Mythopoeia draws upon itself Tolkien’s philosophical views of the world, often informed through the lens of current day politics, his theories of epistemology and the nature of being, and creative differences he had with his current philosophical morays of the time; specifically the rise of rationalism and sub textually, the problems of capitalism. He saw, during his day, the rise of industrialism and the so called ‘death’ of the creativity of old which thrived on the unique and human aspect of creation.
Let us not forget that this poem was written almost directly to C.S. Lewis who had said that myths were useless: lies breathed through silver, questioning the necessity of belief and faith in a mechanical an industrial world.
But onto the question at hand: what does this piece say about the nature of inspiration?
It is clear that inspiration comes from the inability to explain what exactly that inspiration is. Creativity, throughout this piece is lauded and even compared to courage; blessed mythmakers and bards who use their fear to inspire hope and life in the others who would despair. Interestingly enough, this appears as though Tolkien could even admit the nihilistic philosophies that were beginning to grow and become popularized in his time.
"They have seen Death and ultimate defeat,
and yet they would not in despair retreat,
but oft to victory have turned the lyre
and kindled hearts with legendary fire,”
Humanity, as he sees it, was being drowned by the nature of their intelligence. They had forgotten the forest for the trees; focusing on the science, the materialism, one might even go so far to say the capitalism of his time that honed in on creation of material goods no matter the cost. In his friend he could see the disillusionment and he surely felt it himself: mankind was lost in a world of objects where he himself was just simply that: another object.
But Tolkien, in this poem, refuses. He takes the position that humanity imbues meaning into the world around it, and must do so: not that it is an option. He fears that should humanity begin to forget their place as individuals, and become solely the robotic automatons of the time, then the world would fall into darkness and shadow as the light of the world depends on the human spirit, which depends on human individuality.
“I will not treat your dusty path and flat,
denoting this and that by this and that,
your world immutable wherein no part
the little maker has with maker's art.”
Here we see his view of the man in nature, and the man in the modern world. Humanity, as he sees it, marches down the road of progress without heed, merely naming things and studying without pause to look at the immutable work of creativity.
He even goes so far as to praise the “makers” with their “golden scepters”
“Blessed are the legend-makers with their rhyme
of things nor found within record time.
It is not they that have forgot the Night,
or bid us flee to organized delight,
in lotus-isles of economic bliss
forswearing souls to gain a Circe-kiss
(and counterfeit at that, machine-produced,
bogus seduction of the twice-seduced).”
Here we see that Tolkien again takes a view of the nature of pure industry as something which is “counterfeit” directly in relation to “economic bliss”. A poignant statement on the nature of capitalism providing material comforts but nothing for the soul, nothing for which while it has no place in “record time” has a place in our memories and one might even be so bold as to say souls.
I let my angry communist out on this piece, and so it proceeded to become more of a minor essay than a freewrite. My freewriting, as evident from this piece, is organized. It seems my paper also began to work its way out here, I am only lacking proper citation.
I think, that Carpenter is spot on for his interpretation of why Tolkien never finished his works, never sought for them to be published. Tolkien himself had long spent time theorizing how to put into words how he felt; not that he was displacing god, or was one, but that he was sub-creating within the world of creation he lived in. He cared for his creations, loved them as his owns because, in a way, they were him.
I’m an aspiring writer myself. The background to my computer is characters from a story I’m trying to write. I often spend hours working, thinking, drawing, writing, and rewriting their stories, trying to find a way to put them to paper, to share them and their struggles with the world. But….I am afraid. I am afraid of losing the life that they have, the sense of creation and adventure, exploration and opportunity that they represent as mere ideas. They are not bound to a fate, they are not written in their entirety, and their stories are unended.
Why? Because, like Tolkien, they stop being alive once their written down. They take control over my thoughts, and drive me, as I obsess over them, to do things. To think things. To explore a world that I have imagined and created, and live with the ideas and philosophies that I love. But when they are written down, their narrative arc completed, where is there to go with them?
I fear that I will lose them in some way then. They stop being alive. This is why, in my experience, I often do Roleplaying sessions with them that are in great detail, but never write them down. I can get close to fully expressing them, letting them live, without ever having a word written down. I get to explore their lives, their choices, their thoughts as though I were writing them down but the only place they are cemented in is time.
So, I think that this statement by Carpenter is true. True of any writer, especially of fantasy. We not only create characters with whom we fall in love with and care about, we also create worlds, languages, civilizations, systems and magic that exist in some real, tangible way to us. It isn’t just a fantasy, it isn’t just an average idea lost in a sea of mediocrity, spirited away by the tides of the everyday mundane.
My characters are real. Just as real as Tolkien’s character were to himself. I want to share them with the world, but I also want them to be mine and mine alone. They are precious; and so others would treasure them as well, but in doing so I lose the primacy of my claim.
A literary critic, I believe, once said that the “Author is Dead”. This is a phrase here meaning that once the work is written, once it is published and given to others, the Author’s intent, perspective, etc., doesn’t matter anymore. The work takes on its own life and maturity, expresses its own themes and ideas that are separate, (perhaps), from the author’s intent. In this, authors are pressured into maybe not releasing everything, to keep working, especially on this like this, because we want to remain alive. We want something for ourselves.
I think is important however, like parents with their children, to eventually allow the work we have created to grow and mature. Eventually, it must necessarily leave the nest. The only other option is the most tragic one. No parent should ever have to outlive their child. No author’s work should die with them, unpublished, unknown. No author should have to kill their work because they refuse to let it grow and adapt.
This piece relates more to me as a person; and I like that. My writing style is more evident here, in the varying short and long sentences, the power behind certain words. It reads however, like a moralistic philosophy lesson, and I don't think that's a good thing.
In a discussion I had with my friend the other day, discussing the discourse regarding the underlying position of philosophy and science, I came to a conclusion: Science is a circle within philosophy; namely the objective philosophy. By its definition, it excludes the persona subjective, i.e. the consciousness of the present individual. There is another circle, that of the subjective where in ethics, aesthetics, meaning, and subjective interpretation lie. This circle sometimes touches the circle of science in the form of the humanitarian sciences, the soft sciences of philosophy, psychology, sociology, literary arts, etc. But philosophy lies underneath the circles; it is the paper that the Venn diagram lives on. A tripartite of the knowable.
Therefore, while I agree with Benson that Biographical Criticism has a place within the well-worn halls of the literary criticism, and that of the literary arts, I disagree with the idea that it is necessary, or that it does provide anything more than the feelings that lie strictly within the domain of the subjective circle. Science does not belong here; objective fact does not belong here. This is not to decry it as being bad or worse, but it should acknowledge the fact that it is not a science in the idea that it will never achieve a perfect objective, fact-based view on the world. Unlike Science, where it evolves because our views are challenged; literary criticisms evolve through the intrinsic nature of that which is unknowable; the personal experience of others.
Because of this, I feel that we can appreciate learning about Tolkien’s early life, we can appreciate the facts about where he was, and what he did; acknowledge things he observed and then understand how they affect us-but we will never be able to get a window into how they affected him. Even in his own words, even in his own voice, we cannot understand his motivations or influences in any scientific, fact-based, or objective manner. But that is not to imply that it is without meaning, or purpose to do so. What we can learn here has less to do with the facts, but more to do with the underlying human condition, that of subjective experience.
"The Persona Subjective"? That is a strange statement; I must have read Marx before writing this as only pretentious philosophers make up phrases. This was quick, but I felt like I was showing off in this.