The Lie of Worthless Creativity
Sometimes I believe a lie that the artistic work I do is a waste of time. I have vivid memories walking alone through the streets wondering if I should throw in the towel. In my better moments, I believe the encouragements of my wife who says things like, “I believe you reflect God’s creativity when you create. And I believe he delights in what you do.” I’m grateful for my wife’s encouragement. Even if it’s hard for me to believe at times, I do think she is tapping into something deeply true. To add some theological flesh to my wife’s encouragements, I have found Tolkien’s theology of sub-creation helpful. His reflections help me combat the lie that my creative acts lack value.
Tolkien’s Idea of Sub-Creation
J.R.R. Tolkien, best known as the author of The Lord of the Rings, was not just a master storyteller—he was also a deep thinker about the nature of creativity itself. In his essay On Fairy-Stories, he introduces the idea of sub-creation, the concept that when humans create, they are living out a divine calling to mirror God’s creativity.
Tolkien believed that God is the ultimate Creator, bringing the Primary World into existence. Humans, made in God’s image, have a unique ability to create, but unlike God, we do not create ex nihilo (out of nothing). Instead, we engage in sub-creation, fashioning new things out of the materials, thoughts, and inspirations given to us. For Tolkien, this was not a trivial or secondary pursuit—it was a manifestation of the divine image God has placed upon us.
Sub-Creation in Music
Some may think that because Tolkien, in his essay’s context, was writing about fantasy literature, his ideas do not apply to other artistic disciplines like composing. But I believe this notion is misguided. In music, just as in storytelling, we create internally consistent worlds. A composer establishes a musical language—a set of themes, motifs, harmonic progressions—that make sense within the logic of the piece. Just as a well-crafted fantasy novel invites readers into another world, so too does music invite listeners into a sonic journey.
More importantly, music—like myth—has the power to tell stories, to evoke emotions, and to bring about a sense of wonder. Tolkien argued that myths convey truths in a way that direct discourse cannot, and I believe music functions similarly. A well-composed symphony, string quartet, or film score can express depths of meaning that words alone might fail to capture.
Combatting the Lie
So when I am tempted to believe the lie that my creative work is a waste, I return to Tolkien’s vision. When we create, we engage in an act of sub-creation, which is an echo of the divine act of creation. It is not merely a skill or an entertainment—it is part of the deeper, sacred work of shaping meaning and beauty in the world. Surely, then, it is not wasted effort. I find that truth encouragement enough to keep writing.