How Evil Undoes Itself: Eucatastrophe and the Power of Grace
Eucatastrophe, The Fall of Evil, and the Challenge of Grace
Recently, in a church small group, we discussed the word eucatastrophe—a term I was unfamiliar with until that day.
Coined by J.R.R. Tolkien in his 1939 essay On Fairy-Stories, eucatastrophe refers to a sudden turn of events that prevents the protagonist from meeting an otherwise inevitable doom. It is not simply a deus ex machina; rather, it carries an inherent optimism about the unfolding of events in the world. Tolkien, a devout Catholic, saw this theme as deeply connected to the Christian story, calling the Incarnation the eucatastrophe of human history and the Resurrection the eucatastrophe of the Incarnation.1
One of the best-known literary examples occurs in The Lord of the Rings when Frodo, after succumbing to the corrupting power of the One Ring, is unexpectedly saved—not by his own strength or resolve, but by Gollum. The creature’s obsession leads him to steal back the Ring and inadvertently destroy it, along with himself. Frodo’s earlier act of mercy in sparing Gollum’s life—despite Sam’s insistence that he was beyond redemption—proves to be the key to victory. Evil, in its overwhelming desire to consume, ultimately consumes itself.
The Political Parallel: When Evil Collapses Under Its Own Weight
As I reflected on this concept, I couldn’t help but consider its implications beyond literature. Since Donald Trump’s re-election, I’ve had a persistent suspicion that, in the end, it may be Republicans themselves who ultimately remove him from power—not out of moral conviction, but because they will grow so weary of his dysfunction, incompetence, and bitterness that they will push him out to save themselves (and perhaps, by extension, the country).
At first glance, this seems unlikely. Yet, eucatastrophe reminds me that injustice and corruption often collapse under their own weight. Just as the Ring’s insatiable evil led to its own destruction, so too can a movement driven by vengeance and grievance eventually become unsustainable. Take, for example, the mounting consequences of Trump’s recent trade policies—retaliatory tariffs from Canada and Mexico threaten to grind economic progress to a halt. At what point does the accumulation of reckless decisions cause the entire structure to implode?
Could it be that even the most destructive impulses—when allowed to play out—eventually undo themselves? And could unexpected good emerge from such collapse?
The Challenge of Mercy and Grace
This also brings me back to Frodo’s mercy toward Gollum. That small, seemingly naive act of kindness turned out to be the very thing that led to the defeat of Sauron. Which makes me wonder: what could be the modern equivalent?
Michelle Obama’s famous mantra—"When they go low, we go high"—feels like a distant relic. Even President Obama himself has taken sharp rhetorical shots at Trump, and today, much of the left seems to desire not just Trump’s defeat but the complete humiliation and suffering of those who ever supported him.
I understand the impulse. Many might say that Trump voters deserve whatever consequences befall them. But I’m reminded of the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Going low when they go low will not bring healing and reconciliation; it will only perpetuate the current status. Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.
But even more, this love, this kindness, is unearned, in Christian theology, it is called grace. This Christian concept of grace—God’s unmerited favor, is not something we achieve, but something freely given. When we limit this aspect of God’s salvation, we inherently presume that we have somehow earned God’s favor (perhaps through our actions or attitudes) and therefore these others—specifically Trump voters—must somehow earn our favor as well to be deserving of kindness and grace.
This is at the heart of many atonement theories, particularly substitutionary atonement and Christus Victor, which emphasize that Christ’s sacrifice was for those who did not deserve it. The scandal of grace is that it is extended even to those who seem least worthy in human eyes.
What If Frodo Had Killed Gollum?
But what if Frodo had indeed killed Gollum as Sam suggested? Would the Ring have ultimately been destroyed? Would they have failed in their journey? Certainly, the idea behind eucatastrophe is that evil will ultimately fail, but how much longer might Sauron's armies have devastated Middle-earth? How much more would they have suffered under the weight of evil, injustice, and oppression?
Likewise, in our world, injustice and corruption may be doomed to collapse under their own weight, but the choices we make along the way determine how much suffering must be endured before that collapse. Choosing to withhold kindness, to embrace retaliation instead of mercy, only extends the reign of oppression. If grace is withheld in the name of justice, then cycles of harm persist, prolonging the suffering of those already oppressed. Frodo’s mercy did not only ensure the Ring’s destruction—it also shortened the era of darkness. What injustices in our own time might persist longer than necessary because we fail to extend grace where it is needed most?
Perhaps this is why eucatastrophe resonates so deeply with the Christian understanding of salvation. If Tolkien is right in calling the Incarnation the eucatastrophe of human history and the Resurrection the eucatastrophe of the Incarnation, then grace itself is the great and unexpected turning of the story—the moment where, despite all seeming failure, redemption breaks through. The cross, in this light, is the moment when evil believes it has triumphed, only to find itself undone by the very act it sought to use for destruction.
This is why Grace is so Scandalous
This is what makes grace so difficult for us to embrace in practice. We want it for ourselves but struggle to extend it to others, especially those we see as agents of harm or injustice. And yet, grace remains grace precisely because it is not contingent on worthiness. If God’s grace was earned, it would cease to be grace at all.
This leaves us with a challenge: Can we trust that even those we oppose—even those who have embraced falsehood, corruption, or power-seeking—are not beyond redemption? And if we do trust that, how do we live in a way that reflects this belief? Could an act of mercy, a refusal to dehumanize, or even the willingness to extend an undeserved kindness become part of a eucatastrophe we cannot yet see?
I should add that this explanation comes straight from the Wikipedia entry for the word, which is what was shared in the church group, so for simplicity, I’m just going use it here.