The Marriage of the Living and the Dead (Or, A Reply to a Rant, and a Realization)

The Inklings (esp Tolkien and Lewis) did not see fantasy as an escape from reality, but as a way to get at Reality so that we can see reality better. Lucy and her siblings didn't stay in the wardrobe forever. They came back to war-torn England, and that is the point: not to stay in wonderland, but to come back from it and use what you learned there in the "real" world. Tolkien knew this incredibly well; that is what the whole "Scouring of the Shire" was about. What was the point of going through the salvation of Middle-earth if you can't even go back and save the Shire in the end? My final claim will always be that fantasy (insofar that it takes us to Reality) is more real than reality as it is given to us.

However (da da dum), I have come to a realization. I discovered (just yesterday) that, in regards to literary pursuits (and not necessarily spiritual or intellectual pursuits), I am not a student of Lewis (gasp!). I am, in fact, a student of Tolkien. Here is why:
Though the closest of friends, Tolkien and Lewis fundamentally disagreed on a philosophical level that influenced their fiction. Lewis was a firm Platonist. In his mind, there is the "real" world, and then there is the Real world, a transcend realm of abstract ideals by which the "real" world has its being (insofar as it "partakes" of the Real world, i.e., a tree's "treeness" is determined by how much it "partakes" in the ideal Tree of the Real). The Real world is the "magic," and the only way to get to that world is by a transportation (or, as Lewis put it, a "transposition") into it: so the kids had to go through a wardrobe (or a train station, or a picture, etc.) to get to Narnia; so Elwin Ransom has to go to another planet in the Space Trilogy. In order to get to the Real, one had to escape to the Real. As a Platonic Christian, Lewis saw the Real as God, and one must escape to Him in order to get to Him (and, conversely, bring Him back into this world, such as in That Hideous Strength). Though the "magic" (the Real) can be brought back to this world, it is fundamentally separate from the world.
That is where the two part. Tolkien was (in contrast to Lewis) a staunch Aristotelian. To him, all things are made up of two elements: the accident and the substance, i.e., the outward manifestation and the inner disposition. It is similar to Platonism in that there is a "real" and a Real, and the "real" has its being insofar as it partakes of the Real. The difference, however, is that, in Aristotelian thought, the Real is not separate from the "real." On the contrary, it is intimately a part of its being. Everything is substanced with the Real, although its outward manifestations may differ (all trees look different, but they are still all trees). Thus, in Middle-earth, everything is substanced with the music of the Valar. The "magic" is not a fantasy world you escape to; it is in the "real" world, in the now, in varying degrees (with evil being that which completely rejects it). It is not merely abstract; it is concrete as well. That is why in the LOTR (both the books and the movies) it all seems so real. You feel like you are reading/watching ancient history (or something you wished was history), not merely a fantasy. The "magic" is (and this is the amazing thing) not seen as magical. It is just there, simply a part of reality, all reality, including the good and the bad (for the music of the Valar knows both joy and sorrow, from the majestic trumps of Manwe, to the mournful horns of Ulmo; and all are beautiful because they are of the music). Tolkien did not like that Lewis made the Real, made the "magic," something separate that you had to escape to and bring back. In his mind, the Real/"magic" is (and forever has been) in the world and a part of the world right now, as real as any river or tree, bird or beast, man or woman.

I (as I discovered yesterday) hold to the latter. Reality is not something that is completely separate from us that we have to "get at" and bring back. It is with us right now, as we speak, in this very room; Immanuel, i.e., God is with us. The Fall marred the world's ability to present it, and muddled our vision to see it; but it is not totally silent, and we are not completely blind. We catch a glimpse of glory every once and a while, a stab of joy here and there. Christianity has always believed in the sacramental, that God is enmeshed with as well as independent from creation, that the finite can (and does) contain the infinite. As a Christian (esp. as a Christian writer), I believe this wholeheartedly.
And I find this exciting, because as a writer in love with the fantastic, I find myself struggling to tell my story so that it can find relevance and be taken seriously in a world dominated by Realism (which I do not despise like I used to, but that is another story). In a unexpected move, God pointed me to someone I had set on the back burner in my mind, i.e., Tolkien. Of course, the unexpected is typically God's modus operandi.
Perhaps an argument can be made that the Inklings "copped out," that they chose to attack modernity from the outside instead of engaging it from the inside (like Elliot or O'Connor). Perhaps you can say that about them all, except for Tolkien. I here proclaim that he (as best as I understand it) was a true paradox: he was a Fantastic Realist, i.e., his Aristotelian philosophy allowed him to create a realist fantasy! He found (or was found by) the secret to bridging fantasy and realism, to the marriage of the living and the dead: sacramental theology makes the "magic" real--not idealistic, not fluffy, not abstract, not disconnected, not contrived, not naive; but actual, dense, concrete, relevant, mysterious, and ancient. The key to making a realist fantasy is, not to escape to a magical world, but to live in one.