Over the course of the coming months, I am going to post a handful of letters I am writing to friends and readers. They will be collected by the end of 2024, and will make up the third book in my Tolkien series. The first letter I am going to include here is on theodicy and God’s action (or inaction) in the face of evil and suffering.
“I am fascinated by the internal theology and role of providence or divine intervention in the Legendarium. There are key moments when an outside will or force makes small nudges: Bilbo finding the Ring, Frodo and Sam finding water in Mordor, Merry and Pippin meeting Treebeard, the weather changing over the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Then there is the grand intervention of sending Gandalf back after he dies, which Professor Tolkien stated in a letter was the direct work of Ilúvatar. (The smaller interventions seem to be the work of the Valar.) So, here’s my question: why do the Valar intervene in the way they do (in The Lord of the Rings specifically, which is very different from how they intervene in The Silmarillion)? Do they have a limitation in power, an obedient constraint, or something else? And why does Ilúvatar intervene (or not) as he does?”
— Michael Raburn
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Dear Michael,
When it comes to mythologies of any kind—whether from Tolkien’s Legendarium or the Bible—no writer is bias-free with regards to God or theology. Moreover, being that Tolkien is not the author of the original book that makes up The Lord of the Rings, but is instead offering an English translation of an ancient book, originally written by Bilbo Baggins, and then added to by Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and others, we are getting lots of opinions from lots of people (mainly Hobbits) about how certain events during the Third Age play out. In other words, the original book (called the Red Book of Westmarch), like all firsthand accounts, inevitably contains some biases. How could it not? In the same way, The Hobbit is partial toward a very specific Hobbit, namely the author of the story, Bilbo himself—I’m not the only one who thinks it’s possible he fudged certain details of his encounter with the spiders in Mirkwood, am I?[1]
To that end, given how Tolkien’s Legendarium is all a part of the same lore, I have to assume what I do about all tales such as this: different voices have different opinions, and as history progresses, these opinions will shift and even distort. Further, as far as myths go, we rarely know their true (generally oral) origins; meaning, we don’t even know who these original voices truly are. Case in point: The Silmarillion.
The book that we currently have—the one written in English by Tolkien—is at one point translated into Westron by Bilbo, using texts by Rúmil, Pengolodh, and other Elves. Rúmil, a lore master of the Noldor, is alleged by some to have written Ainulindalë (the first part of The Silmarillion), while a Second Age unknown author perhaps wrote Valaquenta (the second part). The third part of the book, Quenta Silmarillion, is probably written by Pengolodh.
Now, back to the heart of your question.
Perhaps the answer comes down to perception. Every culture has grids and filters that their stories pass through. Elves are no different. Neither are Hobbits. But Elves and Hobbits are as different as the west is from the east, which means their stories will be, too. Not just their stories, though; everything will be different. They will have different theologies, different philosophies, different cosmologies, different ethics, politics, rituals … everything.
So, is it any wonder why Eru and his divine council seem to behave a certain way during the First and Second Age texts, yet another in the Third Age and beyond? On the one hand, you have Elven lore masters compiling texts based on their traditions about who God is, what God is like, whether God is good or not, how God created the world, why there is evil and suffering throughout Arda, and so on. On the other hand, you have humble Hobbits with no noticeable religious lineage, telling stories and emphasizing the things that are important to them—stepping out onto the Road to adventure away from a life surrounded by “peace and quiet and good tilled earth.”[2]
Two different contexts, two different perceptions, and thus, two different ways of telling their stories.
But again, this is how we would expect a mythology to read. In fact, it’s exactly how the Bible reads. Though God may be the same “yesterday, today, and forever,”[3] there are many theologies between Genesis and Revelation. As the old joke goes, if you get two rabbis discussing the scriptures, you’ll come away with three interpretations of them.
The fact of the matter is that no sacred text has ever dropped out of the sky and onto the shelves of Christian bookstores, nor are the words in any book from the pen of Ilúvatar himself. But rather than a disheartening fact, it becomes an exciting opportunity to have interesting discussions about important works of literature that have helped shape humanity for a very long time, and lends freedom to speculate over the very questions you have posed today. Because that’s all we can do—speculate. These are heavy hitters—theodicy, the problem of evil, why a good God doesn’t step in and “do something”—and no amount of philosophizing will ever give a satisfactory answer. All we can do is trust that Eru is good, and that in the end, the Music of the Ainur will resolve its melody.
Yours,
Matthew J. Distefano
[1] After all, Bilbo has a history of fibbing about how certain events play out during the events of The Hobbit (i.e., how he comes upon the One Ring).
[2] Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, 1.
[3] See Hebrews 13.8. Even on this concept, however, the Bible is quite unclear. All throughout the Scriptures, God is said to change his mind (Exodus 32:14), have regret (Genesis 6:7), and reward those who say no to him when his actions don’t line up with his alleged character (see Matthew J. Korpman’s book Saying No to God for a detailed look at this fascinating biblical phenomenon).
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