Contents
Read in Eastertide 2025. This is just a list of some of the letters I will want to come back to.
Letter 43, From a letter to Michael Tolkien, 6–8 March 1941
PP. 48–54. The famous letter on sex, women, and marriage.
It also includes this on the Blessed Sacrament and Death:
Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament. . . . . There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves upon earth, and more than that: Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste (or foretaste) of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality, of eternal endurance, which every man’s heart desires.
Letter 52, From a letter to Christopher Tolkien, 29 November 1943
PP. 63, 64. Tolkien characterizes his political opinions as “Anarchy” or “‘unconstitutional’ Monarcy”
Letter 54, From a letter to Christopher Tolkien, 8 January 1944
P. 66. In this letter he tells Christopher to remember always his guardian angel. Our free will enables us to face God, but he is behind us, nourishing us.
The bright point of power where that life-line, that spiritual umbilical cord touches: there is our Angel, facing two ways to God behind us in the direction we cannot see, and to us.
He also urges Christopher to “make a habit of the ‘praises’” in Latin and know them by heart, i.e. the Gloria Patri, the Gloria in Excelsis, the Laudate Dominum, the Laudate Pueri Dominum, the Magnificat, the Litany of Loretto, the Sub Tuum Praesidium, and the Canon of the Mass
Letter 89, To Christopher Tolkien, 7–8 November 1944 (Fæder his þriddan Suna 60)
PP. 99–102. He tells Christopher about a “vision” or “apperception” he had during the Quarant’ Ore at the church of Sts. Gregory and Augustine in Oxford:
I perceived or thought of the Light of God and in it suspended one small mote (or millions of motes to only one of which was my small mind directed), glittering white because of the individual ray from the Light which both held and lit it. (Not that there were individual rays issuing from the Light, but the mere existence of the mote and its position in relation to the Ligth was in itself a line, and the line was Light). And the ray was the Guardian Angel of the mote: not a thing interposed between God and the creature, but God’s very attention itself, personalized. And I do not mean ‘personified’, by a mere figure of speech according to the tendencies of human language, but a real (finite) person.
Later on in the letter he tells of a tramp on the porch of the church:
Leaning against the wall as we came out of church was an old tramp in rags, something like sandals tied on his feet with string, an old tin can on one wrist, and in his other hand a rough staff. He had a brown beard, and a curiously ‘clean’ face, with blue eyes, and he was gazing into the distance in some rapt thought not heeding any of the people, cert. not begging. I could not resist the impulse of offering him a small alms, and he took it with grave kindliness, and thanked me courteously, and then went back to his contemplation. Just for once I rather took Fr. C. aback by saying to him that I thought the old man looked a great deal more like St Joseph than the statue in the church — at any rate St Joseph on the way to Egypt. He seems to be (and what a happy thought in these shabby days, where poverty seems only to bring sin and misery) a holy tramp! I could have sworn it anyway but P. [Priscilla] says Betty [Elizabeth Jennings, the poet] told her that he had been at the early mass, and had been to communion, and his devotion was plain to see, so plain that many were edified. I do not know just why, but I find that immensely comfortin and pleasing. Fr. C. says he turns up about once a year.
Letter 96, To Christopher Tolkien, 30 January 1945 (Fæder his þriddan Suna 78)
PP. 108–111. He talks about Genesis and the Garden of Eden. Most Christians have been cowed by “self-styled scientists” into seeing Genesis as some “not very fashionable furniture” that they tuck away somewhere. He talks about the beauty of Genesis as a story, and how even someone whose faith is failing may find they cling to belief by the beauty of the story. But Tolkien himself does not feel ashamed of the Eden “myth”.
It has not, of course, historicity of the same kind as the NT, which are virtually contemporary documents, while Genesis is separated by we do not know how many sad exiled generations from the Fall, but certainly there was an Eden on this very unhappy earth. We all long for it, and we are constantly glimpsing it: our whole nature at its best and least corrupted, its gentlest and most humane, is still soaked with the sense of ’exile’. If you come to think of it, your (very just) horror at the stupipd murder of the hawk, and your obstinate memory of this ‘home’ of yours in an idyllic hour (when often there is an illusion of the stay of time and decay and a sense of gentle peace) — εἴθε γενοίμην, ‘stands the clock at ten to three, and is there honey still for tea’ — are derived from Eden. As far as we can go back the nobler part of the human mind is filled with the thoughts of sibb, peace and goodwill, and with the thought of its loss. We shall never recover it, for that is not the way of repentance, which works spirally and not in a closed circle; we may recover something like it, but on a higher plane.
This idea of conversion as a spiral reminds me of a scene from Laurus.
Letter 131, To Milton Waldman, late 1951
PP. 143–161. This is the famous letter that now also acts as a preface to the published Silmarillion. Milton Waldman was an editor for Collins. Tolkien was interested in switching to them after Allen & Unwin had declined to publish The Lord of the Rings together with The Silmarillion. This letter was meant to explain why the two needed to be published together and Milton Waldman was interested enough that he had his own typed copy of the letter made.
Letter 142, To Robert Murray, S.J., 2 December 1953
PP. 171–173. In this letter we have the famous quote:
The Lord of the Rings is of course a fundamentally religious and Catholic work; unconsciously so at first, but consciously in the revision.
Letter 153, To Peter Hastings (draft), September 1954
PP. 187–196. Peter Hastings was the manager of the Newman Bookshop in Oxford. He wrote to Tolkien as a fan of The Lord of the Rings but also to express some misgivings he had from a Catholic perspective, i.e. whether Tolkien hadn’t “over-stepped the mark in metaphysical matters”. E.g. how can Tom Bombadil be divine (“He is.”)? How can an evil being create creatures such as orcs? Isn’t the reincarnation of the Elves a little worrying and by including this isn’t Tolkien overstepping the sub-creation that his Creator has allowed? Tolkien addresses these concerns and talks a lot about the differences between Elves and Men and the role of a writer-sub-creator.
Letter 156, To Robert Murray, S.J. (draft), 4 November 1954
PP. 200–207. He responds to more of Fr. Robert Murray’s questions and comments on The Lord of the Rings, especially regarding Gandalf and his return and transformation. Gandalf, an incarnate ἄγγελος, an emissary of the Lords of the West, really did pass through death, and was sent back. His return was found by many readers to be a defect, since death seemingly had no effect on him, and Tolkien admits that he could have worked harder on the writing to remedy this. Gandalf’s death at the Bridge of Khazad-dûm was a sacrifice, since he could have chosen to cling to life knowing that he might be the only living being who could successfully direct the resistance against Sauron. He gives up success of a personal kind and hands himself over, both to defend his companions and to obey the Authority who had sent him, whose purpose for him was that he should inspire, train, and advise the free peoples of Middle-Earth to mount their own defence against Sauron.
On sending Gandalf back with greater powers:
The ‘wizards’, as such, failed; or if you like: the crisi had become too grave and needed an enhancement of power. So Gandalf sacrificed himself, was accepted, and enhanced, and returned. ‘Yes, that was the name. I was Gandalf.’ Of course he remains similar in personality and idiosyncrasy, but both his wisdom and power are much greater. When he speaks he commands attention; the old Gandalf could not have dealt so with Théoden, nor with Saruman. He is still under the obligation of concealing his power and of teaching rather than forcing or dominating wills, but where the physical powers of the Enemy are too great for the good will of the opposers to be effective he can act in emergency as an ‘angel’—no more violently than the release of St Peter from prison.
Letter 180, To ‘Mr Thompson’ (draft), 14 January 1956
PP. 230–232. He explains to an unknown ‘Mr Thompson’ his discovery during WWI of the symbiotic relationship between legends and their living language.
For example, that the Greek mythology depends far more on the marvellous aesthetic of its language and so of its nomenclature of persons and places and less on its content than people realize, though of course it depends on both. And vice versa. Volapük, Esperanto, Ido, Novial, &c &c are dead, far deader than ancient unused languages, because their authors never invented any Esperanto legends.
Tolkien says that he is not Gandalf, and if there is any character in the story that resembles him it is Faramir, “except that I lack what all my characters possess (let the psychoanalysts note!) Courage”. And further on:
For when Faramir speaks of his private vision of the Great Wave, he speaks for me. That vision and dream has been ever with me —and has been inherited (as I only discovered recently) by one of my children [Michael].
Letter 181, To Michael Straight (drafts), probably January or February 1956
PP. 232–237. Michael Straight was the editor of New Republic, a left-wing news and politics magazine. Straight was later revealed to be a Soviet spy in the same network as Anthony Blunt, Surveyor of the Queen’s Pictures. Interestingly he wrote to Tolkien to ask about meaning in The Lord of the Rings, especially Frodo’s failure, Gollum’s role, the Scouring of the Shire, and Frodo’s departure from the Grey Havens.
On the ending of the quest, Tolkien links the events to the Our Father:
I should say that within the mode of the story, the ‘catastrophe’ *exemplifies (an aspect of) the familiar words: ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.’
Tolkien says that “Lead us not into temptation &c” is the harder and less considered petition. In the story every event has two aspects: the history of the individual, and the history of the world. Sometimes someone is placed in a “sacrificial” situation, in which the good of the world depends on an individual’s choices in a situation that demands extraordinary suffering and endurance. Sometimes these situations are demanding beyond the individual’s capacity, and he is doomed to fall into temptation, his will is broken. He makes a choice that he would not have made without the external pressure. In this sense, Frodo and the Quest are failures. See also Letter 191.
An aside:
I did not forsee that before the tale was published we should enter a dark age in which the technique of torture and disruption of personality would rival that of Mordor and the Ring and present us with the practical problem of honest men of good will broken down into apostates and traitors.
But at the same time, Frodo and the world’s salvation are achived, and through past forgiveness and pity. Frodo reached his limit, and Grace took over, allowing Gollum, still alive thanks to pity, to unexpectedly end the Quest. Frodo and Sam were justly accorded the highest honours, since the never concealed what had happened on Mount Doom.
On the question of Gollum’s salvation:
Into the ultimate judgement upon Gollum I would not care to enquire. This would be to investigate ‘Goddes privitee’, as the Medievals said. Gollum was pitiable, but he ended in persistent wickedness, and the fact that this worked good was no credit to him. His marvellous courage and endurance, as great as Frodo and Sam’s or greater, being devoted to evil was portentous, but not honourable. I am afraid, whatever our beliefs, we have to face the fact that there are persons who yield to temptation, reject their chances of nobility or salvation, and appear to be ‘damnable’. Their ‘damnability’ is not measurable in the terms of the macrocosm (where it may work good). But we who are all ‘in the same boat’ must not usurp the Judge. The domination of the Ring was much too strong for the mean soul of Sméagol. But he would have never had to endure it if he had not become a mean sort of thief before it crossed his path.
Letter 184, To Sam Gamgee, 18 March 1956
PP. 244, 245. Tolkien received a letter from a real Sam Gamgee who hadn’t read The Lord of the Rings, and wrote a really great reply.
Letter 191, From a letter to Miss J. Burn (draft), 26 July 1956
PP. 251, 252. Miss J. Burn seems to have quoted 1 Corinthians x, 12–13, to Tolkien in connection with Frodo’s failure and the temptation of the Ring. The passage is:
Wherefore he that thinketh himself to stand, let him take heed lest he fall. Let no temptation take hold on you, but such as is human. And God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which you are able: but will make also with temptation issue, that you may be able to bear it.
Itaque qui se existimat stare, videat ne cadat. Tentatio vos non apprehendat nisi humana : fidelis autem Deus est, qui non patietur vos tentari supra id quod potestis, sed faciet etiam cum tentatione proventum ut possitis sustinere.
Tolkien responds and again brings up the Our Father:
Corinthians I x. 12–13 may not at first sight seem to fit — unless ‘bearing temptation’ is taken to mean resisting it while still a free agent in normal command of the will. I think rathe rof the mysterious last petitions of the Lord’s Prayer: Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. A petition against something that cannot happen is unmeaning. There exists the possibility of being placed in positions beyond one’s power. In which case (as I believe) salvation from ruin will depend on something apparently unconnected: the general sanctity (and humility and mercy) of the sacrificial person.
See also Letter 181.
Letter 195, From a letter to Amy Ronald, 15 December 1956
P. 255.
Actually I am a Christian, and indeed a Roman Catholic, so that I do not expect ‘history’ to be anything but a ’long defeat’ — though it contains (and in a legend may contain more clearly and movingly) some glimpses of final victory.
Letter 246, From a letter to Mrs Eileen Elgar (drafts), September 1963
PP. 325–333. This is a longer response to a reader’s comments on Frodo’s failure at the Cracks of Doom.
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. Thei weakness, however is twofold. They do not perceive the complexity of any given situation in Time, in which an absolute ideal is enmeshed. They tend to forget that strange element in the Wolrd 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.
I do not think that Frodo’s was a moral failure. At the last moment the pressure of the Ring would reach its maximum — impossible, I should have said, for any one to resist, certainly after long possession, months of increasing torment, and when starved and exhausted. Frodo had done what he could and spent himself completely (as an instrument of Providence) and had produced a situation in which the object of his quest could be achieved.
‘Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured’, said Gandalf (III 268) — not in Middle-earth. Frodo was sent or allowed to pass over Sea to heal him — if that could be done, before he died. He would have eventually to ‘pass away’: no mortacl could, or can, abide for ever on earth, or within Time. So he went both to a purgatory and to a reward, for a while: a period of reflection and peace and a gaining of a truer understanding of his position in littleness and in greatness, spent still in Time amid the natural beauty of ‘Arda Unmarred’, the Earth unspoiled by evil.
He hypothesizes about potential alternative endings of the Quest. Had Sam not put Gollum off repentance, and Gollum come to be a true ally of Frodo, the ending would have been different and the interest would have shifted to the internal conflict within Gollum between his love for Frodo and his love for the Ring. Gollum might have in some strange way attempted to serve both masters. He would still have stolen the Ring in some way before the end. His partial “regeneration by love” would have given him some clearer vision at this point, revealing to him the evil of Sauron, and the impossibility of his keeping the Ring for himself, so perhaps he would have voluntarily sacrificed himself by casting himself into Mouth Doom.
In the actual tale, Frodo has no time for this clearer vision once he seizes the Ring since he is immediately attacked by Gollum. Had Frodo not been attacked, then throwing himself into the volcano would have been the only way within his power to end the Quest. Had this not happened, what would Sauron have done? Sauron sent the Ringwraiths immediately. The Ringwraiths arriving at Mount Doom would not have been wholly immune from the Ring’s new claimant’s power. They could not have used violence against him or taken him captive. They would have been instructed to remove the Ringbearer from the Crack, and would have feigned servility and obedience to any minor commands of the Ringbearer. Perhaps with fair speeches they would have induced him to step out and survey his new kingdom, and then destroy the entrance to the chamber once outside. Then if the Ringbearer could not be convinced to accompany them to Barad-dûr, they would just have to wait for Sauron to reach Mount Doom. Sauron would not have feared the Ring, since it was his own, and no mortal could hope to withhold it from him in his actual presence.
Perhaps Gandalf alone would have had a hope at such a contest. Galadriel in her temptation does entertain the possibility, and if she were able, then so would Elrond be. Both Elrond and Galadriel, as wielders of the Ring, would have followed Sauron’s own model and built up an empire of subservient armies and engines of war, and so challenged Sauron, rather than make a face-to-face confrontation with him. If Gandalf, as wielder of the Ring, were able to defeat Sauron face-to-face, this would have meant the same as destruction of the Ring, removing it from his grasp forever.
But the Ring and all its works would have endured. It would have been the master in the end. Gandalf as Ring-Lord would have been far worse than Sauron. He would have remained ‘righteous’, but self-righteous. He would have continued to rule and order things for ‘good’, and the benefit of his subjects according to his wisdom (which was and would have remained great).
There is a note in the margin at the end of the letter:
Thus while Sauron multiplied [illegible word] evil, he left “good” clearly distinguishable from it. Gandalf would have made good detestable and seem evil.
Letter 250, To Michael Tolkien, 1 November 1963
PP. 336–341. He mentions his disillusionment with Oxford University:
I remember clearly enough when I was your age (in 1935). I had returned 10 years before (still dewy-eyed with boyish illusions) to Oxford… . Years before, I had rejected as disgusting cynicism by an old vulgarian the words of warning given me by old Joseph Wright. ‘What do you take Oxford for, lad?’ ‘A university, a place of learning.’ ‘Nay, lad, it’s a factory. And what’s it making? I’ll tell you, it’s making fees. Get that in your head and you’ll begin to understand what goes on.’
He responds to Michael’s complaint of “sagging faith”, exhorting him to not let the scandalous acts of the Church’s human elements get in the way of his love for God and the Church. Sometimes external scandals are just excuses for what is really an internal spiritual crisis.
He recommends frequent Communion as a means of combatting “sagging faith”. He also recommends making Communion “in circumstances that affront your taste”, e.g. ministered by a priest you don’t like, or in a church full of the “usual bourgeois crowd”, etc.
Go to Communion with them (and pray for them). It will be just the same (or better than that) as a mass said beautifully by a visibly holy man, and shared by a few devout and decorous people.
He talks about his conviction that the Catholic Church is the true Chruch founded by our Lord.
But for me that Church of which the Pope is the acknowledged head on earth has as chief claim that it is the one that has (and still does) ever defended the Blessed Sacrament, and given it most honour, and put it (as Christ plainly intended) in the prime place. ‘Feed my sheep’ was His last charge to St Peter; and since His words are always first to be understood literally, I suppose them to refer primarily to the Bread of Life.
He praises St. Pius X’s reforms of Communion namely so that it could be received more frequently by all the faithful, and by children.
On the Blessed Sacrament, his own faith, and that of his children:
But I fell in love with the Blessed Sacrament from the beginning — and by the mercy of God never have fallen out again: but alas! I did not live up to it. I brought you all up ill and talked to you tool little. Out of wickedness and sloth I almost ceased to practise my religion — especially at Leeds, and at 22 Northmoor Road. Not for me the Hound of Heaven, but the never-ceasing silten appeal of Tabernacle, and the sense of starving hunger. I regret those days bitterly (and suffer for them with such patience as I can be given); most of all because I failed as a father. Now I pray for you all, unceasingly, that the Healer (the Hælend as the Saviour was usually called in Old English) shall heal my defects, and that none of you shall ever cease to cry Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.
Letter 306, From a letter to Michael Tolkien, sometime after 25 August 1967
PP. 391–396. He reminisces on his walking holiday to Switzerland in 1911 taking with his brother Hilary and aunt Jane Neave, among others.
There is a section on the tumultuous time in the Church:
‘Trends’ in the Church are . . . . serious, especially to those accustomed to find in it a solace and a ‘pax’ in times of temporal trouble, and not just another arena of strife and change.
He criticizes also the search among many churchmen for “primitiveness”, noting that the Church was not intended to be static, but a living organism that develops and changes. A tree may have begun with a seed but it is vain to try to dig it up.
Letter 310, To Camilla Unwin, 20 May 1969
PP. 399, 400. Rayner Unwin’s daughter Camilla wrote to Tolkien to get help with a school project, and asked him: “What is the purpose of life?”
I wonder how old Camilla was. Tolkien gave an lengthy answer. He says the question could be read two ways: how should I use the life-span that’s been given to me, or what purpose to living things serve by being alive? The former question’s answer depends on the latter’s. Non-human living beings have shape, and organization, and pattern, and this reveals that they proceed from a mind, an intelligence that is like our own mind but “incalculably richer”. The examination of living beings causes us to search for God, the Creator-Designer. This leads us to religion and moral questions, questions involving both the individual and human society. Religion and morality should guide how we deploy our talents without misuse, and without injury to other men. Beyond morality there lies self-sacrificial love.
The greater question however of why God included us in his design might be unanswerable, since it would seem to require complete knowledge of God.
Those who do not believe in God can neither ask nor answer the question, “What is the purpose of life?”
It could be said that the chief purpose of life is to know God as best as we able, and to be moved by this knowledge to praise and thanksgiving, as in the Gloria: Laudamus te, benidicimus te, adoramus te, glorificamus te, gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam:
And in moments of exaltation we may call on all created things to join in our chorus, speaking on their behalf, as is done in Psalm 148, and in The Song of the Three Children in Daniel II. PRAISE THE LORD . . . all mountains and hills, all orchards and forests, all things that creep and birds on the wing.