A Beautiful, Ordinary, Silly Thing

As I am preparing for my upcoming class through Kepler Education, “J.R.R. Tolkien: Master of Sub-Creation,” I just reread Tolkien’s brilliant short story “Leaf by Niggle.” If you have not read it yet, I highly recommend you stop reading my post right now and go pick it up. It is very short. In my version of The Tolkien Reader, it takes up approximately 20 pages of a mass-market paperback. It will not take you very long, but my post will make a whole lot more sense.

This story has been interpreted in different ways, and many have come to the conclusion that much of Niggle’s story is autobiographical. It is not hard to draw a connection from an incredibly detailed illustration of a tree that continues branching out to the rich historical tapestry that is Middle-earth. Also, as should be obvious to anyone who has read The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien loved nature and trees specifically, so it would make a great deal of sense for him to portray elements of himself in an artist painting a tree. It is also not hard to imagine a very busy professor and father constantly being interrupted from his art by the responsibilities of everyday life and getting a little bit annoyed about it.

For the purposes of this post, though, I want to focus in on one line that describes Niggle because it hit me, and I imagine it might hit you. In describing his artwork, it is written, “The Tree, at any rate, was curious. Quite unique in its way. So was Niggle, though he was also a very ordinary and rather silly little man.” As readers, we are confronted with a character who is somewhat odd but also somewhat like us. While we might be quick to write off Niggle as an obsessed painter who needs to get his priorities straight, when we really look in the mirror, we have our own quirks as well.

In that sense, Niggle is very ordinary. You might be obsessed with painting, but you also might be obsessed with baseball, auto repair, welding, hiking, or a wide variety of profitable pursuits. A lot of people might not understand why you get so excited about what you get excited about. In fact, in this story, the narrator admits, right before the quote I cited above, “I dare say it was not really a very good picture, though it may have had some good passages.” Oftentimes we praise obsession in experts because it produces masterpieces. We praise it by not labeling it with the loaded term “obsession,” but we might call it “passion” or “drive.” We praise the pursuit of greatness because we see the benefits of that pursuit in things that we enjoy as well. I enjoy watching really talented baseball players, so I benefit from their incredible levels of focus on their training. They become extraordinary.

That then brings us back to Niggle who is described as quite ordinary. He has a passion, which is good and human, but his passion appears to be less valuable because the outcome is not particularly amazing and others do not recognize it as a masterpiece. When his neighbor’s roof is leaking, the Inspector criticizes Niggle for not donating his painting to help tarp the roof. After all, preventing leaking is a good, practical purpose whereas you could argue that average art is not going to change the world. Niggle is understandably upset about this suggestion; the painting is important to him even if it is not important to anyone else. I love to play power soccer, and I would be upset if I was told that I could not play because I would never become the best player in the world. It doesn’t mean that I have any less passion for the sport, but I don’t necessarily have the “masterpiece” results to back up the passion. I am a very ordinary player.

If we fast-forward to the end of the story, we are confronted with a beautiful world that is named Niggle’s Country. His neighbor wonders why he could never see this beautiful world through the original painting, and he is told, “It was only a glimpse then … but you might have caught the glimpse, if you had ever thought it worth while to try.” Through the below average painting of a rather ordinary person, you could glimpse beauty. You might not be able to see everything, and the beauty might not be immediately evident. But the beauty is there, and it is there specifically because of Niggle’s human application of passion and whatever amount of talent he was blessed with.

In our increasingly specialized world where “the best” of anything is available at our fingertips, this story ought to remind us that we should not dismiss the ordinary efforts of ordinary people who apply their passion in the best way possible. We should not criticize passions that do not bring about masterful results. We should encourage people to develop those passions. You might not be the next Michelangelo, but that doesn’t mean that you cannot create something. And, even if what you create is far from a masterpiece, you have done something human, and embracing your God-given, creative humanity is a beautiful thing. A beautiful, ordinary, silly thing.