Socrates faults Homer for failing to offer any specific, practical knowledge of such subjects that could be passed on for the good of society. However, as discussed earlier in the dialogue, practical uselessness is one of the two most common accusations made against philosophy (487c3), and so the objection applies to Socrates as well as it does to Homer. In showing that from the point of view of practical knowledge or skill neither poetry nor philosophy seems to contribute anything essential, Plato may intend to point out the similarity, rather than the differences, between poetry and philosophy, and thereby to reveal the flaw in Socrates’ initial argument about poetry’s deceptiveness. When one begins to reflect on Socrates’ argument, one realizes that it is patently false to claim that poets provide images that are mere copies of objects within the sensible world. On the contrary, with respect to the most interesting and significant images that poets provide, such as those of the gods and the afterlife, there are no corresponding objects within the sensible world. Furthermore, the poet does not simply present copies of objects within the sensible word but rather provides a vision of the world that accounts for the interrelatedness of the objects within it. Because a poem manifests the poet’s comprehensive vision, the activity of the poet cannot be wholly different from the activity of the philosopher, who, by definition, seeks comprehensive wisdom.12 If there is a difference between them, Plato suggests, it is that the poet, in contrast to the philosopher, cannot provide a defense of his own activity. Hence the real criticism Plato offers here may be that the philosopher can provide a better defense of poetry than the poet himself can.13

With respect to the heart of the first charge against poetry, the allegation that poets produce false images, Plato would need to show that there is a difference between false and true images, and that there is someone who has knowledge of this difference. Such knowledge could be reached only by one with direct access to the originals, that is, the forms or ideas. Yet, as Plato indicates in the Republic and elsewhere, direct apprehension of the forms is not possible for human beings.14 Human access to the ultimate ground of being is limited, in Stanley Rosen’s words, to “hypotheses . . . which are based on the use of perceptible things as images of presumed originals.”15 Given that such “hypotheses” can be described only through figurative language, it follows that human wisdom, or human reflection on the highest things, must take poetic form. As Joseph Pieper argues, Plato’s own dialogues attest to this fact:

[Plato’s] figurativeness does not spring from a poetic “carelessness” toward exact rendition of reality, or from the reckless play of the creative imagination. Rather, Plato himself expressly terms it a kind of acquiescence in inadequacy, an expedient, a confession of failure. We are not able to speak of matters such as soul, spirit, deity, with any claim to direct description. This is Plato’s excuse for attempting to explain the same thing by several analogies, as he is wont to do. The implication is that a matter is difficult or impossible to grasp by direct, non-metaphorical statement, and that no single metaphor is in itself completely adequate, none fully accurate.16

Although Plato defines the task of philosophy as the study of the whole, of the intelligible order standing behind or underlying the world, he insists that, given the limits of the human mind, the precise nature of this order can never be fully grasped. This means that any particular claim about the nature of the whole would be, in a sense, a “lie.” However, such a “lie” would be detrimental only to someone who does not recognize that it is, in fact, a “lie.” Plato indicates it is precisely the knowledge of this fact—of the inability of any particular image of the whole to accurately depict the whole—that is the “remedy” against poetry’s potential to “maim thoughts” (595b).17 Yet how does one acquire this knowledge? Can it be gained only through philosophy, or can poetry somehow provide it? Does philosophy alone serve to inoculate individuals against the “lies” of poetry, as it were, or can poetry itself provide such inoculation? In other words, is it possible for poetry to present a vision of the whole that somehow communicates the limitations of that vision? At the very heart of his argument in book 10, Plato suggests that this might be the case. Immediately before stating that there is an “ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy,” Socrates remarks that he and his interlocutors have provided an apology to the poets that justifies their being banished from the city (607b). Immediately thereafter, he invites the poets—or, if not the poets themselves, then perhaps the “lovers of poetry,” who can...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Introduction: Tolkien among the Moderns
• Chapter 1 Philosophic Poet: J.R.R. Tolkien’s Modern Response to an Ancient Quarrel
• Chapter 2 On Fate, Providence, and Free Will in The Silmarillion
• Chapter 3 Unlikely Knights, Improbable Heroes: Inverse, Antimodernist Paradigms in Tolkien and Cervantes
• Chapter 4 Tolkien or Nietzsche; Philology and Nihilism
• Chapter 5 A Portrait of the Poet as an Old Hobbit: Engaging Modernist Aesthetic Ontology in The Fellowship of the Ring
• Chapter 6 Pouring New Wine into Old Bottles: Tolkien, Joyce, and the Modern Epic
• Chapter 7 The Consolations of Fantasy: J.R.R. Tolkien and Iris Murdoch
• Chapter 8 “That the World Not Be Usurped”: Emmanuel Levinas and J.R.R. Tolkien on Serving the Other as Release from Bondage
• Chapter 9 Tolkien and Postmodernism
• Contributors