Tolkien and the Film Adaptations

I prefer Lewis to Tolkien as a fiction writer, but this is insightful:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfktLVP4Qr0&list=PLKjwFyELc2Snqt4O6X4VhCm2Pk1k2pXUx&index=19

Philip Pullman: siding with Satan

https://michaelnazirali.com/articles/app/archive/10-2019/title/philip-pullman-siding-with-satan

Shippey on Tolkien

Here's an excerpt from chapter 4 of Tom Shippey's J. R. R. Tolkien: Author of the Century.

Beowulf

I'm not a Tolkien scholar, so this post will reflect my limitations in that regard. I read LOTR once, as a teenager, to find out what all the hoopla was about. Once was enough. It's not a bad novel. It has a travelogue quality that appeals to a boyish sense of adventure, common to many men–myself included. It has a few memorable scenes and characters. But in general it's overrated. He's not a great storyteller like Homer (esp. The Odyssey)–much less the incomparable Dante. It lacks the primitive appeal and elemental simplicity of the Epic of Gilgamesh. In the past I have suggested that it reflects the medieval chivalric tradition. I found the movies enjoyable. Not the highest art, but they work at the level of the material. 

One of the interpretive issues regarding LOTR is the relationship between the story and Tolkien's Catholicism. If it has a Catholic Christian subtext, that's very muted. Not only are the characters not Christian, but they don't seem to be very pious. There's no worship or prayer, that I recall, either individually or institutionally. 

Tolkien wrote a seminary essay on Beowulf:

https://epistleofdude.wordpress.com/2019/02/11/beowulf-the-monsters-and-the-critics/

And one question is whether LOTR was partly moldeled on Beowulf. There's an interesting tension between the worldview of the narrator and the worldview of the characters. The basic story is Viking legend. The product of a warrior culture with pagan values. The Protagonist is something of a demigod, doing battle with monsters. 

The outlook of the protagonist is essentially heathen. Similar to the honor-code of Homeric heroes. Mortality is inevitable, so what matters is to die a glorious death.

However, the narrator is a medieval Christian. So he's retelling the legend from the retrospective standpoint of a medieval Christian. The generates an interesting tension between the pagan, polytheistic viewpoint of the main character and the providential, monotheistic viewpoint of the narrator. The narrator attributes the hidden hand of providence to certain outcomes. There's nothing overtly Christian about the setting, plot, dialogue, or characters. Christian insight is supplied by the editorial asides of the narrator.

This is nicely explicated in a two-part lecture by Scott Masson: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bnuM-WkM50

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTEeBt16orA

So Beowulf reflects a transitional period from Norse paganism to Norse Christianity. Both forward-looking and backward looking. 

There may be an residual element of that same unresolved tension in LOTR, between the Catholic viewpoint of the narrator (Tolkien) and the pre-Christian (?) viewpoint of the characters. 

Of course, Middle Earth has a different history than our world, so there's a sense in which it couldn't be Christian in any direct respect. The Christian faith is the product of a particular world history. That can't be transferred or duplicated as is to a planet with a different world history. At best, Tolkien could create a variation on Christianity. Something analogous to Christianity, but with a different backstory. 

It is striking, though, that Tolkien feels no duty to integrate LOTR into Catholicism. Perhaps that reflects a lay/clerical dichotomy, where he thinks it's the role of the clergy rather than laity to promote the Catholic faith–whereas the Anglican Lewis felt no such inhibition. Cf. A. Jacobs, The Narnian (HarperOne 2006), 199.

It may also go to the stereotypical difference between a cradle Catholic and an adult convert. Lewis had the evangelistic and apologetic zeal of a convert. The need to justify his conversion as well as the enthusiasm to share his discovery with the lost. What they are now, he used to be. He reaches back to bring others into the light. 

I find Beowulf of some personal, autobiographical interest due to my own Viking ancestry (on my father's side). Of course, the Christianity of the medieval narrator is far removed from my Protestant theology. I'm stand at the end of that trajectory. 

What makes the LOTR movies better than the Narnia movies?

Recently I was watching a roundtable discussion in which one of the participants tried to explain why he preferred the LOTR movies to the Narnia movies. It's an interesting question.

By way of disclaimer, it's been several years since I saw the movies, and decades since I read the fiction, so my recollections may be fuzzy, but here's how I'd answer the question:

1. One reason I think LOTR translates more easily into film is its travelogue quality. That naturally invites a cinematic adaptation. 

The Middle Earth landscape is more down-to-earth than some of the Narnia books (e.g. Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Magician's Nephew). 

2. In addition, the LOTR movies had a bigger budget and better director. By the same token, they were filmed in New Zealand, to take advantage of the fabulous landscape. So the movies have a more wide-open feel to them.

By contrast, the world of the Narnia movies felt more cramped and artificial–like they were mostly filmed in studios or made more extensive use of CGI. Mind you, if they had a bigger budget, as well as a director who excels at simulated worlds (e.g. James Cameron, George Lucas), that wouldn't be an impediment.

3. Lewis generally uses characters as mouthpieces for his philosophical and theological musings. So they're apt to be one-dimensional, with stilted dialogue. Compared to so many other novelists, Lewis is aloof when it comes to characterization.  

Lucy is an exception, but that's because she was inspired by a real girl Lewis was very fond of (June Flewett). The daughter he never had. Lucy comes alive in the way other characters don't because it has a real template, and Lewis found her delightful. Another exception is Digory, but that's because Lewis put a lot of himself into that character, from is own troubled upbringing. 

By contrast, Tolkien didn't have nearly as many interesting ideas as Lewis, which makes the characters and their interaction more natural and realistic. Compared to many other gifted novelists, Lewis is rather weak on dialogue and characterization. Where he comes into his element and excels most other novelists is in the realm of ideas and the evocative, otherworldly settings. When it comes to fictional settings, he's more like Ray Bradbury and Cordwainer-Smith–although the latter is better at dialogue and characterization than Lewis. 

4. Lewis has far higher peaks than Tolkien. Some of his fiction moves on a transcendent plane (Perelandra; The Voyage of the Dawn Treader; The Magician's Nephew) that Tolkien can't match. Indeed, Tolkien doesn't even aspire to such heights, and that would lie beyond his reach if he tried. Lewis uses his fiction to illustrate his sense of sehnsucht, and he has both the imagination and expressive prose to succeed. 

That's more challenging to capture on film, without the distinctive and descriptive voice of Lewis as narrator. It would take a bigger budget and a more talented, imaginative director than Michael Apted to emulate that quality.

5. Finally, the film version of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader isn't long enough to do justice to the narrative. It needs to linger more and savor the atmospherics. 

When Evil Loses by Winning

J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings is most often described with a single word: epic.  And it truly is a sweeping story, full of magnificent world-building, great characters, and an overall story arch of good triumphing over the vast strength of evil.

At least, that’s how most of us think of it.  But take a moment and consider how the main conflict of the story ends at the Cracks of Doom.  Frodo has carried the ring across Middle Earth, through the heart of Mordor itself.  Sam has been his constant companion, sacrificing his strength to carry Frodo when Frodo could no longer make it on his own power.  And our heroes have finally made it to the final ledge.  Good has triumphed.  All Frodo has to do is toss the ring into the lava.

The exact same scenario had happened previously in the lore.  Isildur had cut the ring from Sauron’s finger and had taken it to the very spot Frodo now stood.  All Isildur needed to do was toss the ring into the lava, and he failed to do so.  The ring was too powerful.  It corrupted Isildur.

Tolkien drew the obvious parallel here by having Frodo stand in the same location thousands of years later.  And while most tales of heroes would indeed have the hero conquer the temptation and toss the ring into the lava…

Frodo fails.

Frodo succumbs to the same fate that fell upon Isildur.  Hobbits fail the same way men do.  It should not be overly surprising.  We already saw that with Gollum, who had been known as Sméagol before his corruption.  And we even saw it happen to Bilbo, who for one moment tried to take the ring back from Frodo.  So it really should be no surprise that Frodo could no longer endure the siren song of the ring.

But the story does not end with Frodo’s failure.  Instead, at the very moment he gives in to evil, Gollum pounces.  And here, Frodo fails a second time.  He cannot fend off Gollum and is incapable of maintaining control of the ring.  In a callback to how Isildur severed the ring from Sauron’s finger, Gollum bites off Frodo’s finger and takes the ring himself.  But in the process, as the two combatants struggle for control of the ring they both desire, Gollum falls into the lava and the ring is destroyed.

And thus evil is conquered, not because good prevailed but because evil destroyed itself.

This is what makes The Lord of the Rings unique, or at least very rare, in terms of story structure.  Nearly every heroic tale has good conquering evil.  Sometimes, a main character may have to sacrifice a lot to achieve this aim.  For example, in the movie Saving Private Ryan Tom Hank’s character, Captain Miller, ends up dying to achieve the stated goal of saving Private Ryan.  We see similar structure in other stories, such as Neo’s sacrifice at the end of The Matrix trilogy.  Or how Dan Evans dies at the end of 3:10 to Yuma but manages to get Ben Wade on the train and becomes a hero to his son.  Sure, the secondary aspect of surviving the exchange failed, but audiences appreciate the fact that the greater goal succeeded.  Good prevailed over evil.

In other stories, we have the bad guy win.  This has become very frequent in stories involving the antihero.  Take movies like The Godfather where Michael Corleone ends up becoming the ruthless mob boss at the end of the film, having hits carried out on all his enemies during the very baptism of his son.  Or take the example of Primal Fear where Aaron Stampler successfully convinces the court to render a verdict of innocent by reason of insanity, only to reveal he was faking his mental illness all along.

But The Lord of the Rings takes neither of these paths.  The good guy fails in all his tasks so good does not triumph over evil.  He does not destroy the ring.  He cannot even fight off Gollum.  And yet evil does not win either, for the ring is still destroyed and Sauron defeated.  In fact, it is through the very failure of good that evil loses.  There are very few stories that take this trajectory.

For Tolkien, however, this story arc is the only one that could make sense.  He was, after all, a devout Catholic with a view of evil that was shaped by Christian theology.  Evil is a corrosive force, even while it is so tempting.  Therefore, by its very nature, evil is unstable.  The more successful evil is, the more it is doomed to fail. Even though Roman Catholicism does not have as strong a view of depravity as one would find in the Reformed doctrine I subscribe to, Catholicism does strongly hold to the doctrine of Original Sin.  Everyone is born corrupted and bent toward evil, and you do not need to learn how to do evil.  You will be evil, even without a teacher.  No matter how good of a person you are, you cannot be perfect.  You will fail in the end.

 

Tolkien intended the ring to be an impossible burden, because evil is an impossible burden to bear.  And yet rather than rendering everything hopeless, Tolkien demonstrated that evil will never win in the end.  It is tempting to correlate this to the very heart of the Gospel itself.  After all, the greatest evil ever committed was the murder of an innocent man, and it was that murder that killed death itself.  There is a sort of poetic justice in knowing that death was destroyed by its own actions.

Yet Christ's death is not an instance of good failing and it would be an error to think Tolkien had that in mind here.  Instead, Tolkien examines good and evil from the perspective of imperfect men.  As he writes in Letter 246:

Frodo indeed ‘failed’ as a hero, as conceived by simple minds: he did not endure to the end; he gave in, ratted. I do not say ‘simple minds’ with contempt: they often see with clarity the simple truth and the absolute ideal to which effort must be directed, even if it is unattainable. Their weakness, however, is twofold. They do not perceive the complexity of any given situation in Time, in which an absolute ideal in enmeshed. They tend to forget that strange element in the World that we call Pity or Mercy, which is also an absolute requirement in moral judgement (since it is present in the Divine Nature). In its highest exercise it belongs to God.

The story therefore most reflects the path of sanctification.  We live our lives in an evil world and fail to attain the heights we know we should be at, and it is easy to lose heart.  Yet all is not lost even in such a scenario because of the role of mercy.

Though much more could be said on this, and indeed entire books could be written over it, one simple truth remains.  As powerful as evil seems, evil cannot triumph over good for evil must, of necessity, consume itself.  Evil is the harbinger of its own demise.  Even if it destroys all around it, it simultaneously must destroy itself. And this, itself, is due to the mercy of God in ensuring that evil will be self-destructive rather than permanent.

Evangelizing the imagination

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-VrCTpwXAc

1. This is Bishop Barron doing what he does best. He presents a very winsome version of Catholicism, albeit a Catholicism that in key respects didn't exist until about the mid-20C or so. 

In his interpretation, fiction writers like Lewis were literary evangelists proselytizing the imagination. They realized the need to express the old faith in a new way if they hoped to reach an increasingly secularized audience. Tolkien's fiction is a Catholic pill. An exercise in pre-evangelization. That's an interesting thesis, but I find it questionable:

2. I think it's more likely that, first and foremost, they were evangelizing themselves. Their allegorical fiction creates theological analogues for traditional Christian doctrine. It's a of making traditional Christian theology more believable for themselves (i.e. Lewis, Tolkien). They translate some core doctrines and biblical accounts into fictional analogues that that they find more credible than the original accounts. 

3. There are roughly three ways you can view biblical narratives:

i) They are imaginary, like Alice in Wonderland.

ii) There's a real event that lies behind the account, but the account itself is a fictional analogue of what happened, like Godspell.

iii) The narratives provide realistic descriptions of real events.

4. I think in some cases their position corresponds to (ii). If so, one basic problem is that we lose touch with the truth that (on this view) lies behind the account. If the original account isn't a realistic description of what happened, but just an allegory of what happened, then we have no frame of reference to determine what parts of the analogy correspond to the underlying event. We can't say which analogies are closer to the event than others. We're just left with variations on some archetypal motifs, stock characters, and type-scenes. The specific setting, characters, dialogue, and plot are imaginary.   

5. On this view, allegories may replace the original account, because the original account is in itself a fictional analogue for whatever really happened. The theological allegories of Tolkien and Lewis are just as legitimate as the original, and have the added benefit (on their view) of being more believable than the original. 

(I realize they resist the classification of their fiction as allegorical. I'm not going to get hung-up on a pedantic or idiosyncratic definition of allegory.) 

Tolkien biopic

I've been watching trailers and reading reviews of the new Tolkien biopic. I don't plan to see the movie. So my observations are secondhand:

i) On the plus side, the biopic is apparently a respectful, even referential treatment, rather than a hatchet-job or conscious attempt to reinvent Tolkien. 

ii) The dilemma is that for the most part, scholars lead pedestrian, even boring lives, and it's hard to turn that into a gripping movie. The biopic tries to sidestep the dilemma by using flashbacks from his combat experience as well as boyish swordplay. But for the most part there's a chasm between Tolkien's imagination and his outward life. What was going on in the privacy of his head can't be transferred to the screen. Philology isn't the stuff of big screen drama.

While his experience on the battlefield probably colored LOTR, so did his love of Nordic/Teutonic mythology, Beowulf, and the medieval chivalric tradition. But how does a director show that?

iii) Reviewers have noted the conscious absence of Catholicism. I'm no fan of Catholicism, but it meant a lot to Tolkien. If the point of a biopic is to show what made him tick, then his religiosity must be given a prominent place. Otherwise, it's uninformative, and lacks biographical fidelity. In that regard, the biopic reminds me of Ridley Scott's Kingdom of Heaven, which was a beautiful lyrical movie, but erased medieval Christianity and whitewashed Islam.

It's not that Karukoski is necessarily secularizing Tolkien by design. For one thing, the uncut film had a scene of last rites, but Karukoski cut that out when a focus group didn't resonant with that scene. However, it's an artistic mistake for a director to second-guess the audience reaction. A movie is more likely to be emotionally compelling if, in the first instance, it resonates with the director. 

I don't know enough about Karukoski to say, but there's the ironic possibility that even though he made a biopic, he's inspired by the novels rather than the novelist. He can't identify with Tolkien's traditional Catholicism. It just doesn't mean to him what it meant to Tolkien.  

iv) Then there's the interesting question of why the Inklings don't figure in the biopic. Perhaps, because Lewis was such an overwhelming figure in his own right, Karukoski didn't wish to risk displacing Tolkien by bringing Lewis into the story (not to mention Charles Williams). 

Lewis and Tolkien had some important things in common: both were polyglots, and WWI vets, steeped in literary mythology. Both men lost their mothers at an early age, and while Lewis wasn't orphaned, he was estranged from his father. Both men knew loneliness and the horror of war firsthand.

Incidentally, I suspect not a few Catholics elevate Tolkien to make him the Catholic alternative to Anglican C. S. Lewis.

v) I've read that Tolkien had an unhappy marriage for a number of years until his wife made the adjustment and later, when they retired to a resort community. That would be worth incorporating into the biopic, both for biographical accuracy as well as dramatic depth and interest. 

vi) It would be better to do a dramatic TV miniseries about Tolkien. That wouldn't be exciting, but it would be more balanced and faithful to his life and vision. 

Touch

In our oversexed, X-rated age, this scene illustrates the sensual power of touch:

A G-rated gesture. Yet it carries such a charge.

Touch is so important in human relationships. There's platonic touch. A mother caressing a child. A father holding the hand of his young son. Friends and brothers hugging each other.

Then there's erotic touch. In this scene, the gesture of a very pretty women putting her hand on his hand. It's like the difference between potential energy and kinetic energy. A boulder on a hilltop doesn't look very energetic. Indeed, it looks decidedly unenergetic. But if it rolls down the hill, by the time it hits the chalet at the bottom of the hill, it has obliterating force.

There can be such potency in small, subtle, mundane gestures. That's lost on so many modern directors.

The Inklings and the Synoptic problem

The two source hypothesis goes basically like this: Matthew and Luke made use of Mark, which they supplemented with additional sources. 

There's certainly some truth to that, but it can be misleading. It's frequently presented as a vertical model of literary or conceptual information-sharing, based on order of publication. If Mark was published first, while Matthew and Luke show familiarity with Mark, then they were literarily or conceptually dependent on Mark.

But the question of literary or conceptual dependence can be more intricate and intractable. Consider the Inklings. Tolkien and Lewis both took a keen interest in Nordic/Teutonic mythology. Likewise, Lewis, Tolkien, Williams, and Barfield all took a keen interest in the Arthurian mythos. And there were primary sources from which they drew. 

Conversely, there was horizontal information-sharing as they bounced ideas off each other, and shared drafts with each other. They influenced one another.

But that raises a tricky question: when you find Arthurian or Nordic/Teutonic motifs in their writings, what's the source? It is primary source material? Or did one Inkling get this from another Inkling? If two Inklings have the same motif, what's the direction of borrowing?

The order of publication is inconclusive. One Inkling might be the first to publish a story using that motif, followed by another Inkling publishing a story with a parallel motif. But even if we find "synoptic parallels" in writings of the Inklings, publication order faults to demonstrate that the author of the later writing borrowed from the author of the earlier writing. On the one hand, there's the possibility that both used a common source. On the other hand, there's the possibility that the author who published first borrowed the idea from an unpublished source. That is to say, that might reflect horizontal information-sharing rather than vertical information-sharing if he originally got the idea from a fellow Inkling during informal conversation. In some cases there may be letters or diaries that enable us to retrace the genesis of the idea, but in many cases, it isn't possible to reconstruct the creative process. 

In application to the Synoptic problem, in some cases it could be due to independent access to a common source. In other cases, an earlier publication might be indebted to the author of a later publication. 

Although Matthew's writing can't be a source for Mark, Matthew the writer might possibly be a source. A writer preexists his writings. The writer of a later writing can be a source of information for an earlier writing by a different author. 

Again, consider the Inklings. Even where there's evidence of borrowing, publication dates are not a reliable indicator of the direction in which that took place. 

The religious demography of Middle-earth

As I was rummaging through the unpublished papers of Bilbo Baggins, I ran across his "Religious Demography of Middle-earth," in which he classifies the denizens of Middle-earth according to their religious affiliations. 

Hobbits: Earnest little English Methodist countryfolk.

Frodo: Holy fool. Ought to be a conventional Methodist, but the monkish ways of Gandalf rubbed off on him, making him a holy fool, in the tradition of Eastern Orthodox hagiography. 

Elves: A syncretistic cult. Their quaint speech and aristocratic airs are indebted to Anglicans; their hairdo is indebted to Jesus Freaks, while their archery is indebted to a DC comic book superhero. 

Dwarves: Hard Shell Baptists, given their working-class values and clannishness. 

Wizards: Catholic prelates, redolent with priestcraft: bachelors, vestments, temples, crosiers, incantations in dead languages. 

Sauron: The Pope

Saruman: The Grand Inquisitor 

Gandalf: Sedevacantist. The Archbishop Lefebvre of Middle-Earth. On a mission to defeat the Antipope.

Aragorn: Presbyterian. The John Knox of Middle-Earth. 

Ringwraiths: Mormons, vibrant and substantial on the outside, hollow and dead on the inside. 

Orcs: As apostate elves, they are militant atheists–which accounts for their intolerant and brutish behavior. 

Is Tolkien Christian?

Many Christians love Tolkien's fiction. Some love the books. Some love the movies. Some love both.

However, for some, this is a guilty pleasure. That's because C. S. Lewis is a Christian novelist in a way that Tolkien is not. Lewis uses thinly-veiled Christian symbolism and overt analogies. 

As a result, some Tolkien fans resort to special pleading to make his fiction more Christian than it is. They offer typological interpretations.

Now in some cases I suppose that's more plausible. You could claim that Gandalf is a Christ-figure who dies for his friends, then is "resurrected." Mind you, that would be more plausible if Gandalf in general were more Christ-like. 

i) I think one problem is when Christians feel the need to justifying their enjoyment of something that isn't Christian. But something can be good–artistically good–without being Christian. Even unbelievers must take their materials from God's hand. 

ii) That said, I think there's a way of offering a more Christian interpretation of Tolkien. It seems to me that the genre is basically in the medieval chivalric tradition. Gandalf is priestly or monkish. Aragorn and Legolas are knightly. Saruman is an evil monk and sorcerer. Frodo is the holy fool. Gollum is an apostate. Sauron is a fallen angel. And medieval literature had mythological creatures which have their counterparts in Tolkien.