I’m no stranger to the Hobbit. I’ve read it a few times in the past, but it was not until recently that I decided to read it with a more studious eye. I was stunned by what I found. I now have a better appreciation for why people so zealously guard and cherish the works of J.R.R. Tolkien.
In the Hobbit I found traces of the ancient storytelling techniques that I have discussed in previous articles. Tolkien’s writing displays a deep familiarity with the creatures and tropes of myths and folk tales, but more impressive still, they show an understanding of the very mode and structure in which these stories were told. This is by far one of the most important and challenging elements of storytelling, and what brings such power to what this author was aiming to accomplish with his work.
Other fantasy writers focus on the outward “fantastical” appearance of their works, emphasizing the magic and strange creatures that appear in this sort of tale. By focusing on the artificial appearance of magic and other-worldliness these authors miss out on a crucial point: what elevates a story into the realm of the mythological (what Tolkien would call Faërie) lies not just in the appearance of fantastic elements in a story, but in the structure— how the story is told. The successful blend of these two strains is what makes stories into Secondary Worlds– truthful extensions of our experienced reality. This is where Tolkien has undoubtedly succeeded.
In the Hobbit, and later in the Lord of the Rings saga, Tolkien shows that he was immersed in this kind of thinking. His use of parallelisms and cyclical repeated imagery makes these novels more akin to a myth, or what Tolkien would himself call a “fairy story”-- the type of story that illuminates the nature of reality.
In the following diagram I have abbreviated each chapter in the Hobbit, and color coded repeated patterns to illustrate how these cycles appear.
Note that this list is not exhaustive nor is it exact, but it shows the “rhythm” in which these images play out as the story unfolds.
There are other recurring motifs and images in the story, such as Bilbo’s longing for home, or the element of “luck” being stressed whenever something fortunate happens. These themes are the marks of a great craftsman and not just whimsical decoration in a “children’s story”. Tolkien was very obstinate about word choice and spelling in his writings, at times being very stubborn about the edits made to his drafts, so we know that these elements were not haphazardly chosen. These patterns demonstrate the author’s familiarity with a particular mode of storytelling that we have all but been estranged from.
This mythic storytelling –these fairy-stories– are not the whimsy of a man preoccupied with fiction, he is trying to communicate something much deeper. He himself shared that his interest in fairy stories emerged during some of the most harrowing experiences of his life: “A real taste for fairy-stories was wakened by philology on the threshold of manhood, and quickened to full life by war.” (On Fairy Stories.)
It was the personal encounter with the unrelenting catastrophe of life, as experienced in war, that opened his eyes to the goodness and joy that can only be revealed in fairy stories. As he himself admits, the enjoyment in fairy stories does not come from a desire for escapism, but it's opposite, it allows one to enter more deeply into reality itself. It is only when one is in close proximity to despair, helplessness, annihilation, and hell, that the light of Joy can be experienced more fully. It is this light that reveals to us the Truth.
Therein lies the paradox that Tolkien calls the Eucatastrophe: “The sudden happy turn in a story which pierces you with a joy that brings tears (which I argued it is the highest function of fairy-stories to produce).” (Letter 89, 7-8 November 1944.)
“The peculiar quality of the ”joy” in successful Fantasy can thus be explained as a sudden glimpse of the underlying reality or truth. It is not only a “consolation” for the sorrow of this world, but a satisfaction, and an answer to that question, “Is it true?” (On Fairy Stories.)
I believe this is what makes Tolkien's work undeniably and fundamentally Christian.
I had a conversation with a family member not too long ago. They remarked on how the Chronicles of Narnia are a Christian series. I responded that the Lord of the Rings is a Christian series also, yet they could not understand how this was the case. To be honest, I didn’t know either, I was just repeating what I’ve heard people say.
It’s been a trope for some time that C.S. Lewis’ use of blatant hit-you-over-the-head allegory makes it so anyone who reads the Narnia books comes away knowing that he is telling a Christian story. But how exactly is it that Tolkien’s work is Christian?
I’ve wondered about this for some time. There are many critics out there that sustain that Tolkien’s work is by far more pagan inspired, and that any Christian readings of it are merely in the eye of the beholder. Some in the opposing camps argue that Tolkien was a devout Roman Catholic, and that the testament of the “Christianess” of his work is shown in the life the author lived, as well as the extant personal writing which shows his process.
Other defenses are made by connecting certain characters as symbols for uniquely Christian themes, for example seeing Aragorn - the unrecognized yet long awaited king– as a figure of the messianic Christ, or the theme of the ring bearer as a subtle allusion to sin and the human journey of bearing it until death. But these themes aren’t exclusively Christian.
The wandering, exiled king is a theme that has been around in pagan tales since time immemorial: Zeus, Odin, Osiris, Oedipus, Odysseus, and many other wanderers and exiles populate the records of countless cultures around the world. And the bearing of burdens are also shared by figures like Heracles, Atlas, and other tragic figures. These themes are unavoidable since they are the “grammar” in which truth-bearing stories must be told.
Tolkien was obviously aware of this- to tell a Christian story it must be told in the same way Myths are told, structurally and thematically, because this is the language of revelation. However, for the story to be Christian it must lead and point to the Joy within the Sorrow– the Eucatastrophe– the good catastrophe. The revelation of the Eucatastrophe is what produces a Joy that distinguishes itself as uniquely Christian.
“Christian joy which produces tears because it is qualitatively so like sorrow, because it comes from those places where Joy and Sorrow are at one, reconciled, as selfishness and altruism are lost in Love.”(Letter 89, 7-8 November 1944.)
This is something that cannot be explained. It can be sung, it can be narrated, and it can even be danced to. But it cannot be understood unless you can already hear the music. It is a dance we are all invited to. It is the story that is the most fitting to sing.
“The whole dance, or drama, or pattern of this three-personal life is to be played out in each one of us: or (putting it the other way round) each one of us has got to enter that pattern, take his [or her] place in that dance. There is no other way to the happiness for which we were made.” (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity.)
Truth cannot be systematized. It can’t be simplified into steps or procedures, and any attempt to do so only produces caricatures of its fullness. Truth can only be best expressed in the genres closest to it: myths, songs, poetry, rhyme, and life.
It is as St. Porphyrios admits: “To be A Chrsitian you must first be a poet.” (Wounded By Love.)
Doctrines, canons, and dogmatic systems are useful- they can point us to truth and clear up misunderstandings. But when these replace a life of worship, turning it instead into a life of navel-gazing abstraction, they become stumbling blocks, unfit stewards, and ersatz kingdoms pretending to be the Kingdom itself.
Let us never stop dancing. Let our mouths be ever filled with wonder and praise, and that our feet may always follow suit in dance.