Escape vs. Escapism

Escape vs. Escapism

The essay below was first published on the main part of the website and is now in the site archives, where it's titled "A Few Thoughts on Escape." I've left it "as is," partly as an example of how I tend to address Tolkien's work when writing for a general audience, and that's also why I've placed it right after "Seeing the Light"; although some regular visitors to the site are Christian, the website isn't specifically for Christians, so all kinds of people read the essays. Following JRRT's example, I don't always inject an explicitly Christian message (although I do when it naturally fits in, especially when sharing something about myself). There are readers who would quickly go somewhere else if, for instance, I said "Tolkien's Christian [or Catholic] faith," instead of "the truth that lies beneath [the story]." If the essay leads them to keep their eyes open for that "something deeper," or, even better, leads them to wonder, "Am I a prisoner? Of what?" it's done an important bit of pre-evangelization. If this allows the Holy Spirit to get her foot in the door, I trust that I or someone else will be there when the person's ready for some more specific conversation. Whether or not he consciously meant it to be, Tolkien's writing is so marvelously subversive in talking about faith that I believe it's important to avoid ruining his hard work by making it explicit too quickly. From my own (admittedly extremely limited) experience, people who come to Christ through Tolkien's work tend to be people who need some time to understand things gradually through images and stories - perhaps moreso than people who become Christian by a more direct route. Tolkien is a patient, gentle teacher. The Catholic mindset is helpful in this, because it sees our relationship with God as an ongoing process that constantly deepens and grows. A seed that's planted in someone's heart today will break out into the sunlight in the Holy Spirit's time, very possibly helped along by something or someone else in the person's life. The person God used to originally plant the seed may very well never know the result.

Christian site visitors can easily start their reflection from the Christian viewpoint and go from there. They might relate to Tolkien's argument that fantasy's role is not to take us away from reality but deeper into it, more than they do to the idea of the escape of a prisoner. But, as is obvious from the final paragraph, Catholicism would say that even believers can find themselves gradually recaptured by "the surface elements of life" and need a reminder of "what lies beneath them" in order to find the courage to break the chains we've allowed to take hold of us. (Or, from an even more specifically Catholic perspective, to break the chains we didn't realize were holding us back until we'd been released from the more obvious ones.)

But the fact that this essay is an example of that kind of pre-evangelization isn't the only reason it's in this collection. One of the misconceptions I've run across in evangelical Christian interpretations of Tolkien is that "escape" is equivalent to "escapism," which is not the way Tolkien saw things. He gives an explanation of the difference in his essay "On Fairy-stories," which should be required reading for everyone who reads his fiction (IMHO). The essay on this page addresses the same topic, but not as fully or as well.

Okay, here's the essay (with a couple of partial sentences added because I've gotten some new insights since the original was published):

If you're about my age or a bit older, you might remember Melanie from "Candles in the Rain," especially if you were around any peace demonstrations. If you're a little younger, you might know "I've Got a Brand New Pair of Rollerskates." Somewhere during that time, she wrote and recorded, "Look What They've Done to My Song," which I think just about anyone who's poured heart and soul into a creative work and then put it out for public display can identify with. When the song starts running through my head, the verse my mind lands on the most is:

Wish I could find a good book

to live in.

Wish I could find a good book.

If I could find a real good book,

I'd never have to come out and look

at what they've done to my song.

I don't know if it's a coincidence that Melanie and The Lord of the Rings hit home in America at about the same time. I have absolutely no evidence that she was thinking of LotR when she wrote that verse. In fact I'd be surprised if she was; after all, she does say that she wishes she could find a good book to live in.

The accusation of "escapism" leveled at fantasy was something Tolkien fought even before he'd written LotR. "On Fairy-stories" was originally written in 1938-1939, and added to and republished in 1947; its first publication happened about the same time he was beginning to write LotR (as he mentions in his Introduction to the essay in Tree and Leaf and The Tolkien Reader) and World War II was starting. At the time of its second publication, World War II was over but Tolkien was still years away from finishing LotR. I find two basic arguments about escape in that essay: that escape is not necessarily a bad thing (for example, to a prisoner), and that fantasy's role is not to take us away from reality but deeper into it. If you combine those two arguments, you might say that the purpose of fantasy is to free us from being imprisoned by the surface elements of life so that we can catch glimpses of what lies beneath them. Not all fantasy fulfills that purpose, certainly, but I believe Tolkien's does. Or maybe I should say that Tolkien's can; it's still up to the individual reader to allow that to happen.

To be honest, when I've found a "real good book," it can be more than tempting to stay in its world to avoid dealing with this one. As with any good thing, Tolkien's work can be misused, and his fantasy can be used for escapism instead of escape. Sometimes this is temporary and, especially for younger readers, even necessary; because of the sheer complexity of Tolkien's subcreation - to say nothing of the storyline and characters - some time exploring its surface may be needed before we start to be affected by the truth that lies beneath. And the two do go hand in hand. A new understanding of something that may seem to be an insignificant part of the story can lead to an "a-ha" moment regarding something deeper.

I also want to avoid the trap of saying that in order to use Tolkien's writing as escape (rather than escapism), a reader has to studiously mine below the surface or pull apart the rocks. I haven't been able to come up with a completely positive parallel for what I'm trying to say here, so this comparison is very limited, but I'd look at it somewhat like an underground deposit of uranium. Some people are likely to come along searching for uranium, discover the deposit, mine it and use it in power plants; they know what they're looking for, recognize it when they find it, and have a specific plan for putting it to use. But there are also likely to be people living above the deposit who never know it's there, but who are still affected by it. They know there's "something" that has affected them, and even realize that it's related to where they live, but they can't define it. They may or may not learn about it when other people start digging up the uranium or when they themselves begin using electricity from the new power plant. But that knowledge isn't necessary for them to experience the effects.

Tolkien, after all, was creating mythology and writing fantasy in which the deeper elements were absorbed into the story. Myth by definition involves areas of human existence that can't entirely be explained in words, any more than the people digging up the uranium can completely control its radiation (although they might like to think they can). As with any infinitely-knowable mystery, the shelves of books that have been written - and will be written - on Tolkien's subcreation can never say it all; a reader who doesn't consciously "interpret" what he or she is reading may be more deeply affected than anyone else.

Just after the release of the LotR/FotR movie, there was a beautifully simple thread on one discussion board titled, "Does this movie hurt your heart?" IIRC, the person who started the thread hadn't read the book, had been deeply affected by her encounter with Tolkien's world through the movie, and honestly wanted to know if anyone else had felt the same thing. She couldn't articulate the full effect the movie had had on her, but she knew it had touched her deeply enough to cause pain (the type of pain that, once experienced, you don't want to have taken away - a mystery in itself). During the several years since then, I've happened to run across a couple of other things this same person has written. She has, of course, now seen the other two movies and read the book, and has more of a conscious understanding of what it is in Tolkien's work that touches her. But it was that first profound, inarticulate encounter that began the process.

Painting by René Magritte; image available copyright free at pics.am.

Instead of trying to put it all into words myself, I've used a painting by René Magritte (right) that I think makes a similar statement. I suppose there could be various ways to "stack" the images in the painting, but I've always seen it as the dove opening a space that allows the further reality to shine through the bleak "real world" that otherwise obscures it (based on Magritte's other work, I believe this is the way he meant it to be looked at). In Tolkien's words, "I feel as if an ever darkening sky over our present world had been suddenly pierced, the clouds rolled back, and an almost forgotten sunlight had poured down again." For some reason, I regularly find myself back in the same old place I've escaped from before - I think it's about time for another prison break.