In other words, you must show that a man is wrong before you start explaining why he is wrong. The modern method is to assume without discussion that he is wrong and then distract attention from this (the only real issue) by busily explaining how he became so silly. In the course of the last fifteen years I have found this vice so common that I have had to invent a name for it. I call it Bulverism. Someday I am going to write the biography of its imaginary inventor, Ezekiel Bulver, whose destiny was determined at the age of five when he heard his mother say to his father – who had been maintaining that two sides of a triangle were together greater than the third – ‘Oh you say that because you are a man.’ ‘At that moment’, E. Bulver assures us, ‘there flashed across my opening mind the great truth that refutation is no necessary part of argument. Assume that your opponent is wrong, and then explain his error, and the world will be at your feet. Attempt to prove that he is wrong or right, and the national dynamism our age will thrust you to the wall.’ That is how Bulver became one of the makers of the Twentieth Century. —C.S. Lewis, “Bulverism” in C.S. Lewis Essay Collection & Other Short Pieces (HarperCollins Publishers, 2000), p. 587
“If all the world were Christian, it might not matter if all the world were uneducated. But, as it is, a cultural life will exist outside the Church whether it exists inside or not. To be ignorant and simple now—not to be able to meet the enemies on their own ground—would be to throw down our weapons, and to betray our uneducated brethren who have, under God, no defence but us against the intellectual attacks of the heathen. Good philosophy must exist, if for no other reason, because bad philosophy needs to be answered. The cool intellect must work not only against cool intellect on the other side, but against the muddy heathen mysticisms which deny intellect altogether. Most of all, perhaps, we need intimate knowledge of the past. Not that the past has any magic about it, but because we cannot study the future, and yet need something to set against the present, to remind us that the basic assumptions have been quite different in different periods and that much which seems certain to the uneducated is merely temporary fashion. A man who has lived in many places is not likely to be deceived by the local errors of his native village: the scholar has lived in many times and is therefore in some degree immune from the great cataract of nonsense that pours from the press and the microphone of his own age.” ——C.S. Lewis, “Learning in War Time” in C.S. Lewis Essay Collection & Other Short Pieces (HarperCollins Publishers, 2000), p. 584
Length: 225 pp
Author: Peter Kreeft
There are a lot of The Gospel According to (fill in the blank with latest hip movie) titles out there. Corny seems too cheesy a word to describe my reaction to such titles. Gag reflex. Not interested. Sure, Star Wars has spiritual themes, and there is a worldview behind The Matrix, but I sense that such books labor hard to put something there that isn’t. Like trying to turn a Slim Jim into a steak. Sure, technically it’s meat, but I’m not paying $14.95 for it. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I need to expand my palate, but I’m almost certain most such titles are junk food of the worst kind, something like Crystal Pepsi.
Peter Kreeft’s The Philosophy of Tolkien is nothing like my guesstimation of the aforementioned titles. Here are some reasons why. First, Kreeft is a legit philosopher. I’d venture he reads a lot more books than he watches popular movies. It’s the difference between a hobbit trying to make magic, and a wizard. Second, he is dealing with good material. He has a real fillet in front of him, not a meat snack. Kreeft isn’t dealing with a film, but a book—a big book. Arguably the greatest work of fiction. Kreeft, as the subtitle says, is looking for “The Worldview behind The Lord of the Rings.” We bring our worldview to everything we do. What we do likewise reveals our worldview. With books, fiction especially, worldview can be powerfully and persuasively communicated. The Lord of the Rings was a massive undertaking and therefore communicates Tolkein’s worldview, a good one in my opinion, in a very potent, concentrated way. Further, Kreeft legitimately brings out, rather than puts in. Concerning Tolkein’s trilogy he does exegesis, not eisegesis. An added bonus is that The Philosophy of Tolkein also serves as a good introduction to philosophy. Finally, this steak is seasoned with Kreeft’s clear and enjoyable style. Tolkein is fun to read. This is too.
[I]t is no surprise that in a culture in which philosophers scorn wisdom, moralists scorn morality, preachers are the world’s greatest hypocrites, sociologists are the only people in the world who do not know what a good society is, psychologists have the most mixed-up psyches, professional artists are the only ones in the world who actually hate beauty, and liturgists are to religion what Dr. Von Helsing is to Dracula—it is no surprise that in this culture the literary critics are the last people to know a good book when they see one.
Beauty is the bloom on the rose of goodness and truth, the child conceived by their union; and thus it is not only good, but heavenly.
The weakness of evil is that it cannot conquer weakness. No matter how much power evil has, it is always defeated by the free, loving renunciation of power. It can be defeated in Middle-earth as it was on Calvary: by martyrdom. Scripture’s image of the last battle between good and evil is a battle between two mythical beasts: Arnion, the meek little Lamb, and Therion, the terrible dragon beast. And the Lamb overcomes the Beast by a secret weapon: His own blood.
Evil is limited to power; it cannot use weakness. It is limited to pride; it cannot use humility. It is limited to inflicting suffering and death; it cannot use suffering and death. It is limited to selfishness; it cannot use selflessness. But good can.
It takes selflessness to give birth, whether biologically or artistically. You let yourself be used as a birth canal, or as an instrument of divine inspiration. Evil cannot create, or give birth. For ‘nothing is evil in the beginning’ (LOTR, p. 261). ‘Trolls are only counterfeits, made by the Enemy in the Great Darkness, in mockery of Ents, as Orcs were of Elves’ (LOTR, p. 474) ‘The Shadow that bred them can only mock, it cannot make’ (LOTR, p. 893).