I was chatting to a friend of mine yesterday, when she asked me a disarmingly childlike, simple question. A question that desired no philosophical or detailed answer, nor did it need or demand one.
Yet it was also one of the single best questions I have ever heard, and deserved a far more considered answer than I stammered out in those moments. So, here we are – with an answer to this brilliantly innocent question that stumped me. It may not be a good answer, and is almost certainly a flawed one, but I have at least now spent some fraction of the time and effort on it that the question deserves.
So what was this question? Quite simply, I was talking with my wife and a friend of ours when (as conversations often seem to when I’m nearby) the conversation turned to Tolkien’s Legendarium. As I explained a little behind the genesis and inspiration for Tolkien’s tales, our friend burst out, quite spontaneously, “don’t you wish it could have happened? That it was all real?”
This, doubtless, is a sentiment familiar to you, if only from hearing it from others – this wishing for some fictional place to be Real. Tolkien in particular, seems to attract such desires – I am yet to find someone who wanted Game of Thrones to have happened, for example, no matter how much they may like the series! Tolkien, though, does seem to attract escapists, dreamers, and wonderers to his door, in a way that few other authors manage – and certainly still fewer “adult” authors.
This desire, that Tolkien’s fiction was reality, may seem a childlike desire. No, I’ll retract that – it is most certainly a childlike desire.
But that does not make it an immature, naive or even unworthy desire.
On the contrary, I think that that desire reflects something truly profound, truly human and divine. That desire is worthwhile, and even worth striving for in its own way. It can be fraught with danger, the danger of forgetting one’s own reality, or hoping for that which cannot be achieved, or resenting the inexorable borders between….well, between our reality and others. But we’ll come back to that. And if those dangers are recognised, and can be overcome or avoided, then I think there is great value and beauty to be found in this sort of fantastical escapism.
So, that’s my theme for today – exploring and dissecting a little behind my own personal understanding of theology, of fiction, and of the very meaningful relationship between the two. And, since it was Tolkien that inspired this subject, who better to turn to than Tolkien himself for help in understanding where the physical meets the perilous realm of Fairy?
In Tolkien’s seminally important On Fairy Stories (an essay that has previously been mentioned here, in relation to Tolkien’s writings on the concept of eucatastrophe), Tolkien indulges in a somewhat rambling, profoundly insightful and unevenly directed study of the Fairy-Story, of its “true” meaning, divorced of twee figures living in flowers and granting wishes. The uneven direction of the essay is forgivable twofold, partly because Tolkien did not set out to write anything of the sort – he was invited to author a simple preface to a collection of fairy stories (following Tolkien’s lead, my choice of when to employ upper and lower case when discussing Fairy/fairy is entirely deliberate), which was ultimately unpublished, due in no small part to Tolkien admitting himself that he is poorly qualified to discuss fairy (thanks partly to his distaste for the matter), but bears great love for Fairy – that is, the fantastical, the imagined, the creative.
The second excuse I present for Tolkien’s rambling presentation of his thesis is that it is, quite simply, one of the most beautiful, profound, spectacular and insightful pieces of writing about fiction – or writing in general – that I have had the pleasure of reading. On Fairy Stories is decidedly less famous than Tolkien’s Legendarium, and even slightly less famous than his disparate other works of fiction, such as Smith of Wooton Major (which I must cover sometime) or Farmer Giles of Ham. Yet, the more I return to it, the more I find to ponder. I’ll do my best to summarise a central thesis of the work here, which is relevant to my own concept of “reality” as it relates to “fiction”, but there is no substitute for the real thing – if you can find a copy, I urge you to read On Fairy Stories.
But for now, my decidedly less profound synthesis will suffice.
A theme that Tolkien develops throughout On Fairy Stories is the concept of the “sub-creation” – which, I must warn you now, is a decidedly Christian approach to storytelling. (But please do read on, even if this worldview is not aligned with your own – I hope it will at least be illumining in some small way!). Anyhow, Tolkien’s argument is that there is only one true Creator, God, or whatever name you choose to ascribe to this metaphysical being, and that as His Creation, nothing can arise or come to pass that does not have its source in Him. Hence, true Creation is impossible for us – we can make, fashion, tear down and rebuild, but we cannot Create. This is an old concept, and generally accepted by many Christians – illustrated beautifully in the opening text of St John’s Gospel:
1. In the beginning was the Word: the Word was with God and the Word was God. 2. He was with God in the beginning. 3. Through him all things came into being, not one thing came into being except through him.
John 1 : 1-3
However, Tolkien then touches upon a striking problem – that we were all created in God’s image. Obviously, that doesn’t necessarily mean that God looks like us, walks around like us, needs to shave excessive bodily hair or anything like that. Rather, it means that we share some sort of divine essence, something….well, something God-like. And it is this shard of the divine that drives us to love, to mercy, to righteous anger, and to grief. It is this soul that grants us free will. In short, for us to be made in God’s image means that we are fully like God – much much lesser in every respect, but like nonetheless.
But to be made like God, that means fully alike, without deviation or omission. And what do we know God to be? I can give you a hint – I already alluded to it.
In the beginning God created….
Genesis 1 : 1
God is a creator, the Creator. And if we are made fully in the image of God, then we too, share His desire to create – and this desire is demonstrably good (though it can, as can all things, be turned readily to evil ends) because it has its clear origin in God and His own desires and actions.
To explain this problem, Tolkien describes the concept of the “sub-creator”, the human manifestation of this creative urge, and our realisation of “creation” with the tools at our disposal.
Children are capable, of course, of literary belief, when the story-maker’s art is good enough to produce it. That state of mind has been called “willing suspension of disbelief.” But this does not seem to me a good description of what happens. What really happens is that the story- maker proves a successful “sub-creator.” He makes a Secondary World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is “true”: it accords with the laws of that world. You therefore believe it, while you are, as it were, inside. The moment disbelief arises, the spell is broken; the magic, or rather art, has failed. You are then out in the Primary World again, looking at the little abortive Secondary World from outside.
On Fairy Stories, by J.R.R. Tolkien
Such “sub-creations” are, Tolkien argues, a natural and good extension of our divine spark:
Fantasy is a natural human activity. It certainly does not destroy or even insult Reason; and it does not either blunt the appetite for, nor obscure the perception of, scientific verity. On the contrary. The keener and the clearer is the reason, the better fantasy will it make. If men were ever in a state in which they did not want to know or could not perceive truth (facts or evidence), then Fantasy would languish until they were cured. If they ever get into that state (it would not seem at all impossible), Fantasy will perish, and become Morbid Delusion.
…………
Fantasy can, of course, be carried to excess. It can be ill done. It can be put to evil uses. It may even delude the minds out of which it came. But of what human thing in this fallen world is that not true? Men have conceived not only of elves, but they have imagined gods, and worshipped them, even worshipped those most deformed by their authors’ own evil. But they have made false gods out of other materials: their notions, their banners, their monies; even their sciences and their social and economic theories have demanded human sacrifice. Abusus non tollit usum. Fantasy remains a human right: we make in our measure and in our derivative mode, because we are made: and not only made, but made in the image and likeness of a Maker.
OFS
In what might be the most famous passage from On Fairy Stories, Tolkien specifically addresses the common criticism that Fantasy is escapist by saying…well, yeah it is, and that’s ok.
I have claimed that Escape is one of the main functions of fairy-stories, and since I do not disapprove of them, it is plain that I do not accept the tone of scorn or pity with which “Escape” is now so often used: a tone for which the uses of the word outside literary criticism give no warrant at all. In what the misusers are fond of calling Real Life, Escape is evidently as a rule very practical, and may even be heroic. In real life it is difficult to blame it, unless it fails; in criticism it would seem to be the worse the better it succeeds. Evidently we are faced by a misuse of words, and also by a confusion of thought. Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if, when he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls? The world outside has not become less real because the prisoner cannot see it.
OFS
All of this may answer what sub-creation is, and why it is worthy, but it also raises a new, perhaps better (and certainly more intriguing) question for me. Is not a sub creation then “real” in a certain way? If Creation itself is real, then a sub-creation must at least border on reality. Indeed, does this make our creations any less valid or real than the one we live in?
Again, Tolkien touches upon this very question in On Fairy Stories:
Probably every writer making a secondary world, a fantasy, every sub-creator, wishes in some measure to be a real maker, or hopes that he is drawing on reality: hopes that the peculiar quality of this secondary world (if not all the details) are derived from Reality, or are flowing into it. If he indeed achieves a quality that can fairly be described by the dictionary definition: “inner consistency of reality,” it is difficult to conceive how this can be, if the work does not in some way partake of reality. 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?” The answer to this question that I gave at first was (quite rightly): “If you have built your little world well, yes: it is true in that world.” That is enough for the artist (or the artist part of the artist).
OFS
This question that I proposed above of whether something is “real” is perhaps a little misleading on the surface – for if we take “real” to merely mean “physical” then the Divine, as an expressly metaphysical force, is not real….though it could be said to be metareal. If we loosen our definition of “real” to simply mean “true” though, then (assuming belief in the Divine) the Divine is real. And so too are our own sub-creations – they are every bit as valid and as real as our own, created reality.
Mind, there are some desperately needed caveats to introduce at this moment. All of us possess both power and wisdom – in some measure. But both are desperately limited. Our power to sub-create does not go beyond word and image. And our wisdom all but guarantees imperfections in our sub-creations. Even Tolkien, for all his thoroughness and care, was never able to fully reconcile every element of his sub-created world to make sense – the uncertain origin of the Orcs being a chief and famous example of this. Chiefly, we do not possess the power to Create – that is, to impart free will into some other object or thing. God has made us in His image, but an image has not the power of the Original, no matter how exact the reproduction. Indeed, we are limited to shaping with pre-created material – whether that be physical matter, or abstract thought.
Nonetheless, if our desire to create comes from a divine and good place, that means it is right and worthy. And if we possess this desire, and God possesses this desire, and in exercising this desire God is able to manifest reality, then surely the sub-realities we sub-create are also worthy….and also, in their own small way, they are real.
The study of divinity and the spiritual is sometimes referred to as falling under the discipline of “metaphysics” – so I would propose a name for the mechanics of these sub-realities and their existence, being “sub-physics” if we follow Tolkien’s lead (though I have a fondness for the roughly synonymous name of “infraphysics”, and the mechanics of these sub-creations being subject to their individual infraphysical rules). This is not necessarily a field of study that requires great academic focus, and that’s ok. However, I like the idea that it is nameable, definable, because that lends a certain credence to the concept.
In addition, by naming Fairy and fantasy as belonging to infraphysical worlds, it clearly delineates the level on which these fictional worlds exist. These worlds are real. I’d even go a step further and say that each Fairy world is both real and true, that the events described in it are accurate and consequential and meaningful. They exist at a different level of truth, in an infraphysical space rather than our own. But that does not make them less true or real. It makes them lesser in their scope, it makes them images of an image, but that detracts neither from their importance nor their reality. It is, at least for me, beautiful, to conceive of these sub-worlds as being made in honour of our own creation and our own Creator, and elevates them, even as we can be ennobled by them.
This is perhaps why, as I mentioned much earlier, Tolkien’s stories in particular spark this wish, this desire that they be real. As can be seen, Tolkien was himself highly conscious of the extra-real power that Story holds, and this awareness made him a master of the Art. It is also well worth mentioning that, though this post has been concerned with fiction and Fairy, I actually believe it to be applicable to and true of all Art. A piece of music is no less True and Real than a work of prose, despite the insufficiency of words to fully encapsulate the former (and indeed, words do nothing more than illuminate the latter). All art is sub-creative, and all art is thus Real, in its own infraphysical manner.
As an afterword, for the atheists and agnostics who may have stumbled across this post, and somehow managed to get this far – firstly, thank you! Ploughing through my half-formed theological musings cannot have been an easy journey.
Usually, in my blog writings, I try to find applicability for any reader, to leave as few out as possible, and I thought long and hard if there were a way to think on all this as an atheist. And if you are able to find applicability or relevance yourself from what I have written, then I’m very glad – but for me myself, I cannot find a way to reconcile my argument with an atheistic worldview. And I guess that’s ok.
We often think of religious people as being both naively uninformed, and as sacrificing a great deal of freedom in following the tenets of their creed. But here, I think I’ve found something that atheism sacrifices, that atheism loses, and that is the validity of that escapist fantasy. To a believer, the borders between our reality and these sub-realities are fixed, yet also profoundly unimportant. Sub-realities can, and I believe do, exist, on some level, if you are at least Christian. To an atheist, there can be sub-realities, but these must be scientifically observable, tangible. Perhaps a sufficiently advanced computer simulation would count – but a book never could. Just as the metaphysical is rejected by the enlightened modernist, so too is the infraphysical impossible and unreachable, forever rendered inferior and pale by its lack of physicality.
But to me, and I hope to others, the infraphysical is real. It is beautiful. And it is a duty of ours to take delight in its reality. Too often, I suspect that many Christians, and many more atheists, choose to believe that our faith is merely in service of striving for some desired reward in the future, after our death. But to me (great though this motivation alone is!), faith can and does lead to reward in the here and now as well. Not in the bloatedly materialistic way a televangelist would have you believe, of course. Rather, in smaller and far more valuable gifts, such as the knowledge that the infraphysical exists, and that Middle-earth is real – in its own small, yet utterly profound and true way.
And that is my answer to this post’s titular question, and to my friend who posed it, and to myself – no, I do not wish Middle-earth was real. I do not wish; rather, I know it is real, every time I or anyone else cross that crystal sea to the far distant shores of Fairy, it is real, as physical and as true as you or I are. And it does not become less real if I should allow my boat to be damaged or lost, I am merely sundered from it, unable to reach it. Fairy exists, Fairy lies within the infraphysical, easily accessible by those who wish to visit it, and Fairy is real. I can not and will not make you believe me, but I can and will invite you to come with me. And whether we travel together or separately through the uncountably vast and diverse landscapes of the infraphysical, I will be glad to know that I have a fellow traveller, a friend who knows as I know that Fairy is real, and (like any other distant land) waiting to be discovered.
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