Love and Grace in the Lord of the Rings

I am doing this both as an independent post (because I think it merits it) and as a final section to the post on Arwen and Tauriel (because it is the justification for saying that Arwen squares off against the nine riders in the structure of the book trilogy, which I use as the justification for having her square off against them in the film because it is harder to get this type of structural element into a film—although, as will be seen, it might be more accurate to say that she “circles off” against them, meaning that the structure relies on a one-year cycle). The text below is identical (straight copy and paste) with that in the final section of the other post. I do this simply to increase the chance of Google hits and to highlight this material (I have mulled this material over for a LONG time and it is near and dear to my core thinking and lifelong love of The Lord of the Rings; see details just below).

Tolkien and Theology

So, this is a theory I developed a very long time ago, probably during my days of working on my MA, which would place it between 2001 and 2004, but I came up with it on my own and it is one of my most central theories in thinking about how Tolkien’s interests in philosophy and theology shaped his work and how he instantiated themes of that nature into The Lord of the Rings.

First, I must mention the simple fact that theology and philosophy did come to the fore in Tolkien’s thinking in the time of writing The Lord of the Rings, versus his emphasis on philology and its connection with mythologies in the decades when much of the material in the Silmarillion was taking its original shape. His son Christopher relates this in his introduction to The Silmarillion: “In his later writing mythology and poetry sank down behind his theological and philosophical preoccupations.”

Tolkien was, among even other academic things, a medievalist. He was also friends with Charles Williams, who, as I have mentioned in another post (in the epilogue defending romance in my post on a proposed chiastic reading of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them), wrote a short work called Religion and Love in Dante and a longer work called The Figure of Beatrice. The key point from those works for this discussion, and one with which, as a medievalist and friend of Williams, Tolkien would have been familiar, is that, for the medieval mind, courtly love (romance leading to a marriage; i.e., courting) was symbolic of divine grace. And, being of a more theological/philosophical turn of mind coming into the era of writing, things of this class would have been very much in his mind.

(Note: Much of Tolkien’s drive to finish The Lord of the Rings from C. S. Lewis, who was very philosophically driven himself. This relationship is noted by Loconte in A Hobbit, A Wardrobe, and a Great War, which I appealed to heavily in my post on Tolkien’s Incarnational imagination: Lewis’s space trilogy got a chance with the publisher mainly because of Tolkien’s recommendation, and according to Tolkien himself, he was able to finish The Lord of the Rings only because Lewis incessantly drove him to keep writing it.)

Grace Builds on Nature:

Healing, Elevating, and Perfecting

Because Tolkien was an actual academic studying medieval literature, his interest in theology and philosophy would not be of the garden variety. He would have been familiar with the actual movements and formulations particular to medieval theology and philosophy. And especially as his friend Charles Williams was writing on religion and love in Dante, he would have been particularly interested in matters of divine grace (the thought on which began to take its distinctively medieval shaping at the hands of St Augustine, often referred to as the “Doctor of Grace” [much as Aquinas later was known as the “Angelic Doctor” for his development of thinking on angelic being and intelligence], at the end of the patristic era/beginning of the medieval era).

There was a specific formula used in medieval theology for the relationship between grace and nature: “grace builds on nature.” But the meaning of this formula was much debated. For an orthodox theology (meaning a correct theology for Western, Catholic theology, not Eastern Orthodox), there were two poles to be avoided. The first was what would be called the Pelagian or Semi-Pelagian position. This position says that nature is pretty much alright on its own, just not complete. Therefore, for this position, “building on” means building on top of without really needing to do any work to nature itself. The other position I would call the “deconstructionist” position. This position says that nature is so broken that it cannot be used as is and, therefore, “building on” means grace completely deconstructing nature and using the pieces to build something new that is basically unrecognizable as the nature with which it began. Any theology of grace and nature attempting to be orthodox had to sail between these two extremes like Odysseus between Scylla and Charybdis.

Now, here is where the presentation of this theological thinking gets vague as far as my source work goes. The place I heard about this first was in an MA level course, and because I did not focus in patristics or medieval (both usually under the historical wing of academic theology) or systematics (where one would more thoroughly cover a “theology of grace”) in doctoral studies I did not uncover more about this since. At the time, though, I asked the professor via email whether the precise formulation I am about to describe as medieval theology’s answer to the problem came from specific sources or, on the other hand, was his own formulation of broader and more loose strands that he observed in sources. His answer was the latter, but I suspect that he was not remembering the source work quite so thoroughly when he replied (it was not the greatest email response I have ever gotten in the first place, to be honest: he simply highlighted my description of that option in my original email text with no other communication in his reply). I believe that other authors in whom I have encountered very similar phrasing, while they know of this professor, are not as likely to have taken it from him, but the biggest reason for my original suspicion that the threefold formulation I am about to describes predates that particular professor is that it fits what I am about to describe after that as the theological thinking in the particulars of The Lord of the Rings, which was written years before this professor was even born, let alone graduated college in 1979. But such is life … I’m not making any claims to have come up with the formulation; I’m just applying it (but like I said, the fact that it can be applied so well to a work written before this particular professor was born makes me suspect that it is much older than his mind and its work on medieval theological material).

[Addendum 1/24/2017: In copyediting an article for a journal, I have come across a comment that the dual role of grace as healing and elevating is a central theme in the prima secundae (first part of the second part) of Aquinas's Summa theologiae.]

In any event, the medieval theology formulation that avoids those two poles is that “grace heals, elevates, and perfects nature.” Nature is broken even according to its own original structure etc, and it needs to be fixed. But this is not enough because nature also contains within itself a trajectory for a perfection that it cannot attain on its own, and so grace must help nature to reach even its own intrinsic goals. These first two aspects mean that nature remains recognizable as itself once it is healed and perfected (the perfection was already implicit even in the broken nature), thus avoiding the deconstructionist position, but they also counteract the Semi-Pelagian error because not only was nature broken, but it also could not complete its own stated task even when not broken.

But beyond all this comes the third aspect: grace elevates nature (and this is the one with which the Aragorn-Arwen relationship connects, but we will get to that in good time). Grace gives to nature a new perfection above and beyond even the one that was built into it but was unattainable by it without help. After this new perfection is revealed, it can be seen how the first foreshadowed it, but before that revelation, it cannot be guessed; it is completely new and above what nature can discern about itself on its own.

Courtly Love in The Lord of the Rings

So, if we combine the two major things described—courtly love as symbolic of grace and grace as healing, elevating, and perfecting nature—and we are examining the work of an author we know to be versed in and focused on medieval theology, we might expect to find in his work three unique instances of courtly love that correspond neatly to healing, perfecting, and elevating. And I would argue that that is precisely what we find in The Lord of the Rings.

The three instances of courtly love (and I would argue that each of these is concretely and demonstrably present as a courtly relationship and that there are no others of this level, or really any, within the work) are:

Faramir–Eowyn (heals);

Sam–Rosy (perfects);

Aragorn–Arwen (elevates).

Healing

Faramir and Eowyn are both wounded in two ways. First, they are both displaced persons when they meet each other in the houses of healing: as a right and honorable captain of Gondor, Faramir has a right to be on that front line at the black gates, suicide mission though it be; and Eowyn feels like a warrior born into a maidens body. Second, they both bear wounds from father issues, and these are clearly described by Aragorn when he examines them in the houses of healing before leaving for the suicide mission: Denethor’s preference for Boromir, especially after that eldest’s death, has taken a toll on Faramir; and Eowyn had to watch her surrogate father, Theoden, wither into dotage and near senility under the influence of Grima Wormtongue. BUT, in the houses of healing they find each other, and in falling in love, they are healed of these wounds.

Perfecting

Now we turn to the most endearing of the three, Sam and Rosy. They represent the “perfecting” aspect because of one simple fact: they are the only of the three couples that we see actually have a child within the actual scope of the trilogy’s narrative (meaning not having to go outside the actual story to find the line of Aragorn and Arwen in the appendices). But I would also argue that they are the only ones we see at all “have a child,” even in the appendices, in the fully human experiential sense of that phrase. The offspring of Aragorn and Arwen are described only in their role as being in the line of kingship beginning with Aragorn. That is a dynasty, not a family. I am not saying that Aragorn and Arwen don’t have a loving family, just that that is not what we see even in the appendices.

With Frodo’s little bit of prophecy that we see before he leaves for the gray havens, we see Sam and Rosy’s family grow, and it grows with children named for loving parents and their dear friends. That is family, not dynasty. And the main point for this exposition is that it is “coming to fruition,” fulfilling the end that is inherent in the original relationship: the community of two grows to become the community of three, and then the community of four, and so on.

But that good family life inside the Shire could not have done so without the larger battle against evil having been won outside the Shire, and that is symbolic of grace as something outside the nature of the love between the couple. Nature needs grace even to achieve its original goals; it needs grace to perfect it.

Elevating

Now we come to the “elevation,” which is the most involved to describe for several reasons. The first is simply that it is more complex because it takes place on the structural level. The second is that demonstrating the elements in that structural level takes some excavation work.

So, the most basic level (which will be supported in a moment by the structural excavation) is that Arwen’s betrothal to Aragorn is squared off against the onset of evil. But, while evil cannot even exist without good existing for it to be contrasted with, good always has a life of it’s own above and beyond merely conquering evil. Therefore, while Arwen’s betrothal symbolizes the overcoming of evil, it happens only on midsummer’s eve, whereas the wedding itself, the true, full good, happens on midsummer’s day. That structure represents grace elevating nature because the wedding, the true good, goes beyond the betrothal, the mere overcoming of evil.

Now for the real structural work that supports the position that the betrothal to Arwen symbolizes the overcoming of evil because it closes out a structure beginning with the onset of evil: the elevation is also represented in midsummer’s day going beyond a one-year cycle structure, from midsummer’e eve to mid-summer’s eve.

There is no place in the actual narrative of the Lord of the Rings trilogy that says “on midsummer’s eve … evil began its onslaught.” In fact, there isn’t, that I can find anyway, any mention in the actual story narrative of the opening midsummer’s eve as a distinct day with some distinct event occurring on it. What actually put me on to all this was an insertion by Jackson/Walsh into the film. They have Saruman tell Gandalf something like “the nine riders crossed the fords of Isen on midsummer’s eve” (paraphrase from memory). You want to know how I know that that’s an insertion and that Saruman never said those words in the book? It’s because the nine have an airtight alibi for that midsummer’s eve established in the appendices. On that particular midsummer’s eve, June 20^th, they were attacking Osgiliath down on the Anduin river between Minis Tirith and Minas Morgul.

The key detail given in the appendix is that the attack on Osgiliath on June 20 was not just to try to retake the whole city (including the far bank, the Minis Tirith side). It was an excuse to leave Minis Morgul without that being noticed as out of the ordinary. All the spies of Gondor would think is “of course they left Minus Morgul … to come try to beat us at Osgiliath,” and then while those spies are scrambling fighting their hearts out in Osgiliath, they don’t notice that the nine riders have actually slipped off. But to where did they slip off? They set out, the appendix tells us, to look for the ring. That is the onset of evil—the beginning of the actual search for the ring.

(NOTE: The Saruman line in the film, like the reference to the 40-days journey to Moria I mentioned in my post on Lewis’s space trilogy as a table of contents for theInklings’s basic project, is one of the things that make me think that at least Fran Walsh is probably a good bit more knowledgeable about some of Tolkien’s artistry than many who criticize the films: there is no reason I can think of to slip the narratively unconnected comment about anything happening anywhere on midsummer’s eve unless you know something of what Tolkien is doing with the date, particularly that it is the date of an onset of evil. The attack on Osgiliath as a ruse would have been too much to get in, especially when nobody in a larger audience will really know what or where Osgiliath is, and even the longtime fans will probably miss the significance if they are not approaching the work from the standpoint of literary structure, which is a distinctly academic approach … but crossing a river we can probably guess as the bad guys getting somewhere near to somebody’s home and hearth kind of thing; just the way he says it is enough clue that danger is on the rise because these bad guys called the nine, whoever they may be, have managed to invade somebody’s home turf).

This is a straight-up one-year cycle structure that pits the onset of even in the form the setting forth of the riders against the overcoming of evil in the form of the gray company bringing Arwen from the north one year later to the day, midsummer’s eve. Tolkien and Lewis and the other Inklings were well versed in medieval and earlier literature using nature dates. Tolkien himself uses the autumnal equinox (Sept 22^nd, my own birthday, actually) as the mutual birthday of Bilbo and Frodo in conjunction with the fact that they are both 50/51 (I believe) when they start their journey, which is the smack-dab middle of the average Hobbit lifespan, and so they are “midway through life’s journey,” a very Dantean theme, but on the wane (so the autumnal equinox rather than the vernal). It doesn’t get more up Tolkien’s alley than this.

Excavation (required for the elevation)

The excavation work is that, as I said, you have to go to the appendix to get the June 20^th date, and that puts it outside the scope of the actual narrative of the story. And for a long time I thought this might be a significant weakness in my theory. But in listening to the LotR trilogoy again within the past year on driving trips, I noted that, in the council of Elrond and in the conversations Gandalf has with Frodo at Rivendell, while “June 20” and one particular incident did not come up, “towards the end of June” DID appear a lot with descriptions like “I heard about some stuff going down that made me need to change my shorts” (I believe that’s the translation used in Down-to-Earth in Middle Earth: The Lord of the Rings in Modern Lingo … just kidding, but I do think it’s a fun hypothetical title).

All joking paraphrases aside, Gandalf does talk a lot about hearing of things happening toward the end of June that made him very worried and changed his plans as far as where he was going and who he was going to see and made him very anxious for knowing that the hobbits had gotten on the road in good time. And I take this as enough presence of midsummer’s eve in the actual narrative itself for something big as the onset of evil to pair off against Arwen’s betrothal one year later to the day, especially when we have the material from the appendix to clarify by informing us of exactly what Gandalf did hear near the end of June.

Short Sum Up

So, all of that detail of the excavation and the one-year cycle has been to support that Arwen does indeed square off against the riders in a one-year midsummer’s eve cycle and that this not only somewhat justifies somebody like Jackson/Walsh putting her at the fords in the film (because you can’t really work that kind of structure into a film) but also, and even more importantly, contributes to a larger reading of a medieval theology of grace in the presence of courtly love in The Lord of the Rings. And that second one in particular is part of my ongoing thinking about the interplay between Tolkien’s Catholic faith and thought and his imagination in his narrative sub-creation.