J.R.R. Tolkien and “Luxuriant Animism,” Part 1

J.R.R. Tolkien always had a way with words. Even as an undergraduate at Oxford, he had already developed a means of expression that was both clear and vibrant. In his essays on the Kalevala, for example, he exulted in the Kalevala's “luxuriant animism” (80, 119). In this essay, we will take a close look at this turn of phrase. We will explore exactly what Tolkien means by it, examine examples of it in the Kalevala, consider Tolkien's own use of it in The Story of Kullervo, and reflect on the value of “luxuriant animism” to Tolkien as a mythmaker.

Let's begin by examining the meaning of “luxuriant animism.” The word “luxuriant” is rather luxuriant in itself. It suggests a certain profusion, abundance, or richness, a density or fruitfulness that bountifully overflows (“Luxuriant”). What is so flourishing here? Animism. Animism, as commonly defined, is a belief that the natural world is somehow alive and infused with spirit, intentionality, and sentience (“Animism”). The phrase “luxuriant animism,” then, denotes an abundant life, an exuberant spirit, and even an intense consciousness in nature and in what we would normally think of as inanimate objects. Tolkien sums up “luxuriant animism” quite nicely when he says, “This means that in the Kalevala every stock and every stone, every tree, the birds, waves, hills, air, the tables, the swords, and even the beer have well-defined personalities, which it is often the quaint merit of these poems to bring out with singular skill and aptness in numerous speeches in part” (119).

Indeed, the Kalevala is filled with examples of such “luxuriant animism.” Tolkien himself cites one such instance that especially appeals to him. In Runo XX, ale is given a voice, and it calls for some worthy person to drink it and sing its praises lest it burst its barrel and trickle out among the dust (120). We cannot help but chuckle just a bit at this threat, as Tolkien must have done, but the idea of ale speaking also prods us to look at this drink in new and interesting ways.

The Kalevala's Kullervo sequence also exhibits “luxuriant animism.” When Ilmarinen's wife, not trusting Kullervo as a herdsman, seeks further protection for her cattle, she calls upon the trees and implores them to act as the animals' guardians: the willow to herd them, the alder to watch, the mountain ash to protect, and the cherry to lead them home (Runo XXXII). If the trees refuse this request, Ilmarinen's wife will turn to the nature spirits to care for her beasts, feed them, and enrich them with milk. She names and speaks to each of the spirits in turn as if she knows them personally; flatters them lavishly (as to Tellervo with with the words “Little daughter of of the forest / Clad in soft and beauteous garments / With thy yellow hair so lovely”); and presents her desires with confidence. She even appeals to Otso the bear, “O my darling / Handsome one, with paws of honey,” and coaxes him to make a deal with her and leave her precious cattle alone. Nature is very much alive to Ilmarinen's wife, and she interacts with it and with its governing spirits as though they were truly present, intelligent, and at her service.

Kullervo himself participates in the “luxuriant animism” of the tale. His closest companion is a knife, an heirloom inherited from the father he thinks is dead (Runo XXXIII), and when it shatters against the stone Ilmarinen's wife bakes into Kullervo's bread, he laments for it and vows revenge. He does not, however, know how to exact this revenge until a crow caws a suggestion from a nearby tree and tells him to feed the cattle to the wolves and bears and then magically change those wolves and bears into cattle and drive them home to devour Ilmarinen's wife. Kullervo, of course, takes the crow's advice. Nature has spoken, and he listens.

As we follow Kullervo and watch his story unfold, we see him meet with the mysterious Blue-robed Lady of the Forest, who seems to be some kind of nature spirit (Runo XXXIV). She informs him that his family is still alive, gives him detailed directions about how to find them, and essentially sets his life on a different course that ends up a path to disaster. At the end of Kullervo's tragic narrative, we see one more example of “luxuriant animism.” Kullervo, overcome by despair, asks his sword if it would be willing to kill him (Runo XXXVI). The sword understands and responds affirmatively. It is quite satisfied to kill the evil Kullervo who has made it drink up so much innocent blood.