Bard the Bowman and the human race: sources and comparisons

Mythmoot II: Back Again

Proceedings of the 2nd Mythgard Institute Mythmoot Conference Center at the Maritime Institute, Linthicum, Maryland

December 13-15, 2013

Bard the Bowman and the human race: sources and comparisons

Isaac Juan Tomas

Abstract:

J.R.R. Tolkien has established a series of well delineated and enduring human heroes: Aragorn,

Tuor, Húrin,Túrin, etc. Although their stories are full of sorrow and suffering, they are rarely

rewarded with victory after so many works and deeds. But may it be small and short victory or

complete defeat, their stories seem to be linked by a recognizable thread that seems to

be originated by their belonging to the human race. Thus, it is possible to note several common

characteristics present in them all that could be attributed to race, such as charisma over Elves

and Men, a predisposition to sacrifice that tends to envision the survival of the self as non

important, and an apparent difficulty to make the right decisions, just to say some of them. These

are also present in the “grim-voiced” and “grim-faced” Bard the Bowman.

This paper will focus first in finding out how these major characteristics of Men are depicted in

Bard. Contrast and comparison with other Men heroes will help to shape their presence in The

Hobbit through Bard. Once the comparison is defined, the paper will try to find out why Bard

and the rest of Men heroes seem to possess these similar characteristics and if they can be

attributed without discussion to race.

Finally, there will be an exploration of the sources that have inspired Tolkien to depict these

humans heroes so similarly from two opposed points of view: internal sources found in the

Legendarium that concern specifically the origins of Men and their relationship to the Shadow;

and external sources which can be found in the literature of the North, especially those found in

Icelandic Sagas, such as Egill Skallagrimsson by Snorri Sturluson.

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Tomas—“Bard”

Mythmoot II (2013) 2

ISAAC JUAN TOMAS is an MA student at the Mythgard Institute. He was born in Barcelona,

Spain, but currently lives in Paris, France. Several years ago completed an MA in Teaching

Spanish as a Foreign Language. Afterwards, he taught Linguistics at the University Autonoma

of Barcelona for three years. Following that experience, he fulfilled a dream by going to

Iceland and teaching Spanish there for four years at the University of Iceland. He currently

teaches Spanish courses at Signum University. His passion has always been Tolkien and

therefore he enrolled at the Mythgard Institute, which has given him the opportunity to

share his love for Tolkien and Fantasy with other fellow students and scholars. The Children

of Húrin is his preferred Tolkien book, after reading it in 2008, and it constitutes, along with

Morgoth’s actions against Men, the topics he likes to spend his time working on.

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Mythmoot II: Back Again Proceedings of the 2nd Mythgard Institute Mythmoot

Conference Center at the Maritime Institute, Linthicum, Maryland December 13-15, 2013

King Arthur Was an Elf!

An Imaginary, Composite, Inklings Arthuriad

Sørina Higgins

The recent publication of The Fall of Arthur, an unfinished poem by J.R.R. Tolkien,

revealed a startling, previously-unknown aspect of Tolkien’s legendarium. The key is found in

notes Tolkien left about how he intended the fragmentary Fall of Arthur to continue.

Christopher Tolkien includes the following details in his editorial matter about how the story

could have connected up to the larger Legendarium.

First, Gawain's ship was perhaps going to be named Wingelot (The Fall of Arthur 129,

158); Wingelot or Vingilot is the name of Earendel's ship in The Silmarillion (304).

Second, in the final confrontation, Mordred would fatally wound Arthur, Arthur would

kill Mordred, and Arthur would be carried away to the West for healing. Lancelot, arriving too

late, would set sail into the West, searching for his king, never to return. Tolkien left notes

saying: “Lancelot gets a boat and sails west and never returns. Eärendel passage” (Fall of Arthur

136) and “Lancelot parts from Guinevere and sets sail for Benwick but turns west and follows

after Arthur. And never returns from the sea. Whether he found him in Avalon and will return

no one knows” (Fall of Arthur 137). In other words, Lancelot functions somewhat like

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Higgins—“King Arthur Was an Elf!”


Eärendel—the half-elven mariner who used the silmaril to sail into the Uttermost West and

reach the Undying Lands. Both Lancelot and Eärendel sail into the West, seeking a lost paradise.

(Silmarillion 309).

Third, at this same time, apparently, Tolkien wrote a fragment of a poem about

Eärendel's Quest, including these lines:

Eärendel goeth on eager quest to magic islands beyond the miles of the sea, past the hills of Avalon and the halls of the moon, the dragon's portals and the dark mountains of the Bay of Faery on the borders of the world. (Arthur 137-8)

And then another fragment about Arthur's grave:

No mound hath Arthur in mortal land under moon or sun who in ______ _____ beyond the miles of the sea and the magic islands beyond the halls of night upon Heaven's borders the dragon's portals and the dark mountains of the Bay of Avalon on the borders of the world. up[on] Earth's border in Avalon sleeping biding. (138)

These three comparisons—Gawain's ship to Earendel's, Lancelot to Eärendel, and Avalon to

Faërie and to Valinor—enable an imaginative reader to speculate that if Tolkien had finished

The Fall of Arthur, he could have woven it together with The Silmarillion so that his elvish

history mapped onto the legends of Arthur, forming the mythological and linguistic foundation

on which “real” English history and language were based. In addition, he could have

collaborated with C.S. Lewis and Charles Williams on their Arthurian legends, creating a

totalizing myth greater than any they wrote individually. Of course, Tolkien did not attempt

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any such unification with the writings of these friends, and would not have approved of this

idea: he once wrote in a letter that he “actively disliked [Williams’s] Arthurian-Byzantine

mythology, and still think that it spoiled the trilogy of C.S.L.” (Letters 349) And yet, all three of

them did write Arthurian works, and all three did meet to share in very collaborative ways, and

all three of them did share some fundamental beliefs about the world. Therefore, I think it is

fruitful to compare the texts that do exist and see what can be gained from such a side-by-side

study.

This paper, then, briefly examines the implications of an imaginary, composite, Inklings

Arthuriad. In it, I compare a few points of the Arthurian geography and characters of The Fall

of Arthur, The Silmarillion, and The Lord of the Rings by Tolkien with two books by C.S.

Lewis—Perelandra and That Hideous Strength—and two by Charles Williams—Taliessin

Through Logres and The Region of the Summer Stars.

There are several other Arthurian works by the Inklings that ought to be examined, and

many other directions this examination could go, so that is why I am editing an academic

volume entitled The Inklings and King Arthur. This book will study all the Arthurian works of

the Inklings, as well as influential ones by their predecessors and contemporaries, in great

detail. You can read more about this project here.

For now, we will look at one particular element of the main Arthurian works by these

three primarily Inklings: their mythological geographies, or the maps they devised for these

tales, along with some of the implications of these topographies and their spatial and cultural

orientation.

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I. Tolkien's Mythological Geography

The development of Tolkien’s Middle-earth geography is covered in depth in The

History of Middle-earth, especially Volume Four, The Shaping of Middle-earth, and Volume

Nine, Sauron Defeated. Here I only focus on a few key moments, to show how his ideas of the

planet and the political geography of his Legendarium developed and then (more importantly),

how these relate to his version of the King Arthur story.

First was the period of Tolkien's earliest Earendil poem, which he read aloud to the

Exeter College Essay Club on 27 November 1914 (Garth 52; Letters 8). At this time, his

mythological geography was only in its baby form. But then, 1915, Tolkien went to war. And

ever since he faced the Germans in battle, from that point on he located evil in the East and sent

his mariner seeking for a lost paradise in the West.

Second was the time when Tolkien thought of a flat earth before the fall of Númenor.

Also, “Qenya at this stage equates Germans with barbarity. Kalimban is 'Barbary', Germany'.”

(Garth 128). But then, in 1915, Tolkien began writing the Qenya lexicon and the poem

“Kortirion among the Trees.” In these works, “The home of the Valar is Valinor or ‘Asgard,’

which lies at the feet of lofty, snow-capped Taniqetil at the western rim of the flat earth” (Garth

126). Note again this Northern orientation in these early days. This also may be the stage of the

map from the Ambarkanta, showing the planet as a flat disk before the fall of Numenor (The

Shaping of Middle-earth, 236). This is all before Tolkien went to war.

The third phase was the time in which Tol Eressëa became associated with Avalon (for a

full history of the concept of Avallon, see Sauron Defeated). This seems to be a moment when

Tolkien considered going a different direction with the mythology: he seems to have been

pondering using the pre-existing Arthurian materials instead of writing his own elvish

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Legendarium. This may be the time Christopher wrote about: Tolkien's vision for his lifework as

“a massive and explicit linking of his own legends with those of many other places and times:

all concerned with the stories and the dreams of peoples who dwelt by the coasts of the great

Western Sea” (The Lost Road 98). This was going on especially when he was developing the

myth of Numenor (Atlantis) and (perhaps) The Fall of Arthur.

The fourth period was the time of Tolkien's “Atlantis-haunting.” Tolkien wrote in a letter

about moving from The Hobbit to The Lord of the Rings, and one element that came into it was:

What I might call my Atlantis-haunting. This legend or myth or dim memory of some ancient history has always troubled me. In sleep I had the dreadful dream of the ineluctable Wave, either coming out of the quiet sea, or coming in towering over the green islands....It always ends by surrender, and I awake gasping out of deep water....When C. S. Lewis and I tossed up, and he was to write on space-travel and I on time-travel, I began an abortive book of time-travel of which the end was to be the presence of my hero in the drowning of Atlantis. This was to be called Númenor, the Land in the West....so I brought all the stuff I had written on the originally unrelated legends of Númenor into relation with the main mythology. (Letters 347; cf. 213).

This is the time when the earth became round (The Shaping of Middle-earth, 246). Tolkien

wrote that “the whole 'legendarium' contains a transition from a flat world...to a globe” (Letters

197).

Finally, during the development of the Silmarillion, “The West” takes on its fullest

significance. What is that significance? Put simply, “the West is Heaven (or Paradise)” (Lobdell

50).

I have two resources to recommend to you on this topic of “The West” in Tolkien's

Legendarium: Jared Lobdell has provided a survey of references to “the West” in Lord of the

Rings in his chapter “In the Far Northwest of the Old World” in Harold Bloom's J.R.R. Tolkien's

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The Lord of the Rings, and Charles Huttar gave a talk on the deep spiritual significance of

Western Isles in his Scholar Guest of Honor address given at Mythcon XXXV, 31 July 2004,

entitled “'Deep Lies the Sea-Longing': Inklings of Home.” Huttar is rewriting this article to

include The Fall of Arthur, and this revision is meant to be included in my collection on The

Inklings and King Arthur. In it, Huttar points out that for Tolkien, “the western sea has an

ambiguous meaning, inviting but potentially sinister”; it engendered a sad and sweet longing in

those who would cross the sea to their true home, but leave this world and its loves behind. It is

a path and a barrier (Huttar).

Of course, the matter of the development of Tolkien's geography is far more complicated

than this neat list suggests, as Tolkien continued to try to revise it all his life, to sort out the

problems presented by Elvish knowledge vs. hobbit/human knowledge, to develop a frame-

narrative, etc. At a couple of points he even tried to create continuity by the use of time travel

and/or dreams.

Here are four basic points I think it is important to remember about Tolkien's Arthurian

geography. First, it is meant to be “real” history, or at least to fit into an historical period in

England's past. Second, it could be seen as a later phase in his great elvish pre-history; i.e., that

The Fall of Arthur, if finished, could have been another volume after The Silmarillion, The

Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings, in which an elf-friend hears the call of the sea and follows it

west. Third, Arthur and Lancelot sail West to an unknown paradise and are never seen again

(as do many heroes throughout the Inklings' Arthurian works). Fourth, that Tolkien abandoned

his Arthurian poem, did not finish it, and never returned to it—so I need to be careful not to

put too much emphasis on this piece, nor to analyze it as if it became a permanent part of the

total legendarium.

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II. Williams's Mythological Geography

You are probably familiar with the map that Charles Williams got artist Lynton Lamb to

draw up for publication in Taliessin Through Logres, a volume of Arthurian poetry published

in 1938. You may also know that Williams was fascinated by the “Matter of Britain”

throughout his entire life. Here is a brief summary of his Arthurian works:

The Arthurian Commonplace Book, probably from the 1910s and '20s, was a notebook

in which he jotted ideas related to his future Arthurian masterpiece.

Arthurian themes and imagery, and even some poems, appear throughout the Masques

of Amen House from the 1920s.

The poetry collection Heroes and Kings, 1930, contains several Arthurian poems,

including one in which he tried out a different symbolical system than the one he ended up

using in his later poetry.

War in Heaven, a novel published in 1930, is a story of a chase for the Holy Grail. It is

not strictly Arthurian, although three characters are facetiously associated with Perceval, Bors,

and Galahad.

Other Arthurian references are scattered throughout his other works, especially the

collections of poetry, as he worked his way towards a kind of totalizing mythology. Like

Tolkien, he never finished his. Indeed, it is much less complete than Tolkien's.

Let's talk a bit, then about the geographical element of Williams' Arthurian myth. As you

know, Williams spent at least ten years in A.E. Waite's occult secret society, the Fellowship of

the Rosy Cross [FRC]. There is even very scant evidence that he may have spent some time in a

more magical society, the actual Golden Dawn, or at least conversed with Yeats and absorbed

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some of that poet's more magical views.

In any case, in the FRC, he learned about how to layer systems of symbolism in order to

achieve maximum significance. Here Ellic Howe's description of the Golden Dawn is

applicable: he called it “an ingenious construction of arbitrary relationships between different

symbolical systems” (qtd. in Morrisson 32). Williams took several ideas from the FRC and

layered them together with ideas from other sources to create this map. He took the idea from

Astrology that the parts of the body can be associated with the various signs of the Zodiac. He

took the idea from Qabbalism that the parts of the body can be associated with particular

virtues. He took the idea from a book by A.E. Waite that Jerusalem is symbolically the womb,

the nurturing place of beginnings. He may have been influenced by Blake's symbolic states to

create the idea of Europe as an empire whose provinces, or “themes,” are associated with

particular virtues. He combined and layered these together so that each province = a body part

= a zodiacal sign = a virtue.

Let us glance at some of the body parts and their associated geopolitical entities. The

most important place for the cycle is England, or Logres, which is the head/brain of the

Imperial body. Caucasia, the buttocks, signifies natural pleasures. France is the breasts, because

there, at the newly formed seminaries, students could drink the pure milk of doctrine. Rome is

the hands, because there “the heart-breaking manual acts of the Pope” are performed as he

serves the elements of the Eucharist. Constantinople is the navel, stomach, or functional middle

of the Empire.

In Williams' mythologized history, there never was an East-West split of the church.

When Islamic invasions cut Constantinople off from the rest of Europe, the physical, spiritual,

and political unity of the Byzantine Empire was broken. Without England, the Empire became

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headless and brainless. This is exactly the image Williams uses for Hell: he created a country or

state, not on the map, called P’o-L’u, ruled by a headless Emperor. It is located somewhere off to

the East, near Java (for which Williams had both personal and political reasons).

But the other most important element of Williams' Arthurian geography is also not on

the map: it is Sarras, the land of the Trinity. It is an island located to the West of the British Isles.

It is towards Sarras that the three achievers of the Grail—Bors, Perceval, and Galahad—sail,

along with the dead body of Blanchefleur.

Williams's Sarras is taken more or less directly from two of his sources, the Vulgate

Queste del Saint Graal and Malory. There, Sarras is the place where the Hallows are when the

achievers arrive. The simplest way to think about Sarras is that it is another name for Heaven

(see Andriote 73). More specifically, Sarras is “island of the Trinity; also a city: ‘the divine city’;

‘beyond the seas of Broceliande’; everywhere by achievement and so not marked on the map”

(Barber “People and Places” 11). Its earliest mention by Williams may be in The Chapel of the

Thorn, an unpublished verse-drama. The MS is dated August 24th, 1912, in Williams's hand (p.

101). It is again used as a synonym for “Heaven” in Williams’ third book of poetry, Divorce

(Oxford University Press, 1920, pp. 10, 32). It occurs in the title poem, line 86, in a discussion

of his father’s blindness and impending “divorce” from this world. Williams writes:

O if in holier hours I meet Your happier head in Sarras’ street, When our blind years are done, What song remains shall run to pay Its duty, sir, from me that day, Your pupil and your son.

The third poem in that collection, “Ballade of a Country Day,” already shows the development

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of the myth in Williams’ mind: the refrain of that poem is “If Sarras be, if Sarras hold the Grail.”

“Celestial Cities” on pp. 30-31 of Divorce develops the idea of Sarras-in-London:

When our translated cities Are joyous and divine, And through the streets of London The streets of Sarras shine, When what is hid in London Doth then in Sarras show…

It occurs again in War in Heaven, p. 47, which I quoted above. According to Roma King:

C.W. no doubt borrowed the term from A. E. Waite’s The Hidden Church of the Holy Grail ([London: Rebman Limited, 1909]. 133, 289, 363, 364) in which it serves an important function. In Waite’s use, it is not another term for heaven itself but is called a “spiritual place in sarras on the confines of Egypt, where the Graal, upon its outward journey, dwelt for a period, and whither, after generations and centuries, it also returned for a period. As this was not the point of its origin, so it was not that of its rest; it was a stage in the passage from Salem and a stage in the transit to heaven.

There the Grail quest was consummated; there Percival and Galahad were caught up into

heaven; and there their bodies were buried. From there Bors was returned to his earthly tasks.

Williams uses the term ambiguously, both as a place out of time (for Percival and Galahad) and

as the experience of the timeless within time (for Bors)” (King To Michal 271 [glossary

“Sarras”]). According to Charles Huttar, “in Williams Sarras has been taken out of this world

and can be reached only by supernatural means. It is across the western ocean...Williams

reshapes it into an inaccessible island of granite, located not only beyond the sea but 'beyond

the sun' (Region 15), also called 'the land of the Trinity' and 'the land of the perichoresis'.”

My main points here are that Williams's Sarras (1) is not on the map, (2) is an island, a

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place to sail to across the sea (3) lies to the West of England, and (4) is the goal of true spiritual

seekers. In these ways, it strongly resembles Tolkien's Tol Eressea/Valinor/Avalon/Atlantis

complex, with its Westering desire.

III. Lewis's Mythological Geography

How does C.S. Lewis, then, compare to his two primary Inklings associates on this

matter of Arthurian geography? According to Charles Huttar in “Deep Lies the Sea-Longing,”

Lewis shared his experience of Sehnsucht “with his friends J.R.R. Tolkien and Charles Williams,

and for them also it took the symbolic form of a fascination with the sea ('the sea-longing,' in

Tolkien's phrase) and unknown lands beyond it.”

Like Williams, “Lewis was a closet Arthurian from a very young age and remained one

throughout his literary career” (Tolhurst 140). He wrote an Arthurian poem as early as 1919,

which was rejected by Heinemann and subsequently lost (Joe Christopher has written an

interesting “Conjectural Essay” on the possible title and contents of this lost Arthurian poem).

In the 1930s, he wrote his fragment of a narrative poem called “Launcelot.” Then came

the coin-toss with Tolkien and the decision to write time-travel and space-travel stories, which

resulted in Tolkien's fragmentary The Lost Road and Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet and

Perelandra, followed by his infatuation with Charles Williams and his “Charles Williams novel

by C.S. Lewis,” That Hideous Strength (Green and Hooper 205, qtd. in Schwartz 92). I want to

argue that it is also his “J.R.R. Tolkien novel by C.S. Lewis,” and that in That Hideous Strength,

Lewis actually went some way towards the layering and combination of his friends' Arthurian

legends that I proposed in the beginning.

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It is almost as if, with his urge towards bringing his friends together, and because of the

collaborative atmosphere of the Inklings (see Diana Glyer's The Company They Keep on this

point), Lewis gathered together the threads of his friends' ideas and wove them into this novel.

Not that I am suggesting Lewis knew of Tolkien's Fall of Arthur; I have come across no evidence

one way or another. If you do, please tell me.

Now, That Hideous Strength is probably the most harshly criticized of all Lewis's mature

works. It is a bit of a gallimaufry. But Sanford Schwartz argues convincingly in C.S. Lewis on

the Final Frontier that this is due to Lewis's interactions with the scientific issues of his day and

to his use of genre: Schwartz claims that by reading Williams, Lewis learned how to baptize

and sanctify the Gothic genre in his own works, and that in That Hideous Strength, high

Arthurian romance competes with and eventually conquers the Gothic. This would mean that

we should look not only for Arthurian content in the Inklings' works, but for structures and

generic conventions of Arthurian chronicle or romance as shaping mechanisms in their works.

I want to talk about two startling elements of That Hideous Strength, ones that have

been severely critiqued. The first is the inclusion of the name “Numinor.” The second is the use

of Merlin and the Pendragon in what was supposed to be a non-Arthurian work of space-

travel and science-fiction.

I would like to suggest that, by including “Numinor” from Tolkien and

Merlin/Pendragon from Williams, Lewis was gesturing towards ways that their mythologies

could be unified. Lewis scholar Brenton Dickieson suggested a metaphor to me: That Hideous

Strength is a “Janus” book, facing both the Arthuriad and Middle-earth. The character,

significance, and power of his character Elwin Ransom suggests that the long elvish history,

including the foundering of Atlantis/Numenor, was the pre-history to the real history of

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England, and that Arthur is but one in a long line of kings descended from the Men of West,

just as Merlin is a remnant of the power of the Valar in the Undying Lands. Of course Ransom's

first name is “Elwin,” “which is a version of Ælfwine” (Carpenter 174) or Elf-Friend, and CSL's

Elwin is the Pendragon. This suggests that Elwin Ransom is descended from Arthur, who is turn

was part of a long line of Elf-Friends who were in communication with the Elves and through

them with the Valar and through them with Iluvatar Himself. If we add sea-going Lancelot and

Earendil to that story, we get a narrative that potentially stretches from the creation of the

world to at least the end of Tolkien's earthly life and could be projected out to the end of the

world. It is a narrative that focuses on a spiritual, rather than a political, history of England and

Europe, but that has implications for the external events at every stage of human history.

So that's a beautiful bit of imagination. But of course Lewis doesn't tell that story, nor

does he leave it there. He can't be that simple, can he? He has to go and integrate more myths,

other sources, entirely separate strains of European literature. He has to go and put his Avalon

out in space, on the planet Venus. That would seem to spoil my whole speculation. There goes

any connection with Tolkien's Avalon/Tol Eressea/Valinor and Williams' Sarras, right?

Well, maybe not. “Hesperus, of course, whose name in Greek also means the West, is the

evening star...and not a star but a planet, Venus. No great leap was required, then, for Lewis in

describing Venus or Perelandra to locate the golden apples there” (Huttar) and to put his apple-

laden land, Geoffrey of Monmouth's “Insula Pomorum,” his Avalon, on Venus. We learn at the

end of That Hideous Strength that Elwin Ransom is going to stay with Arthur on “Aphallin,” a

“distant island which the descendants of Tor and Tinidril will not find for a hundred centuries”

on Perelandra/Venus (That Hideous Strength 441; Huttar) For more than 30 years Lewis

followed his longing on the path towards what he called his “Avalon-Hesperides-Western

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business” (All My Road 31). Michael Ward in Planet Narnia has, of course, provided a deep and

profound examination of Lewis' use of Venus as a “Name for God,” an emblem of “Divine Love”

(166). Ward also examines Williams' use of Venus, “the third Heaven,” as a horizonless,

formless, energy for fertility and making. All of this Western imagery, discussion of Venus, and

introduction of apple-laden lands could bring us to an examination of The Magician's Nephew,

where a fruit tree stands in a Western garden and where “Aslan is Venus incarnate” (Ward

187), and Till We Have Faces, where Psyche longs to marry the god of the West Wind.

So what all of this apparently tangential material means is that Lewis does not destroy

that potential imaginative layering; he enriches and complicates it by adding the mythology of

Venus to other strands of the Arthurian legend. Does this mean, then, that the Inklings were

writing one big complex of Arthurian literature that could be piled up to create a figurative

palimpsest, a comparative mythological geography? Yes and no.

IV. Comparative Mythological Geography

In all three writers’ worlds, evil is in the East; this is not surprising in an England

threatened by Nazi Germany (and many other “eastern” invasions throughout its history). God’s

country is in the opposite direction, across the sea, connected with ancient legends about

Hesperus, the evening star, Venus, the light in the West, and magical islands out in the sea.

In all three writers' worlds, heroic characters achieve a great quest and leave this

earthly realm for a heavenly one, attaining a spiritual fulfillment that has both historical and

personal implications for England and for the individual Christian.

If Tolkien had finished The Fall of Arthur and if the Inklings had put all their Arthurian

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ideas together, they could have produced the kind of totalizing English mythology that Tolkien

attempted, but abandoned.

What would have happened had they been put together? Here are five suggestions,

especially areas of difference or contradiction.

First, there would be problems with astronomy and cosmology. Is the world round or

flat? Is Avalon on an island beyond Ireland, or on the planet Venus?

Second, what happened to Arthur? In Tolkien, he is on Avalon/Tol Earessea/or Valinor.

In Lewis, he is on Venus. In Williams, he is dead.

Third, all three have contemporary heirs of Arthur who are still alive in 20th-century

England. For Tolkien, Arthur’s heirs are either the kings of England or the elf-friends. For

Lewis, it is the line of the Pendragon: Ransom; then possibly Arthur Denniston (as a member of

the New York C.S. Lewis Society suggested to me); then Mark & Jane's child—always one

person to teach spiritual truth and keep Logres alive. Similarly, in Williams, there will always

be a “household” or members of something very much like an occult secret society to pass down

the truths about co-inherence. All three, then, are about a kind of secret tradition passed on.

Fourth, what about Merlin? There is no Merlin in Tolkien's Fall of Arthur; his role is

taken by Gandalf in Lord of the Rings. Would Gandalf have appeared in The Fall of Arthur if

Tolkien had continued working on it? If so, that works together beautifully with Lewis' and

Williams' versions, because Merlin is operative in Williams' poetry and then goes into

hibernation and is woken up again in Lewis'. The Gandalf/Merlin figure could have been a

point of consistency across the three historical eras: (1) the time of the elves, Valar, and Maiar;

(2) the time of Arthur (Roman/Saxon Britain); (3) 20th-century England.

Fifth, the importance of sacred objects. There is no Grail in Tolkien's story; he did not

17



like the Arthurian material because it was too Christian (Carpenter, qtd. in Lacon); there are

sacred spaces/places in his geography instead. There is no Grail in Lewis; the people are the

focus of the sacred energy (i.e., Merlin taking the Oyeresu into him, or Ransom serving a role

like High Priest, etc.). In Williams, the Grail is central. As he was planning his Arthurian poetry,

Williams wrote an essay on the history of the Eucharist, and his poem is “the great modern

Grail poem” of the 20th century (Dodds 1). This illustrates their spiritual differences: Tolkien

was a Roman Catholic who kept any explicit reference to Christianity out of his works, since

they are set in a pre-Christian (even, some works, a pre-human) world; Lewis was a “mere”

Anglican, wanting to teach plain doctrine; and Williams was an Anglican and an occult master

channeling spiritual, sexual, and creative energies for doctrinal purposes.

VII. Conclusions?

And yet, what is the point of this comparison? There is no composite Inklings Arthuriad.

Tolkien did not finish The Fall of Arthur. He stopped.

Why did he stop? “Tolkien had been interested in Arthurian literature since childhood”

(Hughes 125) and Carpenter records that the Arthurian legends “excited him” when he was a

boy (Carpenter 30), but:

during the nineteen-twenties and thirties Tolkien's imagination was running along two distinct courses that did not meet. On the one side were the stories composed for mere amusement, often specifically for the entertainment of his children. On the other were the grander themes, sometimes Arthurian or Celtic, but usually associated with his own legends. (Carpenter 174-5).

The difficulties of the larger Legendarium, especially the evolution of The Silmarillion and the

18



attempts to write The Lost Road, may have distracted him from finishing The Fall of Arthur (Fall

of Arthur 154).

And, of course, we cannot examine a work of literature that does not exist. From one

point of view, this entire talk today has been a waste of time: I have been presenting features of

a non-existent book. There is no Legend of King Arthur by Lewis, Tolkien, and Williams. From

another point of view, I hope it has not been a waste of time, because of course I have been

talking about texts that do exist: The Fall of Arthur, all of Tolkien's drafts and notebooks, Lewis's

“Launcelot” fragment, and all of their published works. A greater theoretical pitfall would be to

discuss authorial intentionality and focus solely on which texts represent their “final intention.”

We do not have that work. It was not written. But we do have those texts I have been discussing

today, and I hope I have shed some light on them. I also hope to examine these questions much

more closely and at more length in the forthcoming collection The Inklings and King Arthur.

19



Bibliography

Carpenter, Humphrey. The Inklings: C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, and their

friends. HarperCollins, 2006. Print.

—. J.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography. Boston: Houghton-Mifflin, 2000. Print.

Christopher, Joe. “C. S. Lewis's Lost Arthurian Poem: A Conjectural Essay.” In Inklings Forever

VIII: The 8th Francis White Ewbank Colloquium on C. S. Lewis & Friends, 2012. 1-11.

Dodds, David Llewellyn. Charles Williams: Arthurian Studies XXIV. Boydell & Brewer, 1991.

Print.

Drout, Michael. “A Mythology for Anglo-Saxon England.” J.R.R. Tolkien and the Invention of

Myth: A Reader. Jane Chance, ed. Lexington, KY: UP of Kentucky, 2004. 335-63. Print.

Fimi, Dimitra. Tolkien, Race and Cultural History: From Fairies to Hobbits. NY: Palgrave

Macmillan, 2009. Print.

Garth, John. Tolkien and the Great War: The Threshold of Middle-earth. Boston: Houghton-

Mifflin, 2003. Print.

Glyer, Diana. The Company They Keep: C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien as Writers in

Community. Kent, OH: Kent State UP, 2007. Print.

King, Roma. Glossary to To Michael from Serge: Letters from Charles Williams to his wife,

Florence, 1939-1945. Roma King, Jr., ed. Kent & London: The Kent State UP, 2002. Print.

Lcaon, Ruth. “On The Fall of Arthur: Pre-Publication Speculation By a Longtime Student.” 20

March 2013. Tolkien Library. Web. 15 May 2014.

Lewis, C.S. All My Road Before Me: The Diary of C. S. Lewis 1922-1927. Walter Hooper, ed. San

Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991. Print.

—. Narrative Poems. Walter Hooper, ed. San Diego: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1969. Print.

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—. Out of the Silent Planet. NY: Macmillan, 1977. Print.

—. Perelandra. NY: Macmillan, 1977. Print.

—. That Hideous Strength. NY: Macmillan, 1977. Print.

Lobdell, Jared. “In the Far Northwest of the Old World.” J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings.

Harold Bloom, ed. NY: InfoBase Publishing, 2008. 49-68. Print.

Lupack, Alan. Oxford Guide to Arthurian Literature and Legend. Oxford UP, 2007. Print.

Morrisson, Mark. Modern Alchemy: Occultism and the Emergence of Atomic Theory. Oxford

UP, 2007. Print.

Schwartz, Sanford.C.S. Lewis on the Final Frontier: Science and the Supernatural in the Space

Trilogy. Oxford UP, 2004. Print.

Shippey, T.A. J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2000. Print.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Fall of Arthur. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2013. Print.

—. The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien. Humphrey Carpenter, Ed. Houghton Mifflin, 2000. Print.

—. The Lost Road and Other Writings: Language and Legend Before 'The Lord of the Rings.'

The History of Middle-earth V. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. Boston: Houghton Mifflin,

1987. Print.

—. The Silmarillion. NY: Ballantine, 1977. Print.

Ward, Michael. Planet Narnia: The Seven Heavens in the Imagination of C.S. Lewis. Oxford UP,

2010. Print.

Williams, Charles. Arthurian Commonplace Book. Unpublished manuscript provided to the

author by David Llywellyn Dodds with permission of the Charles Williams Estate.

—. The Chapel of the Thorn. Unpublished manuscript transcribed by the author from CW /

MS-39 in the Marion E. Wade Center. Publication forthcoming from The Apocryphile

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Press.

—. Divorce. Oxford UP, 1920. Reprinted by the University of Michigan Library. Print.

—. Heroes and Kings. Berkeley, CA: The Apocryphile Press, 2013. Print.

—. War in Heaven. A Charles Williams Reader. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000. Print.

Williams, Charles and C. S. Lewis. Taliessin Through Logres, The Region of the Summer Stars,

Arthurian Torso. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974. Print.

SØRINA HIGGINS is a writer, English teacher, and Inklings scholar. She is the editor of a

forthcoming volume entitled The Inklings and King Arthur, and is editing Charles Williams's

play The Chapel of the Thorn for Apocryphile Press. Sørina has published one full-length

collection of poetry, Caduceus, and one poetry chapbook, The Significance of Swans. Sørina

and her husband live in Pennsylvania, in a home they built themselves. Please check out her

blog about Charles Williams, The Oddest Inkling.

22



“Now that I see him, I do pity him”: Gollum’s Literary and Cinematic Development(s)

Thomas Johnson The Catholic University of America

Abstract:

Peter Jackson's 2002 film adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Two Towers (1954) has

gathered a great deal of attention from both academic and fan communities for its portrayal of

the character of Gollum. Though the detailed rendering of the character through motion

capture technology has been generally praised, scholars like David Bratman and Kristin

Thompson disagree as to whether Jackson's Gollum is reflective of Tolkien's vision for the

character. What these discussions often ignore, however, is that Tolkien's conception of Gollum

changed significantly as he wrote and revised The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, resulting in

a more ethically compromised character than initially introduced to the reading public. In

Jackson's Towers, various elements of "mise-en-scène" (Hutcheon 55) have the effect of

accentuating Gollum's humanity and pitiable qualities, and of highlighting the character's

virtues without softening his malevolent qualities. Motivated by considerations both creative

and commercial, Jackson and his collaborators make a number of changes and expansions in

adapting their source material that, explained in the terms of adaption theory, grant greater

"access to" Gollum's "consciousness" (qtd in Hutcheon 55) than the narrator of LOTR allows.

Jackson maintains this proximity by capitalizing on Gollum's status as a victim of physical abuse

at the hands of others, and of self-inflicted psychological abuse. Using a theoretical framework

derived from scholarly works of adaptation studies, like Linda Hutcheon's A Theory of

Adaptation (2nd ed. 2013), this presentation examined how Jackson's cinematic depiction of

Gollum both expands on Tolkien's characterization while simultaneously reemphasizing the

admirable aspects of the character present in the first edition of The Hobbit.

THOMAS JOHNSON is a second-year Masters student at the Catholic University of America; he recently studied Tolkien's legendarium at George Mason University under medieval and fantasy literature scholar Dr. Amelia Rutledge. His research interests include fantasy and science-fiction literature, film and television studies, and Victorian literature. In 2013, he presented his paper "Poor Unfortunate Souls: The Corporate Transformation of The Little Mermaid" at the national conference of the Popular Culture Association.

23



The Law of the Rings: Re-evaluating Politics in J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle-earth

Dominic J. Nardi, Jr.

Abstract:

Political scientists have often struggled with the depiction of politics in Middle-earth. The

heroes fight to restore monarchy and seem skeptical of modern political values, such as equality

and democracy. Some political scientists allege that Tolkien’s legendarium demonstrates a

“naïve” faith in enlightened despotism. In this paper, I reevaluate politics in Middle-earth in

light of recent political science research and find that the two are surprisingly compatible.

First, I argue that constraints on political rulers and their tolerance for sharing power are

more important to understanding Middle-earth politics than the dichotomy between democracy

and monarchy. Unlike modern democracies, however, constraints in Middle-earth are seldom

institutionalized. Indeed, the legendarium hints at skepticism towards institutionalization.

Rather, constraints stem from rulers’ relationships with their constituents and subjects.

Another important political fault line in Middle-earth is how each ruler views political

power. The totalitarian Sauron views political power as indivisible in that the prospect of sharing

power is anathema. By contrast, Men and the Elves view power as divisible and realize that

sharing power sometimes strengthens their political standing.

Finally, I use political science to discuss how political constraints might have developed

in each of the major Middle-earth realms. Political scientists stress that citizens who are able to

flee from oppressive governments are better able to impose their demands on the ruler and

push for constraints on governance. I show that Middle-earth complies with this theory in that

more “democratic” realms, such as the Shire, allow citizens to easily flee or hide, whereas

Mordor allows for few exit options.

DOMINIC J. NARDI, JR. is a PhD student in the University of Michigan Political Science

Department. He is interested in judicial politics in developing countries, particularly in

Myanmar, Indonesia, and the Philippines. He has published articles about judicial politics in

Southeast Asia in academic journals and magazine editorials. In addition, he has worked as

a consultant with legal organizations in Indonesia and the Philippines, including the Asia

Foundation. On the side, Dominic has an interest in the way that politics is depicted in

speculative fiction, including Tolkien's legendarium. 24



Frodo and Faramir: Mirrors of Chivalry

Constance G.J. Wagner

Abstract:

In discussion of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, much is often made of Frodo’s knightly

qualities as Ringbearer (and so burdened by the Quest) and also those displayed by Faramir,

second son of Denethor, Ruling Steward of Gondor. In my paper Frodo and Faramir: Mirrors of

Chivalry, I take that observation to a deeper level by illustrating the chivalric qualities of both

characters as required of a knight of the realm according to Geoffroi de Charny, a knight of

France during the Hundred Years’ War. A Knight’s Own Book of Chivalry, a handbook for

working warriors written by Charny for France’s Company of the Star, reveals what every good

knight must know and do. This paper shows how both Frodo and Faramir reflect that, becoming

in essence “mirrors of chivalry” – and kindred souls. My defense is illustrated with examples

drawn from both the epic novel and the celebrated films, in addition to citing Charny’s

guidebook for chivalric behavior as framework for the discussion.

The full-text of this paper is available in Silver Leaves, Issue 5: “The Hobbit” (2013): 52-

55. For more information: http://olorispublishing.mymiddleearth.com/bookshop/silver-leaves-

journal/silver-leaves-issue-5/ .

CONSTANCE G.J. WAGNER, a freelance writer, poet, and Tolkien scholar, is the Director of the Writing Program at Saint Peter's University in Jersey City, New Jersey. Her creative copy has been found on the back of many an historical romance for Harlequin Books. Plus, she has been a reporter and theatre critic for various New Jersey newspapers. She regularly presents papers of literary criticism on the question of sacrifice and heroism in The Lord of the Rings, speaking at conferences throughout the USA and Europe (most recently in England and Iceland). Ms. Wagner is also a regular speaker about all things Tolkien at such fan events as DragonCon, LunaCon, and A Long Expected Party. In 2012, she was a special presenter at Return of the Ring, a major international event sponsored by the UK’s Tolkien Society. Her life-long absorption in works of myth and fantasy is reflected in her current projects of passion, which include The War Within: Frodo as Sacrificial Hero, a book-length analysis of the Ringbearer’s true role; and Winter’s Bride, and Other Songs of Faerie, an illustrated chapbook of lyric poetry inspired by fantasy imagery. Both these works are scheduled for release by Oloris Publishing in 2015.

25

http://olorispublishing.mymiddleearth.com/bookshop/silver-leaves-journal/silver-leaves-issue-5/

http://olorispublishing.mymiddleearth.com/bookshop/silver-leaves-journal/silver-leaves-issue-5/




The Proverbs of Middle-earth

David Rowe

Abstract:

In 2014, Oloris Publishing will be releasing David Rowe’s The Proverbs of Middle-earth. David’s

Mythmoot presentation was a 15-minute preview of the book, including:

● An introduction to proverbs as part of oral tradition, and their role as vessels of

transmission and embodiments of worldview.

● The unique status of Tolkien within English literature as a creator of 'fictional proverbs'.

● Tolkien’s use of proverbs to elucidate the nature of, and contrasts between, the various

wisdom traditions of Middle-earth.

● A case-study on a proverbial exchange between Elrond and Gimli on the nature of vows,

showing how each of their wisdom traditions had led them to different conclusions, and

had been embodied in proverbs.

For more information on David and The Proverbs of Middle-earth, follow him on Twitter

@TolkienProverbs, or see:

http://olorispublishing.mymiddleearth.com/2013/04/11/announcing-david-rowes-the-

proverbs-of-middle-earth/#

Having been a missionary (in Zimbabwe and New Zealand), a farmer (in France and

Virginia), a teacher (in England), and a political speechwriter (in Scotland), DAVID ROWE

turned thirty and decided to stop messing around and do something of IMPORTANCE. The

result is The Proverbs of Middle-earth, a philosophical anthropology of Tolkien's peoples, as

seen through the lens of their wisdom traditions. It is scheduled to be published by Oloris in

2014. In addition to writing, David is a church musician, an inveterate tea-drinker, and a

connoisseur of good grammar. He is married to Maria and lives in Charleston, SC.

26

http://olorispublishing.mymiddleearth.com/2013/04/11/announcing-david-rowes-the-proverbs-of-middle-earth/

http://olorispublishing.mymiddleearth.com/2013/04/11/announcing-david-rowes-the-proverbs-of-middle-earth/



Masks of Moloch:

Demands of Sacrifice in Speculative Fiction and Film

Curtis A. Weyant

Abstract:

Before Milton, Moloch was known in Western culture primarily as an Semitic deity who

demanded the immolation of children. Milton’s characterization of Moloch in Paradise Lost as a

demon who advocates outright war against Heaven shifted the pre-Enlightenment view of

Moloch by infusing him with a modern metaphorical meaning tied to warfare that previously did

not exist. Over time, references to Moloch as a military motivator grew, especially in the

nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when massively destructive wars with high death tolls

took place across the world. This era also saw the rise and refinement of modern speculative

fiction. Since the late nineteenth century, a variety of writers (e.g., Alexandr Kuprin, Karel

Čapek and Aldous Huxley) and directors/producers of visual media (e.g., Fritz Lang, Joss

Whedon) have used variations of Moloch in both his classical sacrificial aspect and his Miltonian

militaristic attitude, sometimes in combination, to comment on the complexities of contemporary

social developments, in particular industrialization and large-scale warfare. This paper looks at

Moloch's various incarnations in speculative works over the past century and a half and argues

that the persistence of such references align with the growth of institutional power, particularly

as applied to government and industry.

CURTIS A. WEYANT is a communications and marketing professional in Syracuse, NY, and a student at the Mythgard Institute. In addition to appearing in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency and The Binnacle, Curtis posts musings and creative pieces at CurtisWeyant.com and co-hosts the weekly Kat & Curt’s TV Re-View podcast. The best night’s sleep he ever had was on a bench outside the train station in Venice.

27




Early Modern English Inflectional Morphology:

Not Just Another Pretty Spreadsheet

Sparrow F. Alden

“Escape is one of the main functions of fairy-stories….Escape is evidently as a rule very

practical, and may even be heroic.” Tolkien praises fantasy as an escape from poverty,

oppression, and particularly the pressures of modern urban culture (On Faerie Stories 79).

Archaism brings escape from modernity, comfort in those time-honored things which comprise

the tale. Tolkien creates a diffuse mood of archaism throughout his legendarium with older

language. Tom Shippey (2013) points out that Tolkien’s actual vocabulary is not obsolete, it’s

the style, the syntax and morphology, which does the trick. His diction and style can easily be

glossed by us Present English-speaking readers: forms old enough to have fallen out of every

day use, but familiar enough for us to lose ourselves in the long-ago of the story, not in the

confusion created by incomprehension.

Old English Middle English Modern English

500-1066 1066-1500 1500-present

680 - Caedmon’s Hymn 1066 - Battle of Hastings

1450 - Gutenberg’s printing press

1500-1700 - Early Modern English

28

Alden—“Early Modern English Inflectional Morphology”


There are no hard dates for when one language ends and another begins in its place, of

course. Language change is a constant, continuous, and dynamic process, so these dates are

guidelines. The change from “mostly Middle English” to “mostly Modern English” moved with

geography and the social classes of speakers. We’re going to take from about 1500 to 1700 as

Early Modern English.

Early Modern English follows just after the death of Mallory - it is the language of

Spenser, Shakespeare, and the King James Bible translators. Every modern reader of English is

familiar with the cadences, vocabulary, and structures of these writers, and these sounds

evoke an archaic tone for modern readers. It’s the sweet spot of both old-timey and

recognizable which Tolkien used to create his archaic mood.

Early Modern English can be marked by syntax - the way that words go together. For

example, during this time the Object-Subject-Verb sentence form was used more than in

any other phase of English: “But the Palantir the king will keep” (The Return of the King

282).

(“Ainulindalë,” The Silmarillion 17, emphasis Alden).

It’s even easier to spot Early Modern English by Morphology - the changes in words

which change their functions. English - in all centuries - is an inflected language. Changed word

forms which indicate changes in word function are inflectional morphology.

29



Many of these inflectional forms have changed or dropped out of use since Early

Modern English, such as been, eyen, hosen, and housen. Since it is an affix which usually

changes, Present English readers still recognize and gloss the root words, use a few context

cues to recognize the old plural forms of bee, eye, hose, and house and the Early Modern

English forms simply add archaic flavor.

We say, "I knit" but "She knits", and that terminal “s” on knits indicates a change in the

function of the word; in this case, knit has changed to having a third person singular subject.

In Early Modern English - and before - that inflection of the singular verb was even more

obvious, I knit, thou knittest, she knitteth.

30



Notice what happened with that pronoun? In Early Modern English, the second person

personal pronoun declined thus.

Ye - the plural subject - dropped out of use after 1600, so it is a clear marker for Early

Modern - or earlier - English.

The singular forms were also used less and less throughout the Early Modern English

years. By 1700 those singulars were used for animals and children; only Quakers used thou,

thee, thy in their former manner.

Throughout the Ainulindalë, Tolkien does not deviate from the forms in this table.

In the Quenta Silmarillion, the Elves use these forms almost all the time, the noble Men

use them less, and the common Men not at all.

Great - we found a pattern - we’ve spotted the Early Modern English forms which

create archaic mood, and we discovered how Tolkien used them to define classes and races of

characters. Can we search these patterns even more deeply?

In the “Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth” (Morgoth’s Ring 301-366) Finrod, High King of

the Noldor, and Andreth, a noble woman famous for her wisdom, discuss philosophy and

cosmology; almost the entire thing is dialogue. Of course they use these Early Modern English

forms of the second person pronoun.

31



Beyond race and class, in this story Tolkien uses these forms even more subtly. Finrod’s

manner of addressing Andreth changes over the course of the story, indicating a change in

Finrod's intentions and feelings toward Andreth.

In note 5, on the “Athrabeth,” Christopher Tolkien writes: “The typist of C replaced the

first ye by you; my father let this stand, but corrected the original occurrence of you to ye. On

the opening page of the typescript he noted that ye is used for the plural only, and that you

represents the Elvish pronoun of polite address,” while thou, thee “represent the familiar (or

affectionate) pronoun” (Morgoth’s Ring 326). This distinction is not always maintained in the

manuscript; but in a number of cases you, where ye might be expected, may be intended, and I

have only corrected the forms where error seems certain.” I clarify - you as a subject

represents the singular Elvish pronoun of polite address. Ye is always the plural.

Tolkien continues to explain his father's usage of thou, thee, thy as well as the unusual

use of it in another note:

The sentence 'But say not thou to me, for so he once did!' was an addition to the manuscript; Finrod has begun to address Andreth as thou from shortly before this point. But from here to the end of the text the usage is very confused, inconsistent in the manuscript and with inconsistent emendation to the typescript (both thou to you, and you to thou); it seems that my father was in two minds as to which forms Finrod should employ, and I have left the text as it stands (328).

32



I’m absolutely intrigued. I believe that rather than being "in two minds,” Tolkien was

absolutely clear on which form he wished to use, and moved between you and thou, thee with

great deliberation.

So, of course, I made a spreadsheet… I make jokes about my spreadsheets - but really

they’re simply a tool for finding patterns in the text:

There are 28 uses of the intimate singular thou, thee, thy, and thine; none of these

are in question.

There are 36 uses of the subjective case of the plural ye, all clear

The subjective case of the formal singular you is used 70 times. I assume that the

possessive and objective cases of you and ye are identical and therefore

ambiguous since there is no reference to them, so I have not used them for my

analysis. Forty nine times, you unambiguously indicates the subject form of the

singular second person formal pronoun.

You is used six times in a manner which seems to be in error. Logic dictates that ye was

intended in five of these; they are probably errors between Tolkien’s hand and the typist’s

automatic use of you which Christopher Tolkien noted.

YOU is used five times when it is unclear whether the subject should be Andreth

individually or the whole race of Men. Let’s take these as singular will take them as accurate.

But remember that sixth time which looked like an error? Consideration of the text and

subtleties of Quenya indicates that the last one is actually proper:

"And not long are the years since you first met and your hands touched in

this darkness" (323).

Finrod is speaking of Andreth and her sweetheart Aegnor. I expect to read "since ye first

met.”

33



However, Quenya does have a dual number (Renk), used for two persons as distinct

froma plural, and of course these characters were speaking in Quenya - the published work is

merely a translation into Modern English. The editor gives us no indication of how Tolkien

translated his dual pronouns in English. I posit that you in this line is proper, distinguishing the

dual from ye, which everywhere else has referred to the entire race of Men.

34



35



We have remaining the section near the end, of which Christopher Tolkien writes “… it

seems that my father was in two minds as to which forms Finrod should employ” (328). Crazy

like a fox.

Finrod begins to address Andreth with thou, thee, thy only after Andreth cries out and

weeps: "'Is there no bridge but mere words?' And then she wept again" (323). Andreth now

grieves this separation by war and mortality from her beloved, and Finrod responds tenderly.

Of course he uses the familiar, intimate forms of address thou, thee in trying to comfort her,

his "beloved adaneth."

From Andreth's outburst to the end of the work, Finrod uses an intimate, personal, and

caring tone, characterized by the use of thou, thee, thy. His use is perfectly clear and

unambiguous, enhanced by the matching Early Modern English verb form. 'Yet then thou wert

a maiden, brave and eager...'

After her outburst and weeping, Finrod does revert and call Andreth you - the singular

formal - ten times.

"If I could speak any comfort, you would deem it lordly from one on my side of the

sundering doom" (323). Since he is trying not to sound lordly, Finrod uses the formal register,

lest he be misinterpreted as speaking down to Andreth. He has acknowledged that her

bitterness colors everything she has said and understood in the conversation so far, and he is

speaking carefully.

Finrod even uses both you and thou in a single paragraph.

36



Even here, Finrod's word-choice is absolutely deliberate. "So you feel now. But do you

think of him?" (325). These words gently rebuke Andreth; Finrod chooses to use you to create

distance between Andreth and his words, to keep her from feeling them too bitterly. Then he

speaks on his brother's behalf, making his brother's case as a loving husband. Finrod's choice to

return to thee closes that distance-just-created, as though he were physically leaning forward

to take her hand and speak to her grieving heart.

Near the end of their conversation, Finrod clearly pulls back again to the formal register.

His speech indicates that he is frustrated with his inability to convince Andreth of the

truth of his words. He is respectfully withdrawing from the field of debate lest it become

quarrelsome or more hurtful.

At the end of the “Athrabeth,” Finrod closes with a blessing. He repeats you three times

speaking directly to Andreth, and the entirely appropriate formal register marks his words as

benediction.

37



Tolkien doesn’t tell us what the characters are feeling, that’s an amateur’s move. He

didn’t show us anything other than tears once and a held hand once. Could these complexities

of relationship be encoded in the grammar for us readers to understand on the visceral level?

So, I did an experiment. I gave those last few pages to two readers who are not actors. I

gave them no stage directions except this:

• When Finrod says THOU, THEE, he was to lean in and create intimacy

• When he said YOU, he was to create distance and respect

Let’s see how they did…

(video not available at this time)

In the “Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth,” Tolkien uses thou and you to indicate the dynamic

relationship between Finrod and Andreth. Finrod uses the different inflections to connote the

balance of his caring for and respect for Andreth as she negotiates her complex emotions.

Tolkien’s linguistic subtlety pulls our heartstrings without saying one extra word - by embedding

the deeper message of the “Athrabeth”—the eternal connectedness and sundering divide

between Humans and Elves - in his grammar.

38



WORKS CITED Renk, Thorsten. “Quenya Pronominal System—a summary.” Parma Tyelpelassiva - The Book of

Silver Leaves. Web. http://www.phy.duke.edu/~trenk/elvish/quenya_pronouns.html .

Shippey, T. S., “Language and History in Early Britain”. Philology Through Tolkien. Mythgard

Institute. 1 Oct. 2013 Lecture.

Tolkien, J. R. R. "Ainulindalë." The Silmarillion, 2nd ed. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. Boston:

Houghton Mifflin Company, 2001. Print.

—. "Book 6: The Return of the King." The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. New York: Random

House, 2012. Print.

—. "On Faerie Stories." The Tolkien Reader. New York: Ballantine Books, 1966. Print. Tolkien, J. R. R., and Christopher Tolkien. “Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.” Morgoth's Ring: The

Later Silmarillion, Part 1, the Legends of Aman. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1993: 301-

366). Print.

SPARROW F. ALDEN is a credentialed religious educator designing and implementing

educational programs for adults, youth, children, and families with a strong bent toward

earth spirituality. She used to be a statistician, so naturally the Mythgard Institute brings out

her inner Word Counter. She participates regularly in National Novel Writing Month, wrote

a monograph about interfaith families, and has published a knitting pattern in honor of the

Oxford Comma. In the Eowyn Challenge, she has walked to Mount Doom. Sparrow is co-

owner/builder of a straw bale home in the New Hampshire woods and dearly hopes that her

children will make it into space.

39

http://www.phy.duke.edu/~trenk/elvish/quenya_pronouns.html




Essential Dragons Beyond Tolkien’s Middle-earth

Sara Legard

In his lecture and essay, “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics,” J.R.R.Tolkien states

that, in early northern European literature, “real dragons, essential both to the machinery and the

ideas of a poem or tale, are actually rare” (12). He could name two: Sigurd‟s Fáfnir and

Beowulf‟s dragon. In Tolkien‟s Middle-earth legendarium dragons are also present and rare,

with perhaps only two, Glaurung and Smaug, having essential roles. Where Tolkien expanded

the population of dragons in literature is in his extra-Middle-earth writings. But not all dragon

references are essential. For instance, the “Errantry” poem states, “His bow was made of

dragon-horn,” showing that dragons are present in the world of this poem (line 53, Treason 92).

Also “Mythopoeia” includes, “and sowed the seed of dragons, 'twas our right” (line 68). These

indications of dragon, both physical trace and legendary kernel, are passing mentions within

these poems. But certain of Tolkien‟s creative works outside the Middle-earth legendarium do

have essential dragons: “The Hoard” poem, Farmer Giles of Ham, “The Dragon‟s Visit” poem,

and Roverandom. Also outside the legendarium, Tolkien delivered lectures and academic essays

that featured the use and effect of dragons in literature. This paper distills three lectures that

40

Legard—“Essential Dragons Beyond Middle-earth”


Tolkien gave on dragons and uses their tenets to examine the dragons in Tolkien‟s prose and

poetry beyond Middle-earth.

Tolkien Lectures with Dragon Topics

In the mid 1930s, Tolkien presented three lectures that focused on or made significant

mention of dragons in northern European stories. Each of the talks touched on specific themes

that a dragon may bring to a work of literature. The first of these, “Beowulf: The Monsters and

the Critics” was read to the British Academy in November 1936 (B:M&C, 1). It had an

enormous impact on Beowulf scholarship by shifting focus from regarding the Old English

heroic poem as a linguistic and historic artifact towards viewing Beowulf as a work of legitimate

poetic art and story. A fundamental aspect of the lecture is its focus on the hero Beowulf‟s

encounters with the monsters: Grendel and the dragon. Tolkien emphasizes that these creatures

“still remain in Beowulf, mortal denizens of the material world, in it and of it” (20). The Beowulf

poet describes the dragon waking, slithering and sniffing along stone walls (lines 2287-88, p.

186-187), vividly indicating to Tolkien that “this dragon is real worm, with a bestial life and

thought of his own” (B:M&C, 17).i At the same time the dragon symbolizes certain concepts,

the poet carefully maintaining a balance between the reality of the monster and its symbolism.

In particular, the dragon is “a personification of malice, greed, destruction…, and of the

undiscriminating cruelty of fortune” (17).

A year later, Tolkien spoke in a lecture series for children at the Oxford University

Museum of Natural History (Letters, 27, 435). The New Year‟s Day 1938 lecture subject was

“Dragons” and, although the lecture was not published, Tolkien‟s notes for it are preserved in his

manuscript folios and have been summarized in several works.ii In this less formal setting

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speaking to children, Tolkien discoursed on various types of dragons, how they act, where to find

them, and what is to be done with them. He noted that “It was the function of dragons to tax the

skill of heroes, and still more to tax other things, especially courage…. Armies cannot overcome

them.… Dragons can only be defeated by brave men – usually alone. Sometimes a faithful friend

may help, but it is rare.” (emphasis in Tolkien Ms., Rateliff, HTH, 541).

In a third lecture, the following year, Tolkien presented his Andrew Lang Lecture “On

Fairy-stories” to an academic and public audience at St. Andrews University in March 1939.

The ideas were developed further into an essay published in 1947, and both presentations note

Tolkien‟s strong affinity for dragons. He famously stated, “The dragon had the trade-mark „Of

Faërie’ written plain upon him….I desired dragons with a profound desire.” (B:M&C, 135).

In this paper then, we will explore how Tolkien‟s essential dragons in “The Hoard,”

Farmer Giles of Ham, “The Dragon‟s Visit,” and Roverandom meet these five criteria that

Tolkien specifically presented as associated with dragons in northern European tales:

Dragon as a mortal denizen of the material world, its physical presence established;

Dragon as a personification of malice, destruction, and cruel Fortuna;

Dragon as a personification of greed and miserliness;

Dragon in single-combat, testing a hero‟s courage; and

Dragon as indicator of Faërie, magic, or a desirable Other-world place.

Tolkien‟s essential dragons may also exhibit characteristics and textual echoes of the early

Northern dragon stories that he knew so well. The similarities and differences as characters, and

the literal and symbolic roles that dragons play in these tales set outside Middle-earth, might be

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crystallized using the formula of Tolkien‟s own tenets that he set for dragons in his 1936-1939

lectures.

“The Hoard”

Tolkien initially published “The Hoard” poem as “Iúmonna Gold Galdre Bewunden,” in

1923 in a Leeds University poetry journal.iii

The original Old English name of this poem is taken

from line 3052 of Beowulf, meaning “the gold of the ancients wrapped in a spell” (Chittering

233, Shippey R&B 342). “The Hoard” is a five-stanza poem set in ancient and dark-age times,

telling the story of a pile of treasure initially fashioned by “Elves of old” whose race then waned.

The treasure was taken over successively by a dwarf, a dragon, and a warrior who died in his old

age leaving the hoard locked underground and lost.iv

Connections to the Beowulf poem‟s final, tragic, dragon section are apparent in “The

Hoard,” not only in its original name, but in the central dragon. Like Beowulf‟s dragon, the

Hoard dragon sleeps and wakes and sniffs his cave and his gold, giving detail to a manifest,

animal life. As a personification of malice and greed, both the Beowulf and Hoard dragons

guard a considerable underground treasure and know every scrap of it, ready to murder to

achieve the hoard, then crush and kill any thief to protect it. Turning to the fourth of Tolkien‟s

dragon criteria, “The Hoard” dragon is challenged in single combat by a courageous warrior –

again paralleling the Beowulf legend – and the dragon is defeated. The Faërie-magic criterion for

the Hoard dragon is more of a stretch, as “The Hoard” poem is tragic in mood and does not have

a stirring eucatastrophe. Including the Elves as the first holders and makers of the treasure, the

poem recounts how each holder of the hoard wanes and fades, while only the cold treasure

underground endures. But there is arguably a strong sense of Faërie throughout this poem, the

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mournful, yearning strain of Faërie. The Elves work strong spells and song into the fair treasure

they make. A dwarf, dragon, and sword-wielding warrior are certainly the stuff of fairy-story.

The Hoard dragon, then, in versions spanning forty years, displays the five qualities Tolkien

seeks in a literary dragon.

Farmer Giles of Ham

Farmer Giles of Ham likely originated as a story told to the Tolkien children in the late

1920s (Croft, 197). Tolkien mentions Farmer Giles in his Letters in July 1938 saying, “I rewrote

that to about 50% longer, last January, and read it to the Lovelace Society in lieu of a paper „on‟

fairy stories…. the audience… generally convulsed with mirth. But I am afraid that means it has

taken on a rather more adult and satiric flavor.”(39) (Note that „last January‟ 1938 would have

been just after the Dragon lecture for children.) Allen & Unwin published the story as a slim

volume in 1949.v The story is indeed comically satiric, filled with philological puns and send-

ups of stock medieval characters like millers and parsons and dandified knights.vi

While of a markedly different tone than “The Hoard,” Farmer Giles and its dragon

Chrysophylax can be measured handily against Tolkien‟s criteria for an effective literary dragon.

Chrysophylax is a mortal denizen of the material, medieval world of this story; Giles and his dog

Garm encounter the dragon “lying half across a broken hedge with his horrible head in the

middle of the road” (153). Clearly a flying, fire-breathing, village-burning, parson-consuming

dragon, Chrysophylax is also a talking dragon and wily materialist who bargains with Giles and

the townspeople of Ham. Where he may be weaker as a literary dragon is in the personification

of malice, destruction, and greed. He lies and breaks his word with the townspeople, but is not

strictly malicious; he burns farms and nearby villages, but does not destroy all. Chrysophylax is

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greedy for his treasure, but quickly relinquishes (most of) it when his life and limb are threatened

(unlike the Beowulf dragon, Hoard dragon, or even Smaug). When the king‟s knights run away

at Chrysophylax‟ initial, fire-breathing defense of his lair, Giles is left alone with his trusty grey

mare and magic sword. Farmer Giles is reluctantly courageous as he faces the dragon in single

combat – thus meeting that criterion. The Faërie Other-world in Farmer Giles of Ham is quite

present in the story, but perhaps in a separate place from the village of Ham and environs, (even

though the story claims that the village dogs speak - in short words that sound like barks). In the

words of Tom Shippey, “it seems to me that the other world there is the world of fantasy from

which the giant and the dragons come,” that is, the Western mountain borders of Celtic Wales

(R&B, 325). The five dragon factors are all present here, but the emphasis in Farmer Giles is on

more lighthearted aspects of the dragon criteria.

“The Dragon’s Visit”

This ten-stanza poem, about a dragon‟s brief stay in a 20th

-century seaside town, was

written in the „20s and published in 1937 in the Oxford Magazine along with the other “Tales

and Songs of Bimble Bay.”vii

It is a delicate balance of lighthearted scenes, a longing for the

archaic, and violent action. Phrases and scenes in the poem allude to particular Sigurd and Fáfnir

details and echo of the final Beowulf scene.viii

“The Dragon‟s Visit” shares many of the tenets that Tolkien laid out for dragons. The

physical details of the dragon – his color, simmer, speech, and song –establish him well as a

mortal denizen present in the world. His personification of chaos and destruction develops later

in the poem, but it is not a wanton destruction or random Fortuna. The green dragon is goaded to

draconian retribution only after his offers of beauty and song are ignominiously rejected by the

45



Bimble folk. The other dragonish aspect of greed for treasure is not pursued at all in this

creative work, but the Faërie Other-world aspect of the dragon-character is strongly drawn. The

glamorous dragon visiting from over the sea contrasts strikingly with the pedestrian philistines of

Bimble. The single combat element of most dragon tales was missing from the original poem,

but Tolkien adds that aspect when he changes the ending of the poem in the 1960s. Old Miss

Biggins survives the razing of the town and answers the dragon‟s challenge that “None of them

now have the wit to admire / … / Nor the nerve with steel to meet his fire” She meets the

challenge with both admiration of him and a stab to the heart. It is interesting to see that Tolkien

alters the poem much later, after his dragon-related lectures in the late 1930s, and particularly

adds the missing dragon criterion of single-combat.

Roverandom

During the Tolkien family summer holidays in 1925, they rented a house on the

Yorkshire coast where second son Michael lost a cherished toy dog (Roverandom Intro ix-xi).

Tolkien told the episodic tale of the little dog Roverandom to provide a comforting story of the

adventures of that lost toy, and later he wrote it out.ix

Set in the 20th century like “The Dragon‟s

Visit,” Roverandom is unusual in Tolkien‟s writing in that it includes more than one dragon

“essential both to the machinery and the ideas of the tale”: the Great White Dragon of the Moon

and the ancient Sea-serpent.x

How do these two essential dragons meet Tolkien‟s criteria for dragons? The White

Dragon is described in some detail as “white with green eyes, and leaking green fire at every

joint, and snorting black smoke… had wings, like the sails that ships had” (34). His verbal

threats to kill the little dogs and the actual chase of Roverandom across the moon, singeing him

46



with green fire, further demonstrate a real physical presence within the story and also suggest a

personification of malice and destruction. The White Dragon is given a backstory of a trip to the

world where he “fought the Red Dragon of Caerdragon in Merlin‟s time,” but returned “titanic

and so enormously bad” to the moon in “a time when dragons‟ tails were esteemed a great

delicacy by the Saxon Kings” – possibly a reference to the Farmer Giles story (33). But in this

children‟s tale, the White Dragon does not kill anyone and is himself campily beaten back by the

firework rockets of the wizard Man-in-the-Moon. The Sea-serpent, who comes in during a later

episode, is also described physically, at least the green tip of his tail seen by Roverandom and

mighty voice thundering “Stop this NONSENSE!” (79) His actions stamp him as a form of the

great Midgard Serpent Jӧrmungandr, with his size, potentially apocalyptic effect, and efforts to

bite his own tail. This story does not include single-combat of a hero against either dragon.

Roverandom is technically the protagonist, but he is a puppy and no epic hero. The dragons are

managed, just barely, by wizards‟ spells, not single combat. These dragons seem too ancient and

elemental to be challenged by a warrior with a sword. Rather than Faërie, these dragons suggest

forces of nature, the mythic expanse of moon and sea, even though the story is mostly played for

laughs with the escapades of a little dog. The Roverandom dragons stray into fundamental

“nature myths” thus losing personality and interest, as Tolkien posited in the “On Fairy-stories”

essay (B:M&C Essays, 123). Other elements of Roverandom (especially the children‟s dream-

world on the other side of the moon) do seem to conjure the Other-world of Faërie, but not its

dragons. Perhaps the fact that Romerandom‟s dragons fall short on several key criteria is part of

the reason Tolkien did not pursue revision and publication of this story in his lifetime, beyond an

initial draft sent to Allen & Unwin in 1936.

* * * * *

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Tolkien initially drafted each of these four works with essential dragons in the 1920s,

prior to delivering his lectures, “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics,” “On Dragons,” and “On

Fairy-stories” in the later 1930s. The criteria of dragon-lore drawn from those talks apply in

virtually every one of these published works outside of his Middle-earth legendarium, although

the tales themselves, and the dragons in them, are markedly different. Two stories are set in the

far past, and their dragons diametrically different: the tragic dragon of “The Hoard” and the

comic Chrysophylax of Farmer Giles of Ham. But for each long-ago dragon, Tolkien provides:

1) strong detail of its animal existence, 2) a personification of malice and destruction,

3) personification of greed, 4) the encounter with a hero in single-combat, and 5) the

enhancement of the Faërie element through the presence of that dragon. The two dragon tales

with a 20th-century setting include plenty of physical detail and actions for these recent dragons,

with massive fire-breathing destructiveness. But “The Dragon‟s Visit” and Roverandom do not

present dragons that have inherent greed for treasure in their nature – treasure does not feature in

the stories. (I blame 20th century paper money as incompatible with dragons.) The modern-tale

dragons also do not necessarily face a hero in single-combat, but the one 20th-century tale that

Tolkien revised after his 1930s lectures, “The Dragon‟s Visit,” did get that aspect added to the

poem. The Faërie element may be strongest with “The Dragon‟s Visit,” in part because of its

contrast of the modern town with the longed-for Other-world of dragons. The story that seemed

to miss the most dragon elements is the one story not revised at all after those three lectures, and

not published by Tolkien himself. In Roverandom, the dragons exhibit more the characteristics

of nature myth than Faërie. Tolkien never pursued publication of that story, possibly in part due

to the difficulties in solving the deficiencies of the dragons, by his own stated criteria. A poorly

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drawn dragon might just ruin a fantasy tale. Sticking with Tolkien‟s criteria for an essential

dragon, though, can elevate a story.

Works Cited:

Atherton, Mark. There and Back Again: J.R.R.Tolkien and the Origins of the Hobbit. New York:

I.B. Tauris, 2012. Print.

Beowulf, A Dual-Language Edition. Tr. Howell D. Chickering, Jr. New York: Random House,

1977. Print.

Byrne, Dierdre. “Dragons: Ancient Creatures in Modern Times.” Inaugural Lecture, University

of South Africa, Mar. 3, 2011. Web, accessed 7/26/2013.

Carpenter, Humphrey. J.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977. Print.

Croft, Janet Brennan. “Farmer Giles of Ham,” in J.R.R.Tolkien Encyclopedia: Scholarship and

Critical Assessment. Ed. Michael D.C. Drout. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis,

2007. Web, accessed 7/27/2013.

Rateliff, John D. The History of The Hobbit. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2007. Print.

---. “Review of Tales Before Narnia: The Roots of Modern Fantasy and Science Fiction”.

Mythlore 107/108, Fall/Winter 2009. Mythopoeic Society website, accessed 7/28/2013

Shippey, Tom. J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2007. Print.

---. Roots and Branches: Selected Papers on Tolkien. Ed. Thomas Honegger. Walking Tree

Publishers, 2007. Print

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Annotated Hobbit. Rev, annot by Douglas A. Anderson. Boston: Houghton


---. The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. Boston: Houghton Mifflin,

2009. Print.

---. Letters from Father Christmas. Rev. edition. Ed. Baillie Tolkien. Boston: Houghton


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---. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed. Humphrey Carpenter. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1981.

Print.

---. The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays. Ed by Christopher Tolkien. London:

HarperCollins, 1983. Print.

---. “Mythopoeia.” Ver. circa 1931. (Class handout for “The Making of Myth: C.S. Lewis and

J.R.R. Tolkien,” Mythgard Institute, February 2012).

---. Roverandom. Ed. Christina Scull and Wayne G. Hammond. New York: Houghton Mifflin,

1998. Print.

---. The Tolkien Reader. New York: Ballantine Books, 1966. Print.

---. The Treason of Isengard: The History of Middle-earth, Volume VII. Ed. Christopher Tolkien.

Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989. Print.

Notes

i Atherton, in There and Back Again: J.R.R.Tolkien and the Origins of the Hobbit, presents

C.S. Lewis’ discussion in An Experiment in Criticism regarding “the useful and perceptive

distinction between realism of content and realism of presentation….it is certainly possible

in a work of the imagination for the content to be unrealistic, for instance a fantasy about

dragons, but nevertheless for it to present the dragon in a realistic manner so that the

creature comes across as believable. Lewis’s example of presentational realism here is one

that Tolkien certainly knew well – the depiction in the Old English heroic poem Beowulf of

the dragon snuffling along the rock as it wakes and gradually realizing by its acute sense of

smell that someone has visited its lair while it has been asleep. This is only a brief touch,

but it secures the creature in the tangible world (personally, Tolkien would have liked to

have had more such details in the presentation of the dragon in Beowulf).” (53-54)

Tolkien’s contributions to the presentational realism of an imaginary character, the dragon,

are explored in this paper. Further exploration of other, more recent dragons presented in

notable post-Tolkien literature can be found in Dierdre Byrne’s lecture, “Dragons: Ancient

Creatures in Modern Times.”

ii The Tolkien Gateway online lists the January 1, 1938 “Lecture on Dragons” to have been

extracted and published in Leaves from the Tree (1991 essays -Christina Scull paper), in

J.R.R.Tolkien: Artist and Illustrator (Hammond and Scull, 1995), and in The J.R.R.Tolkien

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Companion and Guide (Scull and Hammond, 2006). The source used here is the “Tolkien’s

Dragons” essay by John D. Rateliff in his 2007 The History of The Hobbit, part two, chapter

XII. Conversations with Smaug, particularly Note 5. There, Rateliff summarizes and quotes

from Ms. Tolkien A61 e., fols. 98-125. The quotations used here are quoted from Tolkien’s

manuscripts by John Rateliff in the Note.

iii The January 1923 “Iúmonna Gold Galdre Bewunden” poem is reprinted in The Annotated

Hobbit, pp. 335-337 and further discussed in detailed comparison in Tom Shippey’s

“Versions of ‘The Hoard’” in Roots and Branches. Tolkien significantly revised the original

poem for republication in the Oxford Magazine March 1937; he made further minor

revisions and renamed the poem “The Hoard” for the 1962 Adventures of Tom Bombadil

poem collection and 1966 The Tolkien Reader (Shippey, R&B, 341). Shippey indicates that

the main difference between the original Gryphon version and the subsequent versions,

regarding the dragon character, is that the original version has a more morally pointed tone

(R&B, 346). The dragon seems to be used to punish the dwarf for a theft of the gold ‘stolen

from men and elves’ (line 15), and the aged dragon’s treasure-lust is more clearly drawn,

“His joy was dead and his cruel youth / But his lust still smouldered and he had no ruth.”

(lines 31-32). The physical description, thoughts, and actions of the dragon do not change

much over the revisions, but his cruelty, lust, and ruthlessness are not stated so clearly in

the later versions as they are in 1923.

iv A brief synopsis of “The Hoard:” Elves of old initially fashion the pile of gold and treasure,

but they wane before a shadowy Greed. The treasure, now collected in a cave, is worked

further by an old dwarf who is killed by a young dragon who takes over the treasure cave.

This Tolkien dragon has no name (none of this poem’s characters has a name or speaks), but

stanza two describes his physical presence as a fire-breathing young dragon who burns the

old dwarf to take over the treasure-hoard. The dragon does not add to the hoard, but is

“chained” to his gold, silver, and gems as he joylessly snuffs and licks the treasure beneath

his black wings in miserly ire at potential thieves. Even as a deaf, old dragon, he is ready to

defend his hoard with knife-like teeth and horny hide. When the dragon becomes old and

his fire wanes, a young warrior comes to challenge the dragon and kills him in turn. But

when that warrior becomes a king, old and miserly having left the treasure hidden in the

cave, he is overcome by enemies and does not pass on the treasure, now locked away and

lost.

v Tolkien’s cover letter for the 1947 mark-up of Farmer Giles of Ham, which was finally

published in 1949, requested an inscription to C.H. Wilkinson of Oxford’s Worcester College

Lovelace Society, to whom the expanded, more satirical version of the story had been read.

51



Tolkien wrote that “it was Col. Wilkinson of that College who egged me to it, and has since

constantly egged me to publication” (119, 133).

vi A brief synopsis of Farmer Giles of Ham: It set in a specific locale, along the Thames River

just east of Oxford, but in a hazy dark-ages time “after the days of King Coel maybe, but

before Arthur” (Tolkien Reader, 124). A yeoman farmer Giles of Ham, with his hilarious and

cowardly talking dog Garm, chases off a giant roaming onto Giles’ farm from the Western

mountains. The local king rewards Giles with a sword that turns out to be a magic dragon-

fighting sword, Caudimordax (Tail-biter in the vernacular). When a fire-breathing, talking

dragon, Chrysophylax Dives of the Western mountains, comes roaming and rampaging near

the village, Farmer Giles with his wise old grey mare and sword chase down the dragon,

who is cowed by the eager magic sword. Later the king sends a troupe of foppish knights

and Farmer Giles to hunt the dragon and find his mountainous lair full of treasure. The

worthless knights flee Chrysophylax or are killed, while Giles faces the dragon, bargains with

him at swordpoint, and persuades him to carry most of his treasure to Giles’ town. There

Giles, with the aid of the dragon Chrysophylax, defeats the craven king’s attempt to claim

the treasure and sets up his own Little Kingdom.

vii References vary on the original drafting of “The Dragon’s Visit.” Carpenter’s Biography of

Tolkien puts the Bimble Bay collection composition just after a 1922 visit to seaside Filey on

the Yorkshire coast (112-113). Anderson’s Annotated Hobbit reprints the two published

versions of “The Dragon’s Visit” and presents the evidence that Tolkien wrote long

afterwards on the first typescript “Oxford 1928? rev 1937” (311). It was certainly published

in February 1937 edition of Oxford Magazine (Letters, 434). Tolkien notes in a May 1937

letter to Allen & Unwin that the “editor of the O.U. Magazine … has been giving it a good

dose of my dragon-lore recently,” referring to him publishing “Iúmonna Gold Galdre

Bewunden” and “The Dragon’s Visit” (18).

Tolkien revised it in the 1960s for Winter’s Tales for Children 1 (1965) and The Young

Magicians (1969), and in the revision, the dragon is stabbed to the heart by Miss Biggins in

the tenth stanza, and an eleventh stanza is added (Anderson, 311-12).

“The Dragon’s Visit” poem has been reprinted at least twice in the 2000s by Douglas

Anderson. In a review for the Mythopoeic Society of Anderson’s collection Tales Before

Narnia, , John Rateliff remarks, “And as for Tolkien’s “The Dragon’s Visit” *1937+, this is an

unalloyed pleasure: one of Tolkien’s best poems, available again in its original form, in a

font size larger than could be squeezed into the margins of The Annotated Hobbit

(revised edition).”

viii Brief synopsis of “The Dragon’s Visit:” The verses are presented mostly in sympathy with

the dragon’s perspective as he lies on blossoming cherry trees and encounters the dull

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denizens of a suburban town on Bimble Bay. He is an admirable green dragon, singing

enchanting songs of his homeland of Finis-Terre. The neighborhood clearly does not

appreciate the beauty of the dragon or his song. When the helmeted fire brigade is called

in with firehoses, he warns them away but they poke him from underneath while he lies in

the trees (reminiscent of Fáfnir being jabbed from underneath by Sigurd lurking in a hollow

[Legend, 108+). “The dragon’s eyes from green went red,” and he commences to smoke and

thresh his tail, smash and burn the town, and consume its citizens (Anderson, 310). Sailors

over the Bay of Bimble can see the burning, and the dragon buries the remains of the

townspeople on a high cliff on the shore, singing a dirge (echoing the funeral pyre, grief-

song, and sea cliff monument to Beowulf visible to seafarers in the Old English poem [lines

3137-58, pp. 239-241]). In the first version of “The Dragon’s Visit,” the dragon sadly muses

on the old, heroic order changing to the dull folk of Bimble Bay while flying back to this

homeland. A second version reworked in the 1960s has old Miss Biggins stabbing the

dragon to death just as he is leaving, saying that she must end the “wanton damage,” while

still calling him a “splendid creature” with a remarkable voice (Anderson, 312).

ix Confirmation dating of the original story comes from Tolkien’s inked drawing and

paintings illustrating the Roverandom story dated 1925 or 1927. After revisions, a version

of the story was submitted for possible publication in 1936, but was abandoned in favor of a

sequel to The Hobbit (Roverandom Intro xv). Roverandom was not published until

posthumously in 1998.

x The basic outline of Roverandom is of a real dog named Rover who bites a wizard

Artaxerxes and is turned into a toy, is sold to a little boy, and is lost in the sand. A second

wizard, Psamathos, finds him and sends him to the Man-in-the-Moon, where he is renamed

Roverandom. The moon contains many wonders, including the Great White Dragon, who

lives on the moon’s edge and is apparently instrumental in eclipses, as “he had been known

to turn the whole moon red, or put it out altogether” so that the Man-in-the-Moon must

use his magic to clear it up quickly (34). (The Man-in-the-Moon’s control of moon dragons

and their role in lunar eclipses is also a feature in the Letters to Father Christmas [22].)

Roverandom gets into serious trouble by stumbling into the lair of the Great White Dragon

and rousing him. After further adventures, little dog is sent to live under the sea where he

befriends a mer-dog who came there long ago via a dragon-prowed Viking longship called

the Red Worm (65). Among their adventures, the two dogs encounter and awaken another

form of dragon, the enormous, ancient Sea-serpent, by causing him to be bitten on his

green and slimy tail (77). The Worm turns, causing enormous undersea earthquakes and

hurricanes, but spells from Artaxerxes quiet it before it can sink another continent. After

53



this escapade, the wizard and Roverandom return home, where the dog is restored and

reunited with his owners.

SARA LEGARD is an environmental scientist, project manager, and quality advocate for Tetra Tech, Inc. in Newark, Delaware, and a student at the Mythgard Institute. Her previous paper presentations have been for Superfund environmental conferences, but her non-Tolkien activities include skydiving (bronze medal at 1989 U.S. Nationals, but currently semi-retired), flying, choral singing, folk singing, and occasionally dressing up as a Norman-Saxon woman of the 1100s. She enjoys using the Oxford comma.

54




God and Ilúvatar: Tolkien’s Use of Biblical Parallels and Tropes

in His Cosmogony

Kevin R. Hensler

I assume analysis of the creation accounts in Genesis is something many Tolkien fans

and scholars have limited experience with. For this reason, I’ll begin with a mini-Hebrew Bible

lesson.

The Pentateuch is the name given to the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, usually

called the Old Testament by Christians. Critical Biblical scholars are in almost unanimous

agreement that the Pentateuch is a composite text, which means that it’s a compilation of

independent sources rather than one independent composition. We almost all agree that the

Pentateuch is a work of edited and compiled source documents. There is much less agreement,

however, about just how to divide up these sources, and the manner in which they were edited

and compiled. Nevertheless, there is general agreement that the early chapters of Genesis

contain not one, but two creation accounts from two independent sources.

The first creation account, told in Genesis 1:1-2:3, is what is commonly referred to as

the Seven-Day Creation Account. It’s almost unanimously attributed to a source Biblical

Scholars call “P”, or the Priestly Source.1

The second creation account, told in Genesis 2:5-3:24, is commonly referred to as the

Eden Narrative. It is most commonly attributed to a source Biblical Scholars refer to as “J”, or

1 See any work on the Documentary Hypothesis for more information. I would recommend Richard Elliot Friedman’s Who Wrote the Bible?

55

Hensler—“God and Ilúvatar”


the Yahwist. The Yahwist is so-called because in J texts, the divine name, probably pronounced

something like Yahweh, is the name used for God from the very beginning. In other sources, the

divine name is also used, but only after it is revealed to Moses in Exodus 3. Before this point in

other sources, God is referred to either as “God”, or by variations or epithets.

So, from a Biblical Scholar’s perspective, I am comparing Tolkien’s work to two texts,

one attributed to J and the other attributed to P. More of this paper will concern P, both

because the J account does not describe Cosmogenesis per se,2 and because I find more

compelling structural parallels between the P creation account and J.R.R. Tolkien’s Ainulindalë.

Now let’s consider Tolkien. It is unclear how well Tolkien knew scholarship of the

Hebrew Bible, but as a devout Catholic, he was certainly acquainted with the Bible itself. He

was also acquainted to some extent with Hebrew, although his knowledge of Hebrew was

probably less excellent than his knowledge of Germanic and Classical languages. It is well-

known that Tolkien modeled the Dwarvish language on Semitic language structure, with

Hebrew probably as its primary inspiration.3 Tolkien himself saw substantial parallels between

the wandering Dwarves and the wandering the Jews in the Diaspora, both in exile from their

homelands.4

Tolkien also contributed to the translation of the Jerusalem Bible, and especially the

book of Jonah. How substantial Tolkien’s contribution actually was, however, is much debated.5

Nevertheless, it is an established fact that Tolkien had some real knowledge of the Bible and of

Hebrew.

Now that I’ve given a little background about the Bible and about Tolkien’s knowledge

of it, let’s consider the Biblical text.

“In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth (Genesis 1:1).” Everyone

knows this line, and it’s how the first creation narrative begins. Interestingly, in Hebrew, the

syntax of that verse doesn’t make a lot of sense. It’s probably best to think of this as a heading

or some kind of temporal contextualization. The easily comprehensible P narrative really begins

2 Hensler, “A Limited Comparative Analysis of Understandings Regarding Cosmogenesis,” available Academia.edu, https://cua.academia.edu/KevinHensler, 7. 3 Swain, 314. 4 Swain, 314-315. 5 Hammond and Anderson, 278-279.

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https://cua.academia.edu/KevinHensler



with the next verse. I’ve done analysis of this narrative before, so allow me to quote myself

from a paper I have presented previously, somewhat modified:

Th[e P] creation narrative [in Genesis 1] follows a distinctive pattern. On the first three days, attributes of . . . disordered chaos are separated [by God] into a coherent and ordered reality. [Over the course of these three days, three major separations structure the narrative.] First light was separated from darkness, then the ocean was separated from the sky, and finally, the land was separated from the water. In this way, the disordered chaos became the divinely intentioned order we call the Universe . . . Once the domains themselves had been created in Genesis, God created the particular creatures of those domains over the course of the next three days. The creation on the fourth day of light-giving astral bodies, connected with the day and night skies, corresponds to three days earlier when the light and darkness were themselves divided into night and day. The creation on the fifth day of the various sea creatures as well as the birds of the sky corresponds to the creation of the ocean and the sky, in which they dwell respectively, also three days earlier. The creation of the land creatures, including humans, on the sixth day, corresponds to the creation of the dry land environment which they inhabit, also three days earlier (Coogan 32). . . Overall the [P] cosmogenesis is one in which order is brought about by separating coherent realities from a preexisting chaos. The notion that this creation brought about order is reinforced by the overt systematization of the narrative. . .6 It should also be noted that, although the P creation account takes place in Genesis 1,

P’s flood narrative, which is interspersed with J’s in Genesis 6-8, uses language that evokes the

creation story. In fact, the P flood narrative seems not just to be describing a flood, but a

systematic unmaking of creation.7 From the P perspective, only in the postdiluvian world is

creation complete.

Let us now compare the P creation narrative to the Ainulindalë. The structure of the

Ainulindalë is substantially less rigid and ordered than the first Biblical creation narrative. More

so than the P account, Tolkien’s narrative has great depth even before once considers

symbolism. Tolkien also writes, I believe, very intentionally to avoid any clear sense of Time. I

would submit that this is because he is attempting to portray eternity, an idea beyond human

6 Hensler, 8-9. 7 Kraeling, 286, c.f. Hensler, 7.

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comprehension. Eternity is not the sense we get from the P creation account, where the seven-

day temporal structure is very much the backbone of the narrative.

Nevertheless, the structure of the P narrative is echoed in the Ainulindalë. As I noted

above, creation in the P account is the result of three separations of orderly realities from a

primordial chaos. In the Ainulindalë, creation is the result of three themes, the Third of which

brings some degree of order to the chaos that is Melkor’s vain discord by perfectly weaving that

discord into its own sad and beautiful music. There is a second tripartite pattern of creation in

the Ainulindalë. Creation occurs in three distinct phases: The Great Music, The Vision, and Eä.8

The notion of separating order out of chaos so present in the Bible is not prominent here,

although as I stated before, the Third Theme does impose some degree of order on Melkor’s

Chaotic Discord. The ordered creation of Eä is also set up in the “Abyss”, a word which, to me,

evokes chaos. The double parallel of the tripartite creation is certainly significant.

Also significant is the fact that in both pieces, the empty world is finished only about

halfway through the narrative. In the Bible, God does the rest, creating the celestial and animal

inhabitants of the various created domains. In the Ainulindalë, and continuing into the rest of

the Silmarillion, it is up to the Ainur who enter into creation, the Valar and Maiar, to complete

this task. In both narratives, though, the world itself is established before the recognizable

landscapes with plants, animals, and heavenly bodies are set up. The Valar and Maiar entering

into the world bring into being the various plants, heavenly bodies, and animals. Both creations

culminate in the human species. In both, it is with the creation/awakening of humanity that the

process of creation results in the world as we recognize it, inhabited by plants, by animals, and

by us. Yet, in the Bible, that human creation is shown, but in Tolkien’s works, it is, probably very

intentionally, only hinted at.9

In addition to structural parallels, the Ainulindalë clearly, and I think intentionally,

evokes Bible style and parallels specific Biblical passages. First, and most significant, is the very

direct parallel between God in the Bible and Eru/Ilúvatar in the works of Tolkien. I believe

Ilúvatar is obviously not just an invention of Tolkien’s Legendarium, but is actually a

presentation, relying heavily on metaphor, of the God in whom Tolkien actually believes. In

8 Whittingham, 212. 9 Bims, 48-49, and Birzer, 188.

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Ilúvatar and through the Ainulindalë, Tolkien treats certain theological concerns, and he does so

in a very sophisticated manner. He treats such problems as the nature of evil through Melkor,

his servants, and the results of their deeds. He also treats the apparent contradiction between

free will and divine providence in creative action of the Ainur in their music. I doubt that Tolkien

was a Biblical literalist to the extent that he believed the world to have been created in seven

days as described in the P creation account.10 I think he probably believed that the Bible was

true, but at least in this case, not on the literal level. I feel there’s a very good chance that he

felt he was conveying something similarly true in the Ainulindalë, perhaps not true to the same

extent or in the same manner as the Bible, but in a way at least analogous.

Another obvious parallel is between Ilúvatar’s creation of the world via the command

“Eä! Let these things Be!” and God’s, using the phrase “Let there Be Light”. In both instances,

the new creation comes into being as it is commanded to “be”: “And there was Light” in the

Bible, and in the Silmarillion, “suddenly the Ainur saw afar off a light.”11

The idea of a creation that remains in some way incomplete until after the flood is

another parallel between the world of Tolkien and that of the Bible. I noted above that,

according to P, creation is not really complete until after the flood. This might be said of

Tolkienian floods, i.e. the ruin of Beleriand and the downfall of Numenor, both of which are lost

forever beneath the waves. The world does not become the sphere we recognize until after

Ilúvatar’s intervention and removal of the Undying Lands from the Circles of the World at the

same time that Ilúvatar destroys Numenor.12

Another notable biblical parallel, though not of the P creation account itself, is the first

sentence of the Ainulindalë: “There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called is called Ilúvatar;

and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they

10

To see this issue treated somewhat more extensively, see Helms (A), 32-33. Hints that Tolkien believed in the literal truth of Eden, and its repercussions are to be found in Walton, 63. 11 Ainulindalë: paragraph 19 (in The Silmarillion). This is also noted by Helms (A), 44; Helms (B), 26; and Zimmer, 53. 12 For more discussion of the Flat Earth in Tolkien, see Hammond (26) and Noad (59). For discussion of the Flood and parallels to the Bible, see Birns 50, 52, 61. He notes that Tolkien himself, in his letter to Milton Waldman, refers to Elendil as a “Noachian figure”.

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were with him before aught else was made.”13 This clearly parallel’s the first five verses of the

Gospel of John:14

1In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2The same was in the beginning with God. 3All things were made by him; and without

him was not any thing made that was made. 4In him was life; and the life was the light of

men. 5And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.15

Obviously, the parallels are imperfect, largely because Tolkien seems not to be

espousing a Trinitarian Theology16 in the Ainulindalë, but the language used sounds a lot like

the language in John. The practical parallels between the Logos (Greek for “Word”) and the

Ainur are substantial. The Ainur are said to have been “with [Ilúvatar]” practically in the

beginning, although they are created beings rather than co-eternal ones. Yet, as I said above, I

believe they do exist with Ilúvatar in eternity. The Logos is the Word of God, and the Ainur are

the product of the thought of Ilúvatar. It is also through the song of the Ainur that everything is

created, just as it is through the Logos that all things were made, without exception.17

Interestingly, the Ainulindalë does give an exception to what was created through the Music of

the Ainur: the Children of Ilúvatar. They are solely the creation of Ilúvatar. I don’t believe,

however, that this is a failure of the parallel, but rather a nuance intentionally added by Tolkien.

It allows him to present a special and unique relationship within creation between us, the

Children, and God.

It is also notable that the Ainur live because of the Flame Imperishable which Ilúvatar

has kindled within each of them. This flame parallels the life in the Logos which made the Logos

13

Ainulindalë: paragraph 1. 14

Helms (A) (44) observes a Biblical parallel here, but sees the parallel with Genesis 1 rather than John 1. I clearly do not disagree, but I think he Gospel of John, which itself parallels Genesis, is the more direct parallel, at least to the language of the first paragraph of the Ainulindalë. This is somewhat strange, because earlier in his paper (35), Helms (A) puts forward the idea that Tolkien is “strongly indebted to St. John in . . . the Silmarillion . . .” Walton Also notes strong parallels in the Silmarillion to Genesis and John (63). Helms (B) notes a strong parallel not between the beginning of the Ainulindalë and Genesis 1, but the first verse of Genesis 1 and the Valaquenta (26.) 15

I use the King James Bible here because it was a work of art when it was completed and remains the most well-known English Language Bible. I have no doubt Tolkien would have known it, although whether he would have personally preferred it is unclear to me. It was a protestant translation and he was Catholic. 16 Whether or not a Trinitarian Theology is actually espoused in John is open for debate, but John certainly does not suggest a simple monotheism. 17 Cox (57) sees creation through the music of the Ainur as an allusion to Plato. He does not note John.

60



the “light of men”.18 In an interesting wrinkle in the parallel, when creation itself occurs, with

its light, that is the first time the Ainur perceive the darkness. This evokes the fifth verse of

John, but is almost its inverse. It is not that the darkness did not perceive of them, but rather

that, prior to the creating act of Ilúvatar, the Ainur did not perceive the darkness.

Besides these strong parallels between the beginnings of the Ainulindalë and of the

Gospel of John, other clear evocations of the Bible include the use of the word “Firmament”,

which has a long etymological history, but is derived originally from words used to translate the

ambiguous Hebrew word “ ”. It is rarely used in English except when translating the Bible,

or when one is intentionally archaizing or imitating biblical style. I’m sure that Tolkien, the

consummate philologist, knew and took advantage of this.19

Another evocation of Biblical Language is the use of the temporal phrase “And it came

to pass” once in the Ainulindalë and occasionally throughout the remainder of the Silmarillion.

This particular phrase is rare in English, but is the standard King James Version translation of the

Hebrew “ ”, which occurs hundreds of times in the Biblical text. As a rarely used but

recognizable phrase, “and it came to pass” may have entered English through translations of

the Bible. Any Hebrew Bible scholar looking for allusions to the Bible in the Ainulindalë would

recognize this almost immediately as a deliberate modeling of Biblical style.

Let’s, finally, consider the much less rigidly structured J creation. The only strong hint of

a parallel I detect in the J creation story with Tolkien is not in the Ainulindalë but is rather

within the Quenta Silmarillion. Here, Laurelin and Telperion, the two trees of another Earthly

paradise, Valinor, parallel the Trees of Life and of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. Like the

two trees in Eden, the two trees of Valinor are lost to us forever, remnants of an unattainable

past.20

18

Kocher (36-37) draws a clear parallel between the Secret Fire and the Holy Spirit, as does Helms (B) (26). This is completely reasonable. The Logos, with which I have drawn a parallel with the Secret Fire, is usually identified with the Son, not the Holy Spirit. The Parallel I am drawing is primarily based on what I see in the similarity between the beginnings of John and of the Ainulindalë. Throughout Tolkien’s works, the Holy Spirit may well be a more apt parallel to the Secret Fire. 19 This also parallels the later “Dome of Varda”. For discussion of the Dome of Varda, see Noad, 57-59. 20 Helms (A.) also makes this observation, 44-45. To see other discussion of allusions, though not parallels to the J account in the Silmarillion, and particularly to the Fall of Man, see Birns (48-49), which, among other works, suggests we consider Tolkien’s Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth. See also Birzer (188).

61



The Silmarillion, and the Ainulindalë in particular, may be the most profound of Tolkien’s

incredible works. I feel that Tolkien’s creation narrative is every bit as profound as the Biblical

Creation stories. In this work, Tolkien dealt with the most complicated of theological themes,

among these, the apparent contradiction between free will and divine providence, which he

treats as expertly as I have ever seen. Tolkien reworked and incorporated ideas and tropes from

the Bible and elsewhere in his composition. In this sub-creative act, he made something new

but every bit as rich.

Thank You.

Works Cited

Birns, Nicholas. “The Stones and the Book: Tolkien, Mesopotamia, and Biblical Mythopoeia.”

Tolkien and the Study of His Sources: Critical Essays. Ed. Jason Fisher. Jefferson, NC:

McFarland, 2011. 45-68.

Birzer, Bradley J. “Fall of Man.” J.R.R. Tolkien Encyclopedia: Scholarship and Critical Assessment.

Ed. Michael D.C. Drout. New York: Routledge, 2007. 187-188.

Coogan, Michael D. The Old Testament: A Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew

Scriptures, 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011.

Cox, John D. "Tolkien's Platonic Fantasy." Seven 5 (1984), 53-69.

Friedman, Richard E. Who Wrote the Bible. New York: Summit Books, 1987.

Hammond, Wayne G. “‘A Continuing and Evolving Creation’: Distractions in the Later History of

Middle-earth.” Tolkien’s Legendarium: Essays on The History of Middle Earth. Ed. Verlyn

Flieger and Carl F. Hostetter. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2000. 19-30.

Hammond, Wayne G. with Douglas A. Anderson. J.R.R. Tolkien: A Descriptive Bibliography. New

Castle, DE: St. Paul’s Bibliographies, 1993.

62



Helms, Randel (A). “All Tales Need Not Come True”. Studies in The Literary Imagination 14.2

(1981): 31-45.

Helms, Randel (B). Tolkien and the Silmarils. Chicago: Houghton Mifflin, 1981.

Hensler, Kevin. “A Limited Comparative Analysis of Understandings Regarding Cosmogenesis”.

Unpublished (2010). Available at http://cua.academia.edu/KevinHensler.

Kocher, Paul. “Ilúvatar and the Secret Fire”. Mythlore 12.1 (1985): 36-37.

Kraeling, Emil G. “The Earliest Hebrew Flood Story.” Journal of Biblical Literature. 66.3 (1947):

279-293.

Noad, Charles E. “On the Construction of ‘The Silmarillion’”. Tolkien’s Legendarium: Essays on

The History of Middle Earth. Ed. Verlyn Flieger and Carl F. Hostetter. Wsetport, CT:

Greenwood Press, 2000. 31-68.

Swain, L. J. “Judaism.” J.R.R. Tolkien Encyclopedia: Scholarship and Critical Assessment. Ed.

Michael D.C. Drout. New York: Routledge, 2007. 314-315.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Silmarillion, 2nd ed. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. New York: Houghton Mifflin,

2001.

Walton, Christina Ganong. “Bible.” J.R.R. Tolkien Encyclopedia: Scholarship and Critical

Assessment. Ed. Michael D.C. Drout. New York: Routledge, 2007. 62-64.

Whittingham, Elizabeth A. “The Mythology of the “Ainulindalë”: Tolkien’s Creation of Hope”.

Journal of the Fantastic Arts 9.3 (1998): 212-228.

Zimmer, Mary E. “Creating and Re-creating Worlds with Worlds: The Religion and Magic of

Language in The Lord of the Rings”. Tolkien and the Invention of Myth: A Reader. Ed.

Jane Chance. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2004. 49-60.

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http://cua.academia.edu/KevinHensler



Other Works Consulted21

Aichele, George. “Biblical Miracle Narratives as Fantasy.” Anglican Theological Review 73.1

(1991): 51-58.

Birzer, Bradley. J. R. R. Tolkien’s Sanctifying Myth: Understanding Middle Earth. Wilmington, DE:

ISI Books, 2002.

Bloom, Harold: Editor. J. R. R. Tolkien: Modern Critical Views. Philadelphia: Chelsea House ,

2000.

Boyd, Ian C.S.B. and Stratford Caldecott, eds. A Hidden Presence: The Catholic Imagination of

J.R.R. Tolkien. South Orange, NJ: The Chesterton Press, 2003.

Flieger, Verlyn. Interrupted Music: The Making of Tolkien’s Mythology. Kent, OH: Kent State

University Press, 2005.

Garbowski, Christopher. “The History of Middle-Earth: From a Mythology for England to a

Recovery of the Real Earth.” Mallorn 37 (1999): 21-27.

Gough, John. “Tolkien’s Creation Myth in the Silmarillion—Northern or Not?” Children's

Literature in Education 30.1 (1999): 1-8.

Jones, Leslie Ellen. Myth & Middle-Earth: Exploring The Legends Behind J.R.R. Tolkien’s The

Hobbit & The Lord of the Rings. Cold Springs Harbor, NY: Cold Springs Press, 2002.

Kane, Douglas Charles. Arda Reconstructed: The Creation of the Published Silmarillion. Cranbury,

NJ: Lehigh University Press; Associated University Presses, 2009.

Lief, Jason. “Challenging the Objectivist Paradigm: Teaching Biblical Theology with J.R.R.

Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Guillermo del Toro.” Teaching Theology & Religion 12.4 (2009):

321-332.

O’Brien, Donald. “The Genesis of Arda.” Mallorn. 29 (1992): 44-56.

Paul E. Kerry, ed. The Ring and the Cross: Christianity and the Lord of the Rings. Lanham, MD:

Fairleigh Dickinson University Press; The Rowman & Littlefield, 2011.

21 I generally considered other essays in the volumes listed in the “Works Cited” section. In the “Other Works Consulted” section are those volumes or individual pieces which I considered but did not specifically cite in this paper.

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Pearce, Joseph, ed. Tolkien: A Celebration: Collected Writings on a Literary Legacy. London:

Fount, 1999.

Shippey, Tom. The Road to Middle-Earth: How J.R.R. Tolkien Created a New Mythology. New

York: Houghton Mifflin, 2003.

Tolkien, J. R. R. The Book of Lost Tales. Vol. 1-2. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. Boston: Houghton

Mifflin, 1984.

Wood, Ralph C. The Gospel According to Tolkien: Visions of the Kingdom in Middle-Earth.

Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003.

Woodruff, Jennifer Lynn, Thomas Howard, and Edwin Tait. “THe InKLinGs.” Christian History

22.2 (2003): 33.

Wright, Marjorie E. “The Vision of Cosmic Order in the Oxford Mythmakers.” Imagination and

the Spirit (1971) 259-276.

Zuck, John E. "Tales of Wonder : Biblical Narrative, Myth, and Fairy Stories." Journal of the

American Academy of Religion 44.2 (1976): 299-308.

KEVIN R. HENSLER is a Doctoral Student for Ancient Near East Studies in the department of

Semitic and Egyptian Languages and Cultures at the Catholic University of America, and a

lifelong Tolkien Fan. He holds a Masters of Theological Studies in Biblical Studies from the

University of Notre Dame and a BA in Theology with Minors in Classics and Ancient Studies

from Saint Joseph’s University. He has been a huge fan of Dr. Olsen’s Tolkien Professor

podcast for the last few years, and was very pleased to be a presenter at the Mythgard

Institute’s second Mythmoot.

65




At the Root of the Tree of Tales: Using Comparative Myth and "On Fairy-Stories" to Analyze

Tolkien's Cosmogony

Dawn M. Walls-Thumma

Tolkien first penned the cosmogonical myth The Music of the Ainur sometime between

1918 and 1920, making it one of his oldest writings related to Middle-earth. But what sets The

Music of the Ainur apart as a notable early work is how little it changed compared to the other

contemporaneous writings that established his secondary world of Middle-earth. Tolkien's

earliest stories teemed with details verging on the fanciful, where the gods of death still dwelt

in halls roofed with bat wings, and a Prince of Cats held all lesser cats in thrall. In 1926, Tolkien

cut these tales down to the bare bone in his Sketch of the Mythology, excising much of this

florid detail in favor of rebuilding the stories in a much more somber style, with the emphasis

falling on the doomed and desperate "Northern courage" exerted by the early heroes among

both Elves and Men (Tolkien, Beowulf 262-263). It is this world that would give rise first to The

Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and of course the posthumously published Silmarillion.

Yet, as Christopher Tolkien notes in his commentary on The Music of the Ainur, alone of

Tolkien's stories, the creation story remained mostly unchanged (Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales

I 60). The key concepts, main storyline, and style remain constant, thus showing that the

cosmogony of Arda was in place from his earliest to his latest versions of the myths of Middle-

earth. This constancy establishes it as an important text in understanding the myths and tales of

Middle-earth that Tolkien produced across his lifetime. Analyzing the evolution of The Music of

the Ainur, Trevor Hart notes that the primary change Tolkien introduced was more firmly

delineating the differences in roles between Eru and the Ainur, between creation and

subcreation (50-51). When considering the Ainulindalë as a creation myth, this becomes of

especial significance.

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Walls-Thumma—“At the Root of the Tree of Tales”


Nearly all world myth cycles contain a cosmogonical myth, and Tolkien's is no exception.

In his 1947 essay "On Fairy-Stories," Tolkien acknowledges the exploration of similarities and

possible connections between the myths and stories of our real world as a "perfectly legitimate

procedure in itself," while simultaneously cautioning those undertaking a search for broad

patterns in the forest not lose sight of the individual trees: the stories themselves in their most

essential role as stories (Tolkien, "On Fairy-Stories" 106). In an era where scholarship sought

similarities between myths, Tolkien asserted that the differences could be just as intriguing,

writing in "On Fairy-Stories" that, "It is precisely the colouring, the atmosphere, the

unclassifiable individual details of a story, and above all the general purport that informs with

life the undissected bones of the plot, that really count" (Tolkien, "On Fairy-Stories" 106). This

particular approach to studying Tolkien's cosmogony proves fruitful. Much scholarly work has

been done on the cosmogonies of world mythology, yet examining the Ainulindalë within this

context shows that it fits poorly with its cosmogonical brethren, inviting the reader to consider

instead those "unclassifiable individual details" that distinguish the Ainulindalë from other

creation stories. "On Fairy-Stories" provides the reason for this difference by establishing the

theory of subcreation as the most essential underpinning of the Ainulindalë, a theory that

justifies and elevates Tolkien's own creative work.

The Tree of Tales: Creation Myths of the World

"In a sense, myths are self-fulfilling prophecies," writes Barbara C. Sproul in Primal

Myths: Creating the World: "they create facts out of the values they propound" (3). Through a

culture's creation story, we can discover not only that culture's core values but also its most

basic existential understandings, which are then impressed upon other myths and stories, an

idea that manifests in Tolkien's Middle-earth stories, which unfold themes first expressed in the

Ainulindalë.

In style, the Ainulindalë reads every bit as a creation story, but in terms of motifs shared

with other world creation myths, the incongruities overwhelm the similarities. In his 1963 book

Alpha: The Myths of Creation, religion scholar Charles H. Long proposed five categories into

which creation myths can be classified: creation from nothing, creation from chaos, world-

parent myths, emergence myths, and earth-diver myths. The first three types appear in myths

with which we know Tolkien to have been familiar: the mythologies of Western Europe, those

of the Abrahamic tradition, and the ancient literature of Egypt and Mesopotamia.

Therefore, Tolkien did not lack cosmogonical models when developing the creation

myth for his secondary world, yet the Ainulindalë fits uneasily into Long's taxonomy, touching

only lightly upon the most common cosmogonical archetypes, including those elements used in

the creation stories with which Tolkien was familiar. Critics have certainly sought connections

between the Ainulindalë and specific creation myths with which Tolkien was known to have

been familiar. John Gough sought correspondence between the Ainulindalë and the creation

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myth of the Norse cycle beloved to Tolkien and came to the unmitigated conclusion that, "The

Norse creation myth and Tolkien's clearly share no common ground" (7). Other critics have

identified the Hebraic Genesis as a source, with one critic concluding that the Ainulindalë is

"derivative, having biblical origins and Eddic roots" (Davis 6). Certainly, there are motifs shared

between the Bible and the Ainulindalë, but again, the differences overwhelm the similarities:

the use of subcreators in the Ainulindalë, the differing times and modes of entry of evil into the

world, and the relative remove of Tolkien's Eru from the world compared to the biblical God.

Most critics conclude that the biblical connections are minimal (Flieger, Splintered Light 273 ;

Cox 57; Gough 3). The remaining and overwhelming majority of the Ainulindalë lacks precedent

among world creation mythology.

The Ainulindalë begins with creation from nothing: "There was Eru, the One, who in

Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his

thought, and they were with him before aught else was made" (3). And that's it. After that

single opening sentence, emphasis shifts from Eru's creative role to the subcreative roles of the

Ainur, until Eru is required to engender that imagined world with actual existence with his

utterance of, "Eä! Let these things Be!"Let's look first at the similarities between the Ainulindalë

and other creation-from-nothing myths.

Eru creates the Ainur from a thought and then makes their envisioned universe manifest

with a word. In his encyclopedia Creation Myths of the World, David Adams Leeming classifies

creation stories not just using Long's five-part taxonomy but also on the basis of frequent

motifs that arise in cosmogonical stories. Both creation from thought and creation from words

are common subtypes within the creation-from-nothing taxon (8). Leeming writes, "Of all the

explanations of the beginning of creation, the concept of creation by thought perhaps makes

the most sense to human beings … because we all initiate creative acts primarily by thought"

(354). Likewise, he notes that the human ability to use language makes word-based creation a

common subtype among world creation myths (362).

These similarities tether the Ainulindalë to the genre of creation stories in several

important ways. First, it is important to recall that Tolkien insisted on the originality of his

invented mythology and responded with exasperation to readers who treated his stories as

pastiches of world myths and sought to find the sources of his work. "These tales are 'new'," he

wrote in 1951 to Milton Waldman, "they are not directly derived from other myths and

legends, but they must inevitably contain a large measure of ancient wide-spread motives or

elements" (Letters 147). In 1972, echoing "On Fairy-Stories," he wrote to a Mr. Wrigley that, "To

my mind it is the particular use in a particular situation of any motive, whether invented,

deliberately borrowed, or unconsciously remembered that is the most interesting thing to

consider" (418).

So again taking Tolkien's advice to heart as far as how to proceed, why did he choose to

form these particular connections between creation stories of the creation-from-nothing type

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and his Ainulindalë? I believe there are two important reasons. Firstly, the elements he chose to

include in the Ainulindalë are common throughout world myth, as attested by Leeming's study.

The vast majority of readers will likely recognize most of them, making the Ainulindalë "feel

real" as a creation myth and, upon this realistic backdrop, allowing Tolkien's more original

elements to stand out in stark relief. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, these similarities

accord not only with the creation-from-nothing type generally but, specifically, with the biblical

creation story, cleverly allowing Tolkien to employ a paganistic pantheon similar to those of his

beloved Germanic and Finnish myth cycles without contradicting his own Catholic beliefs about

the origins of the universe. Especially creation from word or logos, present in both the

Ainulindalë and in the Gospel of John, allows Eru enough correspondence with the Christian

God to allow Tolkien to excuse his mythology as "a tribute to the infinity of His potential

variety," as he did in his letter to Peter Hastings (Tolkien, Letters 188). Tolkien states as much to

Milton Waldman, allowing that his appointing the Ainur as lesser powers beneath a single god

"can yet be accepted – well, shall we say baldly, by a mind that believes in the Blessed Trinity"

(Letters 146).

Yet the bulk of the Ainulindalë has no grounding in existing creation myths, with two

major differences fairly unique. First is the relative attention paid to the act of subcreation by

the Ainur versus actual creation by Eru. Second is the use of music—not thought or spoken

word, not a tangible handicraft—as the means by which that subcreation is effected. In "On

Fairy-Stories," Tolkien presents the metaphor of a cauldron containing the sum total of story

elements used throughout the world, asserting that "the Cooks do not dip in the ladle quite

blindly" (113). Just as Tolkien selected enough details to make the Ainulindalë feel "real," he

also dipped the ladle to present elements that stand apart from the rest of world creation

stories.

Subcreation: The Root of the Tree of Tales

"On Fairy-Stories" was first presented at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland in

1939 and was revised and published in a memorial volume for Charles Williams in 1947. The

essay introduces Tolkien's theories on the fantasy genre. Perhaps the most important concept

introduced in "On Fairy-Stories" is that of subcreation: the use of art to make a secondary world

with enough "inner consistency of reality" that a reader or listener can imaginatively enter into

that world (123). For Tolkien, subcreation had a religious dimension as well: As a devout

Catholic and believing humankind to be created in the image of God, he saw the human drive to

subcreate as originating from the divine model. In the poem Mythopoeia, quoted in "On Fairy-

Stories," Tolkien concludes succinctly, "we make still by the law in which we're made" (127).

Tolkien himself acknowledges at several points in his Letters that the formation of Arda

by the Ainur is an act of subcreation (193-5, 235, 284). Certainly, the creation of the universe,

earth, or humankind through an artistic process is not wholly alien to world creation myths.

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Leeming identifies the creator-as-artist as a subtype within the creation-from-chaos taxon. The

artist, presented with the raw and chaotic stuff of the universe as artistic materials, arranges

the primeval substance so as to establish order and meaning. Leeming writes, "To keep chaos

ordered we need to constantly experience it in new ways. The artist and we become analogous

to the creator god or gods who chose to make order out of the primeval chaos" (15). Leeming in

essence describes the concept of subcreation.

None of the myth cycles with which Tolkien was known to have been familiar utilize the

creator-as-artist motif. This aspect appears most often in Native American mythologies

(Leeming 319-321). Furthermore, the Ainulindalë deviates sharply from this motif in terms of

the type of art employed. Leeming describes the creator-as-artist subtype as representing the

world made through human craft, such as pottery, tent-building, or sculpture (319). Yet

although some of them assume that role eventually, the Ainur are not initially craftsmen—they

are singers—and world creation myths involving creation from song are rare and, again, largely

confined to the Americas (Leeming 351).

Tolkien's use of this unfamiliar element in the Ainulindalë, however, is significant.

According to Leeming:

The fact that the creator is a tent builder or potter or sculptor makes him one of us, and

that in turn makes what we do sacred and significant. The deus faber creation is a

celebration of human ingenuity and a justification for what we do. And it turns what we

do into something mystical and magical. It makes our crafts microcosmic

representations of creation itself. (321)

As a philologist and a storyteller, Tolkien sought to justify those arts in which language had the

power to bridge the imagined and the real. Eru's first act is to create singers, who actualize

Eru's abstract thoughts into a vision that begins as a secondary world before being endowed by

Eru with the Flame Imperishable and becoming a primary world. Here, the contrast between

the relatively little time spent discussing creation by Eru as compared to subcreation by the

Ainur becomes important. In "On Fairy-Stories," Tolkien writes, "To make a Secondary World

inside which the green sun will be credible, commanding Secondary Belief, will probably require

labour and thought, and will certainly demand a special skill, a kind of elvish craft" (124). Eru's

creation of the world is instantaneous and effortless, commanding only a few sentences of the

Ainulindalë. The act of subcreation by the Ainur, in contrast, is one requiring the "labour and

thought, and … special skill" that Tolkien identified. Understandably, the subcreative efforts of

the Ainur receive the bulk of attention in the story (124).

The work of a wordsmith—whether a poet, songwriter, or storyteller—can be tedious

work, and work that certainly requires a special skill. Tolkien's Letters reveal his hopeful

assertions of having The Lord of the Rings completed by the late 1940s, but that promise was

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followed by a decade of setbacks, illness, family crises, professional obligations, uprooting, and

of course, the second World War. Throughout this tumultuous time, as Tolkien became

increasingly mindful that what began as a mere sequel to The Hobbit was burgeoning beyond

anything he ever anticipated in terms of time, labor, or page count, one cannot help but to

remember the dismay felt by the Ainur as they first arrived in the world Eru made for them:

"But when the Valar entered into Eä they were at first astounded and at a loss, for it was as if

naught was yet made which they had seen in vision, and all was but on point to begin and yet

unshaped, and it was dark" (10).

The Ainulindalë, therefore, invests song, poetry, and story with a special—even sacred—

significance. It presents the secondary world as originating through a process that parallels the

genesis of many of Tolkien's own written works, especially his most important, such as The

Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings. It also parallels the creative achievements of the cultures

that preoccupied Tolkien both professionally and imaginatively: the Anglo-Saxons, the Norse,

the Finnish, and the Celts, societies whose literary achievements are but rare extant

manifestations of a rich oral storytelling tradition long-lost to mortal ears. In many of these

societies, eulogy conferred legitimacy to a ruler, a dynasty, or a remembered event, and people

of all professions and classes utilized poetry as a means to memorialize witnessed events

(Opland 207). For this reason, Anglo-Saxon kings named their heirs so as to alliterate with the

names of their ancestors, which made it easier to preserve that name in song (Stenton 53).

In other words, the very fabrics of these cultures were shaped by the spoken word in a

way that it is difficult for us to imagine, steeped as we are a text-dominated culture. The

cultures of Middle-earth display similar predilections: The Elves, Tolkien wrote, "did not depend

on perishable records, being stored in the vast houses of their minds" and Middle-earth's

people have an oral tradition discernible from the songs and poems published in Tolkien's

writings, especially The Lord of the Rings (Tolkien, Peoples of Middle-earth 342; Flieger,

Interrupted Music 64). This oral tradition carries with it remnants of the power of the original

creation, accomplished in the same manner of song (Provost 50). It seems no coincidence that

the Ainur sing the creation of the world much in the manner of the scops of old and only see

the barest threads of this vast story put into writing, much as the surviving Germanic, Finnish,

and Celtic tales give the sense of having grasped at a vast sea of myth and story and come up

with only a palm's worth to store apart from the eroding forces of time.

Conclusion: Authors of a Universe

"In his reference to the Valar as 'sub-creators,'" writes Debbie Sly, "Tolkien is possibly

making a fairly grandiose claim for his genre" (117). Indeed, in light of Tolkien's theory of

subcreation and the Ainulindalë, one cannot help but to think of Tolkien alongside his Ainur as

authors of a universe. Indeed, my chief contention with Sly's observation is her use of the word

grandiose: Tolkien's understanding of his subcreative role as on par with that of the Ainur is not

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grandiose; it is what he did, with the allowance that he neither possessed the supernatural skills

nor the eternal lifespan of his Ainur.

Within his capabilities as a mere mortal, Tolkien authored a universe. Myth cycles begin

with a creation story, and Tolkien's is no exception. His cosmogonical myth was one of the first

he wrote and remained the polestar amid a collection of myths that underwent drastic changes

as they evolved, as myths will do, as the maturation of the author stood in for the slow

evolution of a culture across eras. Just like the Ainur, Tolkien eventually found that the world he

had labored to bring into being and worked upon with great pleasure had taken on its own

impetus and lived at least somewhat beyond his control. If cosmogonical myths impress their

core ideas upon all the myths that follow, then Tolkien's creation story did just that, as

subcreation became a central theme in his created world and in his own life.

For Middle-earth, its cultures, and its history have long achieved the inertia of a real

mythology that lives independently of the voice that first made it real. Just as the greatest myth

cycles inspire further subcreation in the form of transformative interpretations and retellings,

the fans and successors of Tolkien's work have invested it with the life of a true mythic

tradition, sometimes letting an overlooked element of the myth shine forth—Tolkien's theory

of recovery from "On Fairy-Stories"—and sometimes corrupting and diminishing. Tolkien

certainly seems to have felt ambivalence toward this possibility, writing in 1972 that, "Being a

cult figure in one's own lifetime I am afraid is not at all pleasant," even as he expresses the wish

to "leave scope for other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama" (Tolkien,

Letters 418, 145). To return to the "grandiose" claim of the Ainur representing Tolkien's own

role, Tolkien felt an absence of myth in the modern world, and his song—like that of the

Ainur—provisioned that void with the stories that would become a mythology for the twentieth

and twenty-first centuries.

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Works Cited

Cox, John. "Tolkien's Platonic Fantasy." SEVEN: An Anglo-American Literary Review 5 (1983): 53-

69.

Davis, Howard. "The Ainulindale: Music of Creation." Mythlore. 32 (1982): 6-10.

Flieger, Verlyn. Interrupted Music: The Making of Tolkien's Mythology. 2nd ed. Kent, OH: Kent

State UP, 2005.

—. Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien's World. Kent, OH: Kent State UP, 2002.

Gough, John. "Tolkien's Creation Myth in The Silmarillion—Northern or Not?" Children's

Literature in Education 30:1 (1999): 1-8.

Hart, Trevor. "Tolkien, Creation, and Creativity." Tree of Tales: Tolkien, Literature, and Theology.

Ed. Trevor A. Hart and Ivan Khovacs. Waco, TX: Baylor UP, 2007. 39-53.

King James Bible. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 1987.

Leeming, David Adams. Creation Myths of the World: An Encyclopedia. 2nd ed. Santa Barbara,

CA: ABC-CLIO, 2010.

Long, Charles H. Alpha: The Myths of Creation. New York: George Braziller, 1963.

Opland, Jeff. Anglo-Saxon Oral Poetry: A Study of the Traditions. New Haven: Yale UP, 1980.

Provost, William. "Language and Myth in the Fantasy Writings of J.R.R. Tolkien." Modern Age 4

(1990): 42-52.

Sly, Debbie. "Weaving Nets of Gloom: Darkness Profound in Tolkien and Milton." J.R.R. Tolkien

and His Literary Resonances: Views of Middle-earth. Ed. George Clark and Daniel

Timmons. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 2000. 109-120.

Sproul, Barbara C. Primal Myths: Creating the World. New York: Harper & Row, 1979.

Stenton, Frank. Anglo-Saxon England. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1971.

Tolkien, J.R.R. "Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics." Proceedings of the British Academy 22

(1936): 45-95.

—. The History of Middle-earth: The Book of Lost Tales 1. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. New York:

Random House, 1983.

—. The History of Middle-earth: The Peoples of Middle Earth. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. Boston:

Houghton Mifflin, 1996.

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—. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed. Humphrey Carpenter. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1981.

—. "On Fairy-Stories." A Tolkien Miscellany. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2002. 97-145.

—. The Silmarillion. 2nd ed. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. New York: Ballantine, 1977.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to C. P. Cacho, Cynthia Gates, J.L. Montgomery, Christiane Steinwascher, and A.

Tollkühn for reading the draft of this essay and offering suggestions and comments. Many

thanks to my husband, Rob Walls-Thumma, who in addition to his ongoing help readying both

the essay and presentation, has been unfailingly supportive of my academic and (sub)creative

work, even when it started involving Elves.

DAWN M. WALLS-THUMMA is pursuing a Master's degree in the Humanities at American

Public University. Dawn is the founder and owner of the Silmarillion Writers' Guild and has

been reading and writing about Tolkien since the first Lord of the Rings movie captured her

heart in 2001.

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Beyond the Circles of the World: Death and the West in

Tolkien’s Middle-earth Legendarium

Rebekah Hunt

Death may seem like a grim topic for a paper on Tolkien’s mythology. However, the major idea I want convey is that, though the theme of death is woven deeply into the fabric of all of Tolkien’s Middle-earth writings, it is not an entirely grim, nor hopeless idea. On the contrary, I would argue that the treatment of death, and the multiple perspectives from which we view it in Tolkien’s works, is intended to impart the theme of ultimate hope to the reader. It is, in fact, a higher and nobler hope to which Tolkien calls his reader, as is the hope to which his characters are called. A hope beyond the circles of the World.

Dead and yet Victorious: Philosophy and the Good Death

In Norse culture, a good death could be achieved by dying in battle,1 or dying with a sword in your hand, as per the popular video game Skyrim,2 based loosely on Norse culture. Better still, the Socratic ideal of a good death relies upon living a good life and facing your death without fear. Socrates tells us, “To fear death, my friends, is only to think ourselves wise, without being wise… And what is this but that shameful ignorance of thinking that we know what we do not know?”3 Epicurus, in his Letter to Menoeceus, adopts a similar (if more dismissive) attitude, saying, “a right understanding that death is nothing to us makes the mortality of life enjoyable, not by adding to life an unlimited time, but by taking away the yearning after immortality.”4 The perspective of the great Boethius, who, in addition to its brilliant solution to the issue of predestination

1 Sturluson, Snorri. The Poetic Edda. New York. Edwin Mellen Press, 1991. 2 The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Bethesda Softworks. Bethesda, MD, 2011. 3 Plato and Socrates. Apology by Plato. MIT, "Internet Classics Archive:" http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/apology.html. 4 Epicurus. Letter to Menoeceus. MIT, "Internet Classics Archive." http://classics.mit.edu/Epicurus/menoec.html.

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Hunt—“Beyond the Circles of the World”


vs. free will, is of particular value when assessing Tolkien’s treatment of death, as we do know Tolkien was at least partly influenced by Boethius. From The Consolation of Philosophy:

Blest is death that intervenes not In the sweet, sweet years of peace, But unto the broken-hearted, When they call him, brings release!5

Tolkien’s view of death absorbs and refracts these philosophies, adding to them the principles of his faith. In one of his many letters he addresses this theme, saying, “Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste (or foretaste) of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality, of eternal endurance, which every man’s heart desires.”6

As is the case with his attitudes toward just about everything, his philosophy of death is almost entirely irreconcilable with the attitudes of modern Western culture, informed by a multitude of relativist philosophies, in which the idea of death is looked on with loathing and terror, and there is no model for it to be seen as a good thing. For this, the blame does not actually rest on the aforementioned philosophies, for they are symptoms, not causes. In the frustration of man’s search for meaning, we have given up seeking outside of ourselves and made self the only god acceptable to worship. A culture in which the self is god and all else is relative cannot possibly be equipped to deal with the idea of Death (not death as plot device, but capital D Death, in the large sense, as inevitable end to all human life). This lack of ability to deal with (D)eath is reflected in our popular culture, and our storytelling suffers on all levels. Dichotomies between despair and hope, sorrow and joy, good and evil, remain unresolved, if not entirely unaddressed. In order to be palatable to film and television executives, every conflict must be reduced to the most banal basis it can have and still technically remain a conflict.

Thus, the actual goodness of the “good” must be diminished enough to explain why the “evil” could have arisen in the first place, therefore, the evil must be diminished in order to explain why it doesn’t simply eradicate the comparatively weak and fragile good, and what we are left with are petty stories of competing interests in which one party that somewhat adheres to whatever bland standard of “good” society currently approves of, vies for its interests against another party which, though equally self-interested, appears to also want to harm others for no satisfyingly explained reason. Essentially, we are subjected to a battle between nice and mean.

5 Boethius, Ancius. The Consolation of Philosophy. Translated by Seth Lerer and David R. Slavitt. New York: Penguin Group

(USA) Incorporated, 2000. 6 Tolkien, J.R.R., Christopher Tolkien, and Humphrey Carpenter. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Boston, Mass.: Mariner Books,

2000.

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Nothing approaching authenticity can survive in these atmospheres. So we are made to settle for stories that are either repulsive and gratuitous but meaningless, or pleasant and fun but meaningless. The deadly sharpness of joy and the crushing pain of sorrow, the perilous thrill of wonder and the cold terror of death; these require a deeper truth. Tolkien’s work is singular, in that it is entirely untouched by the shallowness that has polluted most works of fiction, fantasy and otherwise. He confronts these things unflinchingly, and it is in the subtlety and depth of his treatment (not to mention his theological consistency) that his true brilliance as an author is revealed, and from which his works derive their longevity and evergreen relevance. When struck, his tales sound with the note of truth where others ring hollow. His characters suffer and they die, in hope or in despair, and it is in the way that they confront these things that we can see Tolkien’s perspective most clearly.

As Wicked Fools I Scorned Them: The Estrangement of the Kindreds

One of the primary dichotomies informing the theological foundation of Tolkien’s Middle Earth is the inherent discord between death and immortality. Forever at odds in his universe are the knowledge of Men that they must die, and their knowledge that the Elves, their kindred, do not die. This is, in fact the primary reason for the estrangement that has occurred between the kindreds. For, though both are called the children of Ilúvatar, their fates seem so irreconcilably different, that it causes a rift of misunderstanding to open between them. Like their own tower of Babel, the issue of death endlessly confounds interaction between them.

Finrod (brother of Galadriel and grandson of Finwe, the first high king of the Noldor) was the wisest of the exiled Noldor, and the first of the Elves to meet and befriend Men. He had a close friendship with Andreth, a wise woman of the Edain (and the great aunt of Beren). Their greatest debate, the Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, elegantly articulates the mortality/immortality issue, which underlies the stories of all of the human characters in Tolkien’s Middle-earth works, but is not explicitly laid out elsewhere (Side note: I would strongly recommend the Athrabeth to anyone interested in more thoroughly understanding the depth and richness of the mythology of Middle Earth). In the Athrabeth, Andreth’s words to Finrod concerning the Elves understanding of death are steeped in the bitterness of this discord. She says, “…what know ye of death? To you it may be in pain, it may be bitter and a loss—but only for a time, a little taken from abundance… For ye know that in dying you do not leave the world, and that you may return to life. Otherwise it is with us… Death is an uttermost end, a loss irremediable.”

Finrod counters that the Elves do understand death, and know it well. He explains the nature of the life of the Eldar, whose time seems eternal to Men, but in truth is bound to Arda (the world) and destined to end when it ends. He asserts that the soul naturally leaves the body after its time on earth, and that if Men understood this, “Then ‘death’ would (as I said) have sounded otherwise to you: as a release, or return, nay! as going home!”

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Andreth tells him, “…among my people, from Wise unto Wise out of the darkness, comes the voice saying that Men are not now as they were, nor as their true nature was in their beginning. And clearer still is this said by the Wise…that Men are not by nature short-lived, but have become so through the malice of the Lord of the Darkness whom they do not name.” She reasserts the argument that death itself is a corruption of the being of Men by Melkor, referring to the history she has learned from her kinswoman, Adanel (also counted among the wise). Briefly, Adanel’s account describes the awakening of Men in Middle Earth, in which they were spoken to by a Voice, which said, “Ye are my children. I have sent you to dwell here. In time ye will inherit all this Earth, but first ye must be children and learn. Call on me and I shall hear; for I am watching over you.” Then someone (read: Melkor) appeared among them crowned and dressed in shining silver, gold, and gems. He told them he came out of pity and could help them learn to be like him. Instead of teaching them, though, he simply brought them anything they wished for, calling himself the Giver of Gifts. So they worshipped him and began to make human sacrifices to him and do all manner of evil things to please him. Thus he became their cruel and merciless tyrant. The Voice only spoke to them once more, saying, “Ye have abjured Me, but ye remain Mine. I gave you life. Now it shall be shortened, and each of you in a little while shall come to Me, to learn who is your Lord: the one ye worship, or I who made him.”

“Thereafter,” Andreth says, “we were grievously afflicted, by weariness, and hunger, and sickness; and the Earth and all things in it were turned against us. Fire and Water rebelled against us. The birds and beasts shunned us, or if they were strong they assailed us. Plants gave us poison; and we feared the shadows under trees.” They knew then that the Voice had spoken the truth and the Giver of Gifts was the liar. But they had worshipped the deceiver, and they now fled both from him and from the anger of the Voice. They feel they are hunted by death and the shadow, and fear it always. Though the wise among them say there is no escape within the world, still the Men believe their hope lies in the west, and they travel relentlessly westward.

Finrod warns Andreth not to equate death with the shadow, for they are not the same, saying, “death is but the name that we give to something that [Melkor] has tainted, and it sounds therefore evil; but untainted its name would be good.” He disagrees with the conclusions she has drawn, and argues that Melkor could not have the power to create a corruption so drastic as death, as he says, “to doom the deathless to death, from father unto son, and yet to leave to them the memory of an inheritance taken away, and the desire for what is lost: could the Morgoth do this? No, I say. And for that reason I said that if your tale is true, then all in Arda is vain… None could have done this save the One.”

He then has a vision of Arda Remade. In it, the Men are the deliverers of the Eldar and they dwell together forever. He says, “even as did your heart when I spoke of your unrest, so now mine leaps up as at the hearing of good news. This then, I propound, was the errand of Men, not the followers, but the heirs and fulfillers of all: to heal the Marring of Arda, already foreshadowed before their devising; and to do more, as agents of the magnificence of Eru: to enlarge the Music and surpass the Vision of the

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World! For that Arda Healed shall not be Arda Unmarred, but a third thing and a greater, and yet the same.”

Andreth then reveals the Old Hope of Men, that Ilúvatar will one day enter into his creation and finally completely heal and amend it, but adds that Men no longer have any such hope. “What is hope,” she asks, “An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known? Then we have none.”

Finrod’s reply reaches the true crux of the issue: “That is one thing that Men call ‘hope,’” he tells her, “Amdir we call it, ‘looking up.’ But there is another, which is founded deeper. Estel we call it, that is ‘trust.’ It is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhin, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves. This is the last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children's joy.”7

Though Finrod and Andreth part without resolution to the matters presented by their debate, it is the introduction of these issues, not their unraveling that is most crucial to understanding the theological framework of Tolkien’s universe. The Athrabeth is, in fact, the most profoundly theological discussion in all of Tolkien’s Middle Earth works. The nature of death, and its connection to the longing of Men for the West, introduced by Andreth, become most crucial in the Akallebêth,8 the tale of the downfall of Númenor. Here, the concept of the West is woven most deeply into the Middle Earth mythology.

And Go We Know Not Whither: The Desire of Men for the West

The (capitalized) “West” in Tolkien’s universe does not ever simply refer to the cardinal direction, nor does its apparent desirability constitute some sort of western European chauvinism on Tolkien’s part. To deconstruct the concept properly, we must consider the fact that Valinor, the incorruptible home of the Valar, lies in the west, followed by Tol Eressëa, Elvenhome, which lies only a little less west of that, followed for a time by Númenor, the land of gift, a little less to the west than that. In Middle Earth, the Elves and the good Men make their homes as far to the west as possible, leaving the east, the far south, and far north to the evil Men and to Morgoth and Sauron respectively.

The Númenoreans live long lives untroubled by sickness and become wise and powerful beyond all other Men in the world. They have friendship with the Elves, who help them and bring them gifts, including the seedling of the White Tree, and teach them everything they wish to learn. And yet, as they grow ever more powerful and blissful, so their longing for the West grows. Thus the discord between the kindreds

7 Tolkien, J.R.R. The History of Middle-earth Vol. X: Morgoth's Ring. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins

Publishers Ltd, 1995. 8 Tolkien, J.R.R. The Silmarillion. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1977.

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surfaces again, on almost exactly the same terms as when they were argued by Finrod and Andreth. The Men long for the life of the Eldar, they feel that death is a punishment, and they fear death, for they have no idea what lies beyond it. Their argument has essentially devolved into “we want what you have,” and “we are afraid to die.” Let us not fault them too much for this, however, as that is basically still the core of human motivation up through the present day.

Again we reach the crux of the argument: “Eastward they must sail, but ever West their hearts returned. Now this yearning grew ever greater with the years; and the Númenoreans began to hunger for the undying city that they saw from afar, and the desire of everlasting life, to escape from death and the ending of delight.” When the Eldar attempt to counsel them against this attitude, the underpinning of the theology established in the Athrabeth is unmistakable: “…you and your people are not of the Firstborn, but are mortal Men as Ilúvatar made you…The Eldar, you say, are unpunished, and even those who rebelled do not die. Yet that is to them neither reward nor punishment, but the fulfilment of their being. They cannot escape, and are bound to this world, never to leave it so long as it lasts, for its life is theirs… you escape, and leave the world, and are not bound to it, in hope or in weariness. Which of us therefore should envy the others?” The Númenoreans rejoin that they envy the deathless because, “…of us is required a blind trust, and a hope without assurance, knowing not what lies before us in a little while. And yet we also love the Earth and would not lose it.” The messengers from the Eldar reiterate what Finrod has told us in the Athrabeth, that death was a gift from Ilúvatar to Men, and that it became a grief to them because of the corruption of Morgoth, saying, “Beware! The will of Eru may not be gainsaid; and the Valar bid you earnestly not to withhold the trust to which you are called, lest soon it become again a bond by which you are constrained.”

Though the Númenoreans live in sight of the undying land, theirs is a fate set apart and they may not enter it. Just as faith requires a trust without assurance, and a literal blindness on the part of the faithful, the sight of the undying realm becomes an obstruction in the vision of the Men of Númenor, beyond which they lose sight of their own path. As Tolkien says of it in his letters, reward on earth is more dangerous for men than punishment. Neither the Númenoreans, nor any Men, are given certainty concerning death and its purpose, but they are called to trust, nonetheless. As the messengers of the Eldar tell them, “the mind of Ilúvatar concerning you is not known to the Valar… But this we hold to be true, that your home is not here, neither in the Land of Aman nor anywhere within the Circles of the World…” They do offer them hope, however: “The love of Arda was set in your hearts by Ilúvatar, and he does not plant to no purpose. Nonetheless, many ages of Men unborn may pass ere that purpose is made known; and to you it will be revealed and not to the Valar.”9

When Númenor eventually falls, it is due to the deceits of Sauron only secondarily. The primary reason for its fall is pride. The pride of the Númenoreans blinds them to the trust to which they are called and causes them to despair, believing that

9 Tolkien, Silmarillion.

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they see the end beyond all doubt. Their salvation would not have been in certainty, but in doubt: the doubt of their own wisdom. Thus, the greatest act of judgement upon Men on by Ilúvatar is also his greatest act of mercy: the destruction of Númenor and the removal of the undying land from the sight of Men.

With great pain and loss is this accomplished, but so it is with all those things of greatest worth and meaning. As Tolkien says, “A divine ’punishment’ is also a divine ‘gift’, if accepted, since its object is ultimate blessing, and the supreme inventiveness of the Creator will make ‘punishments’ (that is changes of design) produce a good not otherwise to be attained: a ‘mortal’ Man has probably (an Elf would say) a higher (if unrevealed destiny) than a longeval one.”10

And so the West becomes a pure and unobstructed idea. It is not a metaphor for death, nor is it a metaphor for hope. Instead, it is a symbol of the natural order Ilúvatar has designed. The west is where the sun sets. To seek the east would be to seek the rising of the sun. The beginning of life and time. To attempt to unnaturally forestall the progression of existence toward its natural end. As Tolkien puts it, “To attempt by device or ‘magic’ to recover longevity is thus a supreme folly and wickedness of ‘mortals’. Longevity or counterfeit ‘immortality’ (true immortality is beyond Eä) is the chief bait of Sauron—it leads the small to a Gollum, and the great to a Ringwraith.”11 More life cannot be gained this way, only the drawing out of the great struggle to the point where it is meaningless. The West is where time rests. It is where things progress to their natural end. The setting of the sun serves as a reminder to Men of the path they must follow, as Arwen says at the end of her tale, whether they will or nill.

Beyond the Circles of the World: In Sorrow We Must Go

After the removal of the faithful from the lost Númenor to Middle Earth, their strength fades and their lives shorten as they mingle with lesser men over many generations. This is not a punishment, but a consequence of their nature. It is the allotment of years that men of less strength are able to endure with their hope and will intact. To give more years to weaker men would doom them to weariness and loss of hope, and Ilúvatar does not give any a heavier burden than they are able to bear. Even the Elves grow weary of life, and their strength is much greater than that of Men, bound by their fate to the world, as part of its very being. How therefore, would a great lengthening of years benefit Men, whose true being is not of the world? For, as we have read in the Athrabeth and Akallebêth, Men are strangers in this world, fated to dwell within it only for a little while before they follow the sun West and depart, lest their love of Arda become a chain that binds them to it, and the desire to extend their time within it become an obstruction on the path to their true destiny. Thus, though it is the diminishing of Men that leads to their shortened lives, the shortening thereof is a mercy, not a punishment.

10 Tolkien, Tolkien, and Carpenter. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. 11 Ibid.

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The closest thing to a resolution of the death debate comes through the tale of one of these diminished Men, though he is the greatest man left alive: Aragorn, and his beloved, Arwen, of the Eldar. Aragorn and his people, the Dúnedain, are descendents of Elros, the brother of Elrond and first king of Númenor. Therefore, the closest in kinship and understanding between Men and Elves are those of the house of Elrond and the Dúnedain. Though the echoes of the old conflict between Men and Elves voiced in the Athrabeth and Akallebêth can be heard, it is also here that we come closest to a resolution of the strife between the two kindreds. Both are addressed in the last passages of the tale of Aragorn and Arwen in the Lord of the Rings appendices, in which Aragorn’s time has come and he is preparing for death:

“Lady Undómiel,” said Aragorn, “the hour is indeed hard, yet it was made even in that day when we met under the white birches in the garden of Elrond, where none now walk… I am the last of the Númenoreans and the latest King of the Eldar Days; and to me has been given not only a span thrice that of Men of Middle-earth, but also the grace to go at my will, and give back the gift. Now, therefore, I will sleep. I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world. The uttermost choice is before you: to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than a memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men.” “Nay, dear lord,” she said, “that choice is long over. There is now no ship to bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Númenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive.” “So it seems,” he said. “But let us not be overthrown at the final test, who of old renounced the Shadow and the Ring. In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound forever in the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory, Farewell!” “Estel, Estel!” she cried, and with that even as he took her hand and kissed it, he fell into sleep… But Arwen went forth from the House, and the light of her eyes was quenched, and it seemed to her people that she had become cold and grey as nightfall in winter that comes without a star. Then she said farewell to Eldarion, and to her daughters, and to all whom she had loved; and she went out from the city of Minas Tirith and passed away to the land of Lórien, and dwelt there alone under the

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fading trees until winter came. Galadriel had passed away and Celeborn had also gone, and the land was silent. There at last when the mallorn-leaves were falling, but spring had not yet come, she laid herself to rest upon Cerin Amroth; and there is her green grave, until the world is changed, and all the days of her life are utterly forgotten by the men that come after, and elanor and nimphredil bloom no more east of the sea.12

Aragorn embodies the ideal of the Tolkienian good death for Men, by treating his

own life as a stewardship, which he faithfully surrenders at the proper time. He departs at peace, by choice, telling his beloved: in sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Arwen, who chose humanity, now appears even more human than he. She embodies the reality of how most of us experience death. She pleads with him not to leave her. The light in her eyes is extinguished. She walks alone in the faded woods where she once dwelt in light and bliss with her beloved. At the end, she truly endures the fullness of the pain of human mortality. The loss and the silence. Aragorn and Arwen demonstrate the heart of the human struggle, and at the end of their long tale, we see it in its undiluted form. Both its joy and its sorrow as sharp as swords.

How then, are we to understand the paradox of Men’s grand and terrible destiny in Tolkien’s universe? If they are not of the world, and their fate is not bound to Arda, why place them within it and require that they traverse the path of life and grow to love it, only to die and be torn away from it? Perhaps, as Andreth suggests, Men must live in order to die. So that Death itself, through Man, may be defeated. This would track biblically with the theological foundation of Tolkien’s universe.13 Perhaps Ilúvatar will enter into his own creation through man, and die as a man. And perhaps in dying just as they do, and in defeating his Death, they will defeat it together, and he will at last be fully united with his children and in one chord, deeper than the Abyss, higher than the Firmament, piercing as the light of the eye of Ilúvatar, the Music will cease.14

But Tolkien, with a master’s touch, leaves it up to us to choose our understanding of his creation, and we are reminded that these are only a Hobbit’s translation of the tales told to the Eldar by the Valar. Suggestions threaded throughout the Middle-earth mythologies, based upon what the Elves and Valar know (and more importantly, do not know) about the fate of Men. No proof is offered. After all, to tell us in definite terms would be to give assurance where it is better to give hope. All we know with absolute certainty is that in Tolkien’s world, Men must die, and go they know not whither. That is all we know with absolute certainty of our own world as well. Men must

12 Tolkien, J.R.R. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. Vol. 3. (Appendix A: Part V) London: George Allen & Unwin,

1955. 13 1 Corinthians 15:21; “For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead” 14 Tolkien, Silmarillion.

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endure their going hence, even as their coming hither.15 We all must die. Whether we agree or disagree on what happens after, none can know for certain in his universe or ours. The final hope, the Estel, to which Tolkien calls his readers, as well as his characters, is this: in sorrow we must go, but we can choose not to go in despair.

REBEKAH HUNT is a student at Portland State University, earning her Master's Degree in Publishing with a focus on New Media. She owes her lifelong love of J.R.R. Tolkien and devotion to the written word to her mother, who read Lord of the Rings to her every night until she was old enough to read it herself. She hopes to incorporate her Publishing Degree and decades-long study of Tolkien into some kind of career one day, and also to own a goat that she will name Lobelia.

15 Shakespeare , William. King Lear (Unabridged). New York: Start Media, 2013.

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Red Comets and Red Stars: Tolkien, Martin, and the Use of Astronomy in Fantasy Series

Kristine Larsen Central Connecticut State University

Abstract:

J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle-earth tales are often invoked when discussing George R. R.

Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series. Both are certainly based in detailed “secondary worlds”

and recount the complex interactions between multiple cultures and kingdoms, and in both the

natural world plays an important role (e.g. the extreme seasons of Westeros and the forests of

Middle-earth). As an astronomy professor, I have spent the past decade analyzing the science

of Middle-earth, especially Tolkien’s masterful use of astronomy to flesh-out his subcreation as

a “real” universe. Given the increasing popularity of Martin’s series (due in no small part to the

wildly successful HBO series Game of Thrones), it is logical (at least in my mind) to explore to

what extent astronomical objects and observations play a role in Martin’s subcreation.

As seasons have an astronomical cause in our primary world, one obvious place to begin

would be the extreme and unpredictable seasons of Martin’s world, and a number of

astronomers have indeed written papers trying to find a reasonable scientific explanation for

this phenomenon. However, given the fact that Martin has plainly stated that the seasons have

a magical, rather than scientific, origin, this line of investigation is of limited interest. In

contrast, there are a number of other astronomical allusions in Martin’s saga, such as the Red

Comet, numerous constellations, and the apparent motions of the planets, allusions which

clearly mirror the real world and also resonate with Tolkien’s writings. This is not surprising,

since both worlds seem to reflect a geocentric, medieval cosmology (referred to as “the

discarded image” by Tolkien’s friend and fellow fantasy writer C.S. Lewis). This paper will

compare and contrast these aspects of Martin’s and Tolkien’s universes, including observations

of the night sky, the role of astrology and heavenly portents, constellations, the importance of

planets and their apparent motions, and the nature of the sun and moon.

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Larsen—“Red Comets and Red Stars”


KRISTINE LARSEN is a Professor of Astronomy at Central Connecticut State University. Her

research and teaching focus on issues of science and society, including the preparation of

science educators, science outreach, and science and literature. Her publications include the

books Stephen Hawking: A Biography and Cosmology 101, and two co-edited volumes, The Mythological Dimensions of Doctor Who and The Mythological Dimensions of Neil Gaiman

(Recipient of the Gold Medal for Science Fiction/Fantasy in the 2012 Florida Publishing

Association Awards). She is the recipient of the 2013 Walter Scott Houston award from the

Northeast Region of the Astronomical League for excellence in astronomy education and

outreach.

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Similarities between The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

and Dune by Frank Herbert

N. Trevor Brierly

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien and Dune by Frank Herbert are often regarded as the

pinnacles of their respective genres of fantasy and science fiction. They are sometimes

compared to each other in terms of size, scope and breadth of world-building. Arthur C. Clarke,

for example, wrote about Dune:

DUNE seems to me unique among modern sf novels in the depth of

characterization and the extraordinary detail of the world it creates. I know

nothing comparable to it except THE LORD OF THE RINGS. (Dune back cover)

Do these two works share more than superficial similarities? They are very different books, in

many ways photo-negatives of each other. But they do have important similarities that are

worth exploring.

Both Dune and Lord of the Rings are basically stories of good versus evil, where the characters

on the side of good are largely admirable. They struggle to defeat enemies who rule by

oppression, cruelty and injustice. Good does win over evil in the end, although ultimately not

permanently. At a very high level then, both books have the same broad shape. However,

once you focus in closer, the differences between the two become much clearer and the

similarities also become more interesting.

Both novels feature young heroes who are forced to leave a paradisiacal home and survive in

harsh wildernesses. Frodo must flee the edenic Shire he loves and go first into the wilderness

of desolate, depopulated Eriador, then through mountain tunnels, through shade-infested

marshes and then finally into the barren horror of Mordor, which even Gollum describes in fear

as "Ashes, ashes, and dust, and thirst there is; and pits, pits, pits, and Orcses, thousands of

Orcses" (Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers [TT], IV, i, 601). Paul Atreides is similarly forced out

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Brierly—“Lord of the Rings and Dune”


of his well-watered home of Caladan, which he describes later to Chani: "Where I was born,

water fell from the sky and ran over the land in wide rivers…There were oceans of it so broad

you could not see the other shore" (Dune 291). After a brief period of rule over Arrakis, the

Atreides are all but destroyed by their archenemies the Harkonnen, and by an Emperor who

fears and betrays them. Only Paul and his mother Jessica are left, and they flee into the

desperately dry deserts of Arrakis, where rain has never fallen and strangers are killed for the

water in their bodies. However, wildernesses turn out to be very good places to hide in. Jessica

and Paul are believed by their enemies to have been killed in a desert storm. They find a place

among the Fremen, a people who eke out a living on Arrakis. Similarly, Mordor with all its

darkness, pits and crevices, allows Frodo and Sam to hide literally under the nose of Sauron and

make their way to Mount Doom unnoticed.

Barren wildernesses also have a more symbolic role to play in Dune and Lord of the Rings. Paul

is quoted as saying "God created Arrakis to train the faithful" (Dune 301). Harsh, extreme

environments can transform characters. Paul and Lady Jessica are already formidable because

of Jessica's Bene Gesserit training, but the desert provides the perfect environment to bring out

Paul's extraordinary abilities of leadership and prescience. His understanding of the ways of the

desert enable him to find the lever that he can use to move the Imperium. Frodo and Sam are

transformed also by their own journeys through the wilderness. The primary change in them is

a self-confidence rooted in the knowledge that they have "done the impossible". An example

of this is found when they return to the Shire and find it ruled and partly ruined by a band of Big

People ruffians. This chapter near the end of Lord of the Rings is sometimes seen as an

unnecessary extension of the book, but Tolkien saw it as an essential part of the novel. In this

chapter we see the ultimate result of the transformation that Sam, Frodo and the other hobbits

have undergone. They now quite naturally and quickly "take charge" and deal with this local

evil with confidence and humor. Frodo has undergone an additional transformation, he is tired

of violence and understands deeply the value of mercy. During the Scouring of the Shire he

tries to avoid violence as much as possible. He commands that no hobbits be killed by other

hobbits, and that mercy is to be shown to the human invaders if they leave peacefully.

Both Paul and Frodo carry an unwanted burden throughout much of the novels that places

great constraints upon them and tests their integrity. In the case of Frodo it is the Ring which

weighs heavily upon him, both physically, as the Ring seems to get heavier later in the book, but

spiritually also, depressing him and continually pressuring him to use it. The Ring is portrayed

as a character in itself, full of malice, desiring to be used, trying to return to its master Sauron.

This is what Frodo must contend with as he travels through Middle-earth. Sam experiences this

also as he bears the Ring for a short time while Frodo is captured. But neither bows to Ring,

until the very end at Mount Doom when Frodo puts on the Ring and refuses to throw it away.

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Paul also carries a burden, what he repeatedly calls "terrible purpose". This refers to his

incipient messiahship and the bloodthirsty religious war called the Jihad that will be triggered

by his actions. With his frustratingly-limited prescience he searches for a way to avoid the

"terrible purpose", the Jihad, but realizes that even knowing the future doesn't mean he can

control it. The Jihad is already set in motion, and the Fremen will sweep over the universe

seeking vengeance for centuries of oppression, and become oppressors themselves. Paul

earnestly desires to avoid this, but reluctantly accepts that he cannot. If he wishes to reclaim

Arrakis, revive House Atreides and destroy a great evil, then the Jihad is unavoidable. Paul

chooses to accept his messiahship and defeats the Harkonnen and the Emperor. The novel

Dune Messiah continues the story as House Atreides rises to rule the Empire, and the Fremen

are unleashed on the universe. Herbert always meant for Dune and Dune Messiah to be read

together as a single story, and while Dune ends on a positive note, with the defeat of the evil

Harkonnen and the corrupt Imperium, Dune Messiah is much less clear, and describes Paul's

anguished reaction to the bloody Jihad and the religious structure that has grown up around

him. The Jihad has resulted in the deaths of 61 billion people, and Paul realizes through his

ability to see into possible futures that even worse may happen to humanity. As the Bene

Gesserit, the Guild Navigators, the Tleilaxu and Princess Irulan plot against him, he comes up

with a plan to avoid this.

Both Frodo and Paul have to deal with the incomplete nature of their heroism. Their respective

failures have a personal aspect, but are largely beyond their fault. Frodo shows great

endurance and integrity getting to Mount Doom, but he fails at the end of the quest, and only

chance and pity shown long ago (when Bilbo decided to spare Gollum’s life) resulted in the Ring

being destroyed. However, Frodo's failure probably says more about the immense power of

the Ring than it does about his own flaws or weaknesses. Tolkien is making a point that the

Ring cannot but corrupt any who bear it. Ultimately no one is strong enough to destroy it, be

they wizard, elf, man or hobbit. Even Gandalf knows from the beginning that he should not

have it. When Frodo attempts to give him the Ring he says: "No!...With that power I should

have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and

more deadly….Do not tempt me!" (Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring [FR], I, ii, 70-1)

The Ring is destroyed in the end, but it is through providence and through mercy shown long

ago. Providence is one of the primary themes of Lord of the Rings. Gandalf tells Frodo: "Behind

that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no

plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which

case you also were meant to have it, and that may be an encouraging thought" (FR, I, ii, 65). It

is clear that Tolkien is referring here to a higher power than Sauron, that is Iluvatar the Creator,

who is actively involved with his creation and ultimately works out all to the good.

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Paul also has failed, though his failure is far larger than Frodo's in its scope. While he has

restored House Atreides to power and destroyed a great evil, his regime is now responsible for

mass murder and reviled by many because of the brutality of the Jihad. Despite being Emperor

of the Known Universe and revered as a god, he is unable to stop the excesses of the religion

that has formed around him. He actually believes he is just a figurehead (Dune Messiah 37).

His failure is perhaps less a personal failure than the reality that systems of power such as

religions and governments are extraordinarily difficult to control, even by those who are

theoretically in charge. Tolkien and Herbert might agree that history has shown that power will

corrupt those who hold it. Tolkien wrote in a letter to his son Christopher: "…the most

improper job of any man, even saints (who at any rate were at least unwilling to take it on), is

bossing other men. Not one in a million is fit for it, and least of all those who seek the

opportunity" (Letters 64). Herbert seems to be saying that governments, religions,

organizations, any part of the power structure cannot help becoming corrupt. He might agree

with Lord Acton's axiom that "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Great men are almost always bad men." It is important to realize that Herbert does not want

readers to see Paul as a wholly positive figure. According to Herbert, one of the primary

themes of Dune is the danger of messiahs and supermen. He writes:

I conceived of a long novel, the whole trilogy as one book about the messianic

convulsions that periodically overtake us….This grows from my theory that

superheroes are disastrous for humankind, that even if we find a real hero

(whatever that may be), eventually fallible mortals take over the power structure

that always comes in being around such a leader. (Maker 97)

Paul might qualify as a "real hero", at least at first, but he is trapped within a corrupt and

corrupting system. In Dune Messiah, Paul is able to see with his prescience that something

even worse than the Jihad awaits humanity. He sets in motion a plan to set the universe on a

new path and thus redeems himself to an extent.

Perhaps one of the most significant similarities between Lord of the Rings and Dune is the role

that addiction plays in both. The substance found on Arrakis known as "spice" or "melange"

has amazing powers. It extends life and prevents aging. It prevents illness and provides

immunity to many poisons. It enhances and activates psychic powers. Guild Navigators use it

to find a safe path for space travel. The Bene Gesserit use it to enhance their own powers. Not

only is it desirable for these reasons, Herbert makes it quite clear that the substance itself is

addictive, especially at high doses (Dune 507).

Tolkien never actually uses the term "addiction" or any of its forms, but he portrays the Ring

and its interaction with those who bear it in very similar terms. The Ring itself is extraordinarily

powerful. Like the spice, it extends life. It makes the user invisible and gives the power of

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command and many other abilities. Gandalf describes Gollum as being "bound by desire of it"

(FR, I, ii, 66) and he is tormented and maddened by his desire for it. In his turn, Bilbo finds

himself very reluctant to give it up, to pass it on to Frodo. Gandalf encourages him to let it go,

but he says: "Now it comes to it, I don't like parting with it at all, I may say. And I don't really

see why I should. Why do you want me to?" (FR, I, i, 41). Frodo first experiences the power of

the Ring as he is hiding from the Black Rider on the road out of the Shire: "Once more the

desire to slip on the Ring came over Frodo; but this time it was stronger than before. So strong

that, almost before he realized what he was doing, his hand was groping in his pocket" (FR, I, iii,

88). As Frodo approaches Mount Doom, its hold on him grows, until at the end he is unable to

give it up. The Ring has a mind of its own and the ability to create a strong desire to keep it and

use it.

Addictions are about free will, and the loss of it. Actions become increasingly constrained

toward obtaining or retaining, and using what is causing the addiction. The Ring and the Spice

are both powerful things, sought by the powerful to increase their power, but resulting in

addiction and corruption. They drive the action of their respective novels. Who will control the

Ring, who will be its true Lord, is the question at the center of Lord of the Rings. The Ring is

why Frodo and the Fellowship pass from "danger into danger". Dune is similarly concerned

with the question of who will be in control of Arrakis and therefore the spice. The spice as an

addictive and highly desirable substance drives the powerful to seek control of Arrakis, at great

price to those who are in their way.

A complex similarity between Dune and Lord of the Rings is the theme of the environment and

how it is treated by the characters. In both novels the realms of the evil characters are

characterized as aesthetically repugnant, used up by resource extraction and antipathic to life.

Giedi Prime, the homeworld of the Harkonnens is a polluted, heavily-industrialized and heavily-

mined world, described as having "low photosynthetic potential" to begin with (Dune 502), and

ill-treated ever since. Visitors to Giedi Prime notice the "rubbish heaps, the scabrous brown

walls reflected in the dark puddles of the streets, and the furtive scurrying of the people" (Dune

313). Similarly, in Lord of the Rings there are two examples of realms which have been abused.

Saruman, with his "mind of metal and wheels" (TT, III, iv, 76) has turned Isengard into a

nightmarish realm. Gandalf describes what he saw during his captivity at the pinnacle of the

tower Orthanc: "I looked on it and saw that, whereas it had once been green and fair, it was

now filled with pits and forges….Over all his works a dark smoke hung and wrapped itself about

the sides of Orthanc" (FR, II, ii, 274) . Saruman himself is only an imitator of Sauron, who has

turned the entire land of Mordor into a barren horror. Frodo and Sam are deeply affected by

its ugliness and barrenness:

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Frodo and Sam gazed out in mingled loathing and wonder at this hateful land.

Between them and the smoking mountain, all seemed ruinous and dead, a

desert burned and choked. They wondered how the Lord of this realm

maintained and fed his slaves and his armies…Neither [Sam] nor Frodo knew

anything of the great slave-worked fields away south in this wide realm, beyond

the fumes of the mountain by the dark sad waters of Lake Núrnen…Here in the

northern regions were the mines and forges, and the musterings of long-planned

war. (The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King [RK], VI, ii, 902)

In both novels evil is associated with a mindset which views the environment as merely a

resource to be used and used up. In contrast, good is associated more often with a mindset

that views the environment as something to be nurtured and conserved. Over many years the

Shire has been made into a green and productive land which has supported generations of

Hobbits in plenty. The elves who crafted Rivendell and Lothlorien have similar attitudes,

though with a somewhat stronger emphasis on the aesthetic.

The original homeworld of the Atreides family is the lush water-world of Caladan, kept that

way, it appears, over at least 26 generations of history of the Atreides (Dune 3). Their new

homeworld of Arrakis is much less hospitable, with the constant pressure of lack of moisture. A

desert world, the spice is all that makes it worth inhabiting, and most of its people live in

grubby settlements away from the sand, where the sandworms dwell. But the Fremen people

roam freely, and have learned how to "live in harmony" with its deadly nature, making the most

of what little it has to offer in the way of life-supporting resources. Their culture is harsh and

brutal at times, but out of necessity, given the reality of their environment.

Despite the vast aridity of their world, the Fremen have a dream, to eventually make their

desert world a pleasant and beautiful place to live. In this they are similar to the hobbits and

the elves, who also worked to create realms of green fruitfulness. The Fremen have been given

this hope by the offworlder Pardot Kynes, the Imperial Planetologist, who believed that such a

thing could be done, given enough time and effort. Herbert describes Kynes's vision:

To Pardot Kynes, the planet was merely an expression of energy, a machine

being driven by the sun. What it needed was reshaping to fit it to man's needs.

His mind went directly to the free-moving human population, the Fremen. What

a challenge! What a tool they could be! Fremen: an ecological and geological

force of almost unlimited potential. (Dune 477)

He talked to the Fremen about water, about dunes anchored by grass, about

palmaries filled with date palms, about open qanats flowing across the desert.

(Dune 478)

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The Fremen accept his ideas, which Kynes forms into an ecological religion. They understand

that it will be hundreds of years before it happens, but they still work towards it, slowly

accumulating water and planting hardy desert species.

In answer to the question asked at the beginning, Dune and Lord of the Rings do share

significant similarities, which can only be covered briefly here. Why compare them to begin

with? So we can come to know each better and gain insights we wouldn't have from looking at

each in isolation. Both novels are about transformation and awakening to self-awareness,

about mastering inevitable change, and about dealing with corrupting power as it is used by the

inhumane. These are subjects of interest to all of us, and both Dune and Lord of the Rings are

alike in that there is a lot we can learn from them.

Works Cited

Carpenter, Humphrey, ed. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 2000.

Herbert, Frank. Dune. New York: Ace Books, 1984.

—. Dune Messiah. New York: Berkley Publishing Corp., 1969.

—. The Maker of Dune. Ed. Tim O'Reilly. New York: Berkley Books, 1987.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Lord of the Rings. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1994.

N. TREVOR BRIERLY tells computers what to do for a living, but his true love is reading,

particularly in literature, science, history and religion. He has a BA in English from George

Mason University and an MLIS from University of Texas-Austin. He is currently working on

a book of meditations for people who are recovering from spiritual abuse and aspires to write

a definitive monograph on Dune by Frank Herbert. He lives in Northern Virginia with 6

miniature tigers, 3,000 books and his beloved spouse.

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Fathers of Fantasy: An Appreciation of the Creativity of

J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson

Shellie Kennedy

My initial reason for writing this piece was that I was tired of having to verbally defend

Peter Jackson’s decisions over and over to any skeptic of the recent Hobbit films. But in doing

the research for this project, I discovered the intimate details that make both the books and the

films so endearing. Calling this a comparison would not truly justify my goal because I do not

want to simply compare and contrast but rather blend the two art forms together. The Lord of the

Rings was the top selling fiction book in the 20th

century.1 While not the first fantasy writer,

Tolkien certainly set a high precedence from which others would follow. “Books are better than

movies” is a favorite quote among avid readers and book-to-movie conversions are always open

to traditionalist criticism. The most important point to make here is that films are inherently

different than books and therefore must be treated differently in their execution, and in their

appreciation. Using Tolkien’s narrative we truly can provide a solid defense for most of

Jackson’s cinematic decisions.

1 Charles Dickens’ classic “A Tale of Two Cities” remains the top selling fiction book of all time according to

Wikipedia, Goodreads, and other various sources, but Tolkien’s work sits in the second slot.

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Kennedy—“Fathers of Fantasy: Tolkien & Jackson”


Jackson’s first film trilogy accumulatively won seventeen Academy Awards, more than

any other film in Oscar history.2 In the film industry, he revolutionized the use of CGI, motion-

capture, 3D, and high speed technology. Obviously he was not the first director to incorporate

this level of computer-generated technology, but he expanded upon it. Jackson has an eye for

detail and because of this, the movies reinforce the books.

This article is only concerning the first film in the Hobbit trilogy and the book up to

where the first movie ends, but in that short amount of time there is much to discuss. I want to

focus, first, on two main themes presented by Tolkien and demonstrated in Jackson’s

adaptations. These themes are “An Unexpected Beginning” and “Self-Reflection.” As we all

know, Tolkien began his work on The Hobbit while grading papers where he wrote the infamous

line, “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit” on a blank page. Though unintended, the

professor was embarking on his own unexpected, yet remarkable saga. The style in which the

book is written is also unique in that Tolkien used a parenthetic structure in his writing. Look at

the first chapters of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings respectively, “An Unexpected Party”

and “A Long-expected Party.” This was, of course, because the original intent of the Fellowship

was to be a sequel to The Hobbit not its own story, but also look at how he chooses to begin and

end each story; a hobbit sets out on an adventure with new friends and returns to find chaos at

home. This may seem like a simple concept, and it is simple but it is in no way accidental.

There is also the unintended mood change. Tolkien added the plot of the Necromancer and the

White Council, darker and deeper players in the plot game, behind the scenes of the main child-

like and whimsical storyline as seen through Bilbo’s eyes. Of course these are just links to his

later trilogy.

2 James Cameron’s Titanic holds the record in statues winning eleven Oscars in 1997 which tied with The Return of

the King, but cumulatively Peter Jackson’s films won seventeen making the trilogy the winningest project in Oscar

history. These statistics can be found through the Academy Awards website.

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The road to production of Peter Jackson’s An Unexpected Journey was also an

unexpected one. The Tolkien Estate had sold the rights to The Hobbit so everyone wondered if

Jackson would take on the project, but it was Guillermo del Toro who took the reins. After

eighteen months of pre-production and financial issues that plagued progress, del Toro passed

the torch to Jackson who, though he had once been apprehensive of doing such a movie, went

into making The Hobbit in the same manner he made his first Tolkien trilogy twelve years

earlier. Jackson continues Tolkien’s tradition of creating a parenthetic structure for the storyline.

The director brought Elijah Wood and Ian Holm back to reprise their roles as Frodo and Old

Bilbo, respectively and some wondered, why? Opening this movie with Bilbo telling Frodo the

story was not only appropriate but necessary. It had been twelve years since audiences entered

Middle-earth and Jackson had a duty to transition them back. Unlike Tolkien who told the story

in chronological order, Jackson had already opened with the Lord of the Rings and therefore had

to tell the story reminiscently. This decision, combined with the use of the Appendices in the

Lord of the Rings, created a fuller story, not fabricated, but expanded from Tolkien’s own

creativity.

In regard to the theme of self-reflection, it is no secret that the children’s story took place

through the eyes of a hobbit. The impersonal narrator describes events as Bilbo would have seen

them. We also confront the internal battle between Bilbo’s Took and Baggins natures. He feels

out of place among the dwarves but also feels the sudden longing for adventure after hearing the

dwarves’ song in his hobbit hole. Then of course, there is the meeting between Bilbo and

Gollum. In 1937 this was not visible, but after reading the Lord of the Rings we understand the

foreshadowing and that Gollum is what Bilbo could become after being under the oppression of

the Ring for so long. This moment is also the first time Bilbo is left to fend for himself. He has

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no help from the dwarves or Gandalf. He is left with Sting and his own clever devices to get

himself out alive. This is also the first time we see Bilbo as a burglar. Though that was the

primary reason the dwarves brought him along, up to this point he has yet to prove himself

worthy of the title. Here he takes the Ring, and once Gollum realizes it is missing, Bilbo too

realizes how significant the object is and makes his escape with it.

Bilbo is also not the only one going through self-reflection up to this point in the story.

In the first chapter we hear Gandalf and Thorin talking about the failure of his father Thrain and

grandfather Thror to reestablish the kingdom under the mountain. It is a failure that haunts

Thorin, a burden for him to carry along the journey, and a key element to the story that Tolkien

clearly does not want his readers to forget.

I mentioned the singular perspective of a narrator in the book but in the movies, Bilbo is

not the only perspective we see, and that is the glory of cinema. Each dwarf has been developed

into a unique character, the White Council only includes the wisest members of Middle-earth,

and the scenes with Radagast give us insight into the enclosed world on the edge of Mirkwood

through the eyes of an ancient wizard other than Gandalf. This is the magic of movie-making

and the greater scope it allows. When Thorin blatantly tells him he does not belong among the

company, it pushes Bilbo to want to prove himself even more to the group. Bilbo saving Thorin

at the end of the film is redemption for Bilbo and a reawakening for Thorin, something that we

do not get to see in the book until much later. Films, even in a trilogy, must have a beginning, a

climax, and something that loosely resembles an ending, even if it is a cliffhanger. For An

Unexpected Journey, we follow the evolution of Bilbo’s relationship with the company,

primarily Thorin, and watch it play out. However, knowing this is a trilogy, viewers can expect

to see these relationships flourish more throughout the series.

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We also see Bilbo and his chance to rid the world of Gollum’s villainy. In the movie it is

the music of Howard Shore’s score, not a narrator, which describes Bilbo’s intentions and the

weight and repercussions of that decision. Using hindsight again, we know that destroying

Gollum would have drastically changed the outcome of not only this story but The Lord of the

Rings. In that small fleeting moment when Bilbo has the opportunity to slay the wicked creature,

we hear the theme of the Shire playing and you can almost hear Gandalf whisper from earlier,

“True courage comes from not knowing when to take a life, but when to spare one.”3 The

purpose of film scores is to tell the story without pictures. If you play the soundtrack from start

to finish, you should be able to visualize the progression of the story and this scene is a prime

example of this.

While we are on the topic of music, Howard Shore continues his tradition from the first

trilogy of creating music for each race of Middle-earth. He has now composed over twenty

hours of score for the sole purpose of bringing these cultures to life. There is also the credit

music which plays after each Jackson film. For An Unexpected Journey, Neil Finn wrote the

“Song of the Lonely Mountain” which not only maintained Shore’s dwarvish motif, but also

incorporated the sounds of chanting men and clanging iron to resemble the sounds which would

have been heard during the glory days of Erebor. There is no doubt that Thorin and Company

were remembering this when they sang a simpler version of this song at the beginning of the

film.

As far as Thorin’s personal journey, the Extended Edition features a scene in which

Thorin and Bilbo overhear a conversation between Elrond and Gandalf. Elrond reminds Gandalf

that madness runs in Thorin’s family and they are very susceptible to dragon-sickness. This puts

a heavy pressure on Thorin to succeed in his quest and makes it much more personal than the

3 An Unexpected Journey, 1:11:35

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quest depicted in Tolkien’s story. Although this conversation is not in the book, it is vital to the

theme of self-reflection in the film and is beautifully executed by the actors.

In addressing specific criticism against Peter Jackson we have already talked about the

length of the movie and his decision to make a trilogy, but there is also the subject of tone.

Many people anticipated that the movie could have gone one of two ways. Either Jackson would

make the movie in the same tone as book, therefore losing the epic feeling that made the Lord of

the Rings so popular and successful. Or he would create the movie in the same tone as his first

trilogy and strip the book of the children’s story that Tolkien wrote to begin with. Lucky for us,

he did the latter but it did not destroy the tone of the book. The tone changes but the themes did

not and that is what is important to maintain and Jackson knew this going into production.

Many people were upset to learn that Jackson was making a trilogy. Plain and simple.

Many thought it was a tactic to make more profit and that there was very little regard to the

original work of J.R.R. Tolkien. Then there was the issue of Jackson releasing Extended

Editions on top of all that. I cannot tell you how many times I heard the argument, “That scene

wasn’t even in the books at all;” referring to the stone giants sequence. I keep saying, “Yes it

is!” It’s only two sentences, but it is totally in there. Lo and behold, Jackson gives us a ten

minute scene out of two brief sentences. Again, this is the magic of the movies. In regards to

the added or extended material, let me put it this way because it is the best possible way to

describe this: Empire Magazine referred to Jackson’s films as a 6-part saga of which Bilbo’s

story is only a small part.4 Look at the whole picture, as Tolkien intended or he would never

have written his histories of Middle-earth. Everyone understands how vast Tolkien’s work

actually is and that it goes way beyond The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. We need to stop

looking at this trilogy as such and start viewing it as the conclusion to a 6-part story Jackson

4 Ian Nathan, “Into the Woods,” Empire Magazine, August 2013, pg. 68

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started twelve years ago. The “behind the scenes” material I referred to earlier, such as the

White Council and the issue of the Necromancer, were loose ends of Tolkien’s and those loose

ends were Peter Jackson’s original masterpiece which won seventeen Academy Awards. It was

essential to Jackson to add them into this trilogy because they were dealing with the same

problems which were addressed and solved in The Lord of the Rings. Jackson’s work of art has

now come full circle.

Now let us explore a specific character whose evolution both in the books and the films is

fascinating. Everyone’s favorite almost-bald, big-eyed, creepy little villain Gollum is an

enormously important character and has undergone several changes since 1937. First of all,

consider that Andy Serkis’ return to the screen as Gollum was Jackson’s first shot for An

Unexpected Journey. It was a superb opportunity for him to reacquaint himself with the

character after over a decade and it was Martin Freeman’s chance to embrace a pivoting point in

his character’s role. The scene is almost verbatim from the book so it really allowed both actors

to fully immerse themselves into the very core of what both this story and The Lord of the Rings

were about. This scene changed how Bilbo saw the rest of his journey and his decisions during

this chapter in the book affected all the events in the later trilogy. Second, Tolkien revised his

1937 version of The Hobbit because he knew that the Gollum of his Lord of the Rings would

never have given Bilbo the Ring willingly. Therefore, Tolkien’s famous version of Gollum is

actually based on his later trilogy. Likewise, Jackson’s Gollum is also based on The Lord of the

Rings since that movie was produced first. In a way, Andy Serkis’ Gollum from An Unexpected

Journey, the first scene shot for the whole trilogy, is the most accurate character of the entire

film series. When you take into account the fact that Serkis and the use of motion-capture twelve

years ago revolutionized CGI the cycle is complete. It just makes you appreciate that much more

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the ability of Jackson to put an idea on screen and execute it exactly as it was described in the

books.

Another character who went through a major transformation between stories is Thorin

Oakenshield who Tolkien himself acknowledged was an “enormously important dwarf.” In

1937 readers saw a cantankerous old dwarf with a huge ego and a swelling head full of pride.

At the young age of 24, Thorin witnesses the destruction of his home, but from a distance.

Perhaps he feels guilty for not being there. Perhaps, though foolishly, he feels he could have

done more if he had been there. Whatever his feelings, he harbors the hope of his father and

grandfather that one day his people will rule under the mountain and reclaim their lost kingdom.

It is this fire and passion which persuades Gandalf to aid in his quest. Gandalf, who always sees

the big picture rather than just one small story, is determined that the dwarves’ reestablishing the

Lonely Mountain kingdom will not only be beneficial for them but for the whole north region

and Middle-earth. In 2012, we see a much different concept for a dwarf. Tolkien gives some

physical description, and sure we can probably assume he visualized a hairy, scruffy, and older

character, contrary to what Richard Armitage portrays. But the new, handsome look for Thorin,

is not entirely implausible. This Thorin is more pitiable and sympathetic. In Jackson’s version,

he experiences the destruction first hand and is personally involved in his people’s escape.

Armitage brings a level of quiet intensity to a role that is so submissive in the books but still very

important. He is an avid Tolkien fan and purist when it comes to his works. He was determined

to play the part to perfection and did his own research on the character months before

production, committing to the films long before they were 100% green lit, showing a deep

passion for the subject and understanding for how critical his part was to the rest of the film.5 Up

5 The Hobbit Chronicles II: Creatures and Characters, Daniel Falconer, Quote from Amy Hubbard (UK Casting

Director), pg. 60

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to this point in the book there are very few, if any, examples of leadership from Thorin but in the

movie, Thorin demonstrates leadership qualities. The conversation he has with Balin at Bag End

shows the immense amount of weight he feels on his shoulders and that there was no choice but

for him to go on this mission. When the company is escaping from the wargs halfway through

the film and Gandalf calls for them to follow him, Thorin waits until all of his men, including his

nephews, are safely in before following them. There is also the scene in Goblin Town when he

steps forward to speak as leader for the group. In the Extended Edition, this is after Bofur and

Oin attempt to take the spotlight away from him, but ultimately he claims responsibility for the

company. Again, none of this is to imply that Jackson created any of this information but merely

expanded upon what Tolkien had already established.

Going back to how Tolkien began this adventure, on a blank sheet of paper, even he did

not know what a hobbit was, though I am sure he had an inkling (no pun intended). Bilbo, a

reserved hobbit who has become reclusive to the Shire over time, is the center of the story and

one of Tolkien’s main objectives is to let the Took side take over and for Bilbo to discover what

he is fully capable of. Tolkien admits in a 1958 letter to a fan, “I am in fact a Hobbit (in all but

size). I like gardens, trees, and unmechanized farmlands; I smoke a pipe, and like good plain

food”.6 Incidentally, in many interviews, Peter Jackson also admitted to being a hobbit. He even

said in the fifth production video for An Unexpected Journey that he wished he could retire to his

Shire set.7 So if anyone could portray hobbits in the closest likeness to what Tolkien had

visualized in his mind, it would be Jackson. I think what we see on screen is very near what

Tolkien himself saw as he was writing.

6 The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, Edited by Humphrey Carpenter, No. 213, pg. 288

7 Production Blog No. 5, found on Special Extended Edition DVD for An Unexpected Journey, 2013

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The greatest risk of making a movie from a book is always purist criticism. There will

always be scenes in the book left out of a film and vice versa. Peter Jackson had several goals

when he set out to make his trilogy twelve years ago and again in 2010. He admitted when

filming his last trilogy that his primary goal was to advance the story which meant sacrificing

certain characters and other elements, but it never once deterred him from his main focal point;

telling Tolkien’s tale. He had to preserve Tolkien’s imagination and the fantasy spirit with

which the books were originally written. He also had to convey the same messages and basic

plot structure to those who had not read the original material. He also had to bring to life a world

which millions of people had grown to love and to not disappoint those who HAD read the

books. This was a big job and I again stand firm in my opinion that anyone else with an interest

for this project would not have done what Jackson has done for these films. Anyone else would

have made these films exclusively for the profit they were bound to produce but Jackson, from

the beginning, has made these movies for fans such as himself. He has posted production blogs

online and on social media and has hosted live fan events in preparation for the release of each

film, something unmatched by other directors. He truly wants to keep the spirit of Tolkien alive

and he has done just that with these films.

Works Cited Carpenter, Humphrey. "The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien." By J.R.R. Tolkien. New York: Houghton

Mifflin, 1981.

Falconer, Daniel. The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, Chronicles: Creatures and Characters.

New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2013.

Nathan, Ian. "Into the Woods." Empire, 2013: 62-71.

Olsen, Corey. Exploring J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2012.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit (Revised Edition). New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1937, 1966.

Tyler, J.E.A. The Tolkien Companion. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1976.

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The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. Directed by Peter Jackson. Performed by Warner Bros.

Entertainment Inc. 2012.

This is only an excerpt from a greater work. Feel free to contact the author or follow her on

her blog for more.

SHELLIE KENNEDY is a graduate of Penn State University and current Mythgard Institute student. In addition to her love of Tolkien, she is an avid Game of Thrones fan and enjoys writing fantasy fiction and researching medieval history topics. She lives in Annapolis, Maryland with her family, her dog Shasta, and cat Bellatrix. You can follow her blog at www.shelliekennedy.com.

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http://www.shelliekennedy.com/

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