The ancient Greek philosophers spoke of the virtue of eutrapelia, which Hugo Rahner, S.J., describes as “the virtue practised by the eutrapelos, the man who has the wit and the wisdom to be the mean between the boor (the agroikos) and the buffoon (the bomoclochos).” It is a virtue regrettably little practiced today, but J.R.R. Tolkien, who departed the circles of this world on September 2, 1973, was just such a man. Through his playful seriousness, Tolkien is able to achieve in the hearts of his readers that rare combination of stirring their hearts to ponder the great mysteries of life while at the same time moving them to laughter.
This fiftieth anniversary of his death has – much to my surprise – affected me rather deeply. Being emotionally affected by the anniversary of someone’s death is not particularly unusual for me, but to be so affected by the anniversary of someone I never met in person is striking. However, having read so many of his writings time and again, it does seem – in a certain sense – that I do know Tolkien; to know someone’s thought is, in many ways, to know the person. His writings, saturated as they are with the desire for what he calls deathlessness, strikes right to the core of my being, expressing thoughts and sentiments I cannot express adequately myself and in ways that no other author has done.
Tolkien once said “the chief purpose of life, for any one of us, is to increase according to our capacity our knowledge of God by all the means we have, and to be moved by it to praise and thanks” (Letter 310 to Camilla Unwin, 20 May 1969). While a growing number of his readers today lamentably and wrongly seek to downplay the role Tolkien’s faith played in his writings, they were very much part of his striving to increase his knowledge. In his essay “On Fairy Stories,” he said,
The Christian still has to work, with mind as well as body, to suffer, hope, and die; but he may now perceive that all his bents and faculties have a purpose, which can be redeemed. So great is the bounty with which he has been treated that he may now, perhaps, fairly dare to guess that in Fantasy he may actually assist in the effoliation and multiple enrichment of creation.
The playfulness with which Tolkien created his secondary world was no mere frivolity; it was his attempt to participate in the work of creation. Through his great legendarium, he sought to express the deepest yearnings in the heart of every man and in so doing to contemplate the Creator who placed those yearnings within humanity. This what made Tolkien the eutrapelos par excellence.
It may seem strange to say to, but my first visit to the professor’s grave remains one of the happiest moments of my life. A few days after that little pilgrimage, I wrote,
As I expressed my gratitude to Tolkien as best I could, my heart was filled with so great a joy that tears flowed uncontrollably down my cheeks; I was easily as happy as a boy on Christmas morning because one of my greatest hopes had been achieved. As I wept tears of joy, I remembered the words Tolkien gave to Gandalf: "I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil" (The Lord of the Rings, 6.VIII). I prayed that [the] two of us may meet merrily in heaven where, as Tolkien said, "the presence of the great [him] does not depress the small [me]" (On Fairy Stories).
Today is a day for sorrow, yes, but it is also a day for rejoicing in the gift that Tolkien has been and continues to be for so many of us. Today is a day to strive to become, like him, the eutrapelos thereby increasing in our knowledge of God. Today I will raise another Dr Pepper in his honor and pray for the blessed repose of his soul:
O God of all forgiveness, grant to the soul of your servant John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, whose anniversary we celebrate, a place of refreshment, of blessed rest and resplendent light. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God for ever and ever.
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