2 of 3

Your second stunning sentence comes at the end of the book and deals with the heroism of Sam: "A gardener who was moved by stories, he lived out a story that moved a mountain" (p. 140). No matter how small our gifts and creations are compared to the Creator and His Creation, our individual roles are vital and necessary in the Divine Order. God placed all things according to His Will. Each of us is born in a certain time and a certain place for a certain reason. When we give up our will and accept His Love, we become who and what we are supposed to be. All Being, of course, comes from the Trinitarian God. There is no life, no animation, no love outside of that reality. Sam, whose name means half-wise, best represents the sanctification of the humble.

This is a theme I hope we can discuss more.

Thanks Mark. And, God bless,
Brad Birzer
Hillsdale College

From: Mark Eddy Smith
To: Brad Birzer

Dear Brad,

I appreciate your kind words regarding my book and echo your gratitude toward Christianity Today for this opportunity to spend some time conversing with you. I very much enjoyed J. R. R. Tolkien's Sanctifying Myth and was glad to get a sneak peek at it. I finished it in one sitting, and had it not been 4:30 in the morning, I would have turned right back to the first page.

I'm glad you've begun the conversation with Faerie. We are, of course, inadequate to speak much on it. Tolkien arguably spent his entire life creating (or sub-creating, as he would prefer) Middle-earth, and in so doing, came as close as anybody to describing the essence of Faerie. You've described it well in a few words: It is Real Life. It is the Truth of our significance and insignificance in the grand scheme of things. It is a place that anyone can enter, by the grace of God, but few are able to stay for very long without being overwhelmed and retreating to the seeming safety and familiarity of the "dull, murky, substitute life," the dim reflection of a dim reflection of the glory of Creation.

It is perilous to enter Faerie, even to invoke it. As Annie Dillard said, "It is madness to wear ladies' hats and straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets." But let's forge ahead anyway. Let us with all fear and trepidation strap ourselves in and take a joy ride through Faerie.

In the larger context of Faerie, the divide between Catholics and evangelicals (indeed, between all those who desire to follow Christ), seems especially troubling. You speak in your book about the abiding friendship and occasional tension between Tolkien (a Roman Catholic) and C. S. Lewis (an Anglican Protestant). Are there lessons we can glean from their relationship that can help us better understand and accept those of different (and differing) traditions, or is the difference too essential? I'm thinking particularly of the faith/works issue you allude to: "While our works are important, they are important for the here and now, not for salvation in the life to come. Salvation, the Augustinian Tolkien knew well, was strictly a gift."

I was fascinated by your chapter on "The Nature of Evil," particularly where you write that "Tolkien believed that a virtuous person should understand that evil exists, but should acknowledge or act on little more than that" (p. 90). This is, indeed, the root of one of the tensions between Tolkien and Lewis: that Tolkien disapproved of the very nature of the exercise Lewis undertook in writing The Screwtape Letters. You quote Elrond saying (in reference to Saruman): "It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill." Modern culture thrives on studying these arts too deeply, yet I am not personally convinced that this is altogether as bad as Tolkien believed. Modernity has its own myths — if they dwell at times too much on evil, at their best they point the way toward redemption.

next page... |  2 of 3

share this page

December (Web-only) 2002, Vol. 46