“But when the Valar entered into Ëa they were at first astounded and at a loss.”
The existence of Ëa begins with the world’s first gotcha moment. Enter the Valar, mighty and musical and desiring this new world that they have sung, and what do they find? Darkness. The world is unformed and uninhabitable. The vision of the world was just that, a vision, leaving the question: What was the point of the Great Music?
The Great Music of the Ainur seems to be the fundamental act of creation, yet the real formation of the world does not begin until the Valar enter the world and get to work. In all their laborious struggle to create a suitable habitation for the Children and right the wrongs of Melkor, they strive to achieve the vision of the Great Music, only to find in the end that “all things were in hue and shape other than the Valar had at first intended” (Tolkien 12). What then, was the point of the Great Music in the first place? Even though by taking part in the music and seeing the vision the Valar know “much of what was, and is, and is to come” (6), they are also surprised by the way things turn out and make decisions that catalyze tragedy.
Leaving aside the function of the Great Music as providing a system of fate (which takes us into free will territory), I want to examine the connection between the Great Music and thought. The Ainur themselves come from Eru’s thought, and their music is the pure expression of thought reflecting “that part of the mind of Iluvatar from which he came” (3). As the Ainur listen to each other sing, they increase in understanding of each other (and thus of the mind of Iluvatar), and consequently grow in harmony even while they sing apart. The Great Music is their first major chance to express that harmony and sub-create together. Note that in what Christopher Tolkien labels as version B of Ainulindalë, the music sounds good to Eru because the “flaws in the music were few” (emphasis added). The Ainur are not in perfect musical unity, but their harmony is enough for Iluvatar.
Melkor, on the other hand, is purposefully in disharmony with the others. He effectively reveals his thought through his music, thoughts that are “unlike those of his brethren” (4), thoughts that have come to him because he spends so much time alone in the Void. Melkor’s evil is rooted in his separation from the Ainur’s unity. His discordant music brings chaos and cacophony, giving rise in turn to the violent elements in the world and presumably heralding Melkor’s own destructive role on earth. Melkor’s given motivation—a desire for glory and power—is the motivation of one who sees only himself, and not the unity of the others. As a result, disharmony is woven into the fabric of the world; chaos breaks through the original order of the music.
It seems that thought is tied to harmony, or lack thereof. By describing music at the creation of the world, Tolkien invokes the Pythagorean idea of a heavenly harmony that orders the heavens. Music is an “ordering force of the universe” (Flieger 57). Melkor’s very act of disruption, which rejects the principle of order for which the music stands, is the embodiment of chaos. Thought, it would seem, is the driving force between order and chaos.
The Great Music is the thought that provides a foundation of order (with some chaos) for the world before it even comes into being. It is the blueprint that assures us that everything has a place, though the finished product is not quite identical, what with the confusion of the Valar and the actions of those pesky humans who seem to give no thought to the Music’s design. Without the Great Music, there cannot be a world. I would argue that it would be impossible for Eru to send the Flame Imperishable into the Void and for the Valar to begin their labors if not for the Great Music, or some other form of thought. Thought must come before action. Order must come before being.
The same thing happens in the Bible. In John, the Word is with God from the beginning, and through the Word, all things are made. “Let us make mankind in our image,” says God. Only after he expresses his thought, his word, he forms humans out of dust. The Greek logos, from which we get word “had the force of order, principle of organization, harmony. It meant something very close to music in the Pythagorean sense” (Flieger 59). The Word and the Great Music have similar functions, being indicative of thought and order that must come before said thought can be reified.
If we assume, as Tolkien must have, that there is an underlying order to the world, and that thought is the source of order, then thought must come before action. The Great Music must precede Ëa; the Word must precede Creation.
The question, then, is not “Why Great Music” but rather “Why Great Musicians?” The Great Music, after all, comprises individual voices in harmony. Personhood lies at the heart of the creative act; it is the Ainur, Eru’s thought personified, who sing the order of the world. When individuals like Melkor erupt into discord, the whole music is affected. The harmony of the music points not just to order, but also to the relationships between persons: if order is at the foundation of creation, personhood and the relationships between persons is at the foundation of order. What does this mean for the world that Tolkien has created? What does this mean for our own? Why Great Musicians?
To come full circle, we can narrow this question down even further, to “Why Valar?” Not only is thought personified, but it then takes form and enters into the world, binds itself to the world, in order to build it. Personal engagement is required in order to engage in the sub-creative act; the Ainur who stayed behind do not get any part in the physical forming of the world. The Valar are no Jesus(es?), but they certainly seem to run parallel paths. Both are presented as agents of an ordering force underlying Creation. Both enter into the world which they played a part in creating. But here the differences begin, for the Valar are tied to the world, while Jesus overcomes the world. The Valar are fallible and withdraw from Middle-Earth, while Jesus is God and very much in the thick of things. So sure, the Word became flesh, but why must the Music?
Order and creation, personhood and incarnation. The issues presented by the Great Music have weighty implications for the way we view creation, and I’ll readily admit that I don’t have answers to the questions I’ve raised. But if even the Valar were astounded and at a loss, I think I’m in good company.
KY
Works Cited
Flieger, Verlyn. Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien’s World. Kent State University Press, 2002.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Silmarillion. Ballantine Books, 1977.
2 comments:
This is excellent, I had never thought about the Ainur this way: as thought personified, personification as necessary to creation. You may have hit on a whole new argument for the importance of the Incarnation! And yet, as you point out, the Word and the Music are not quite the same thing. Much to think on here! RLFB
You broach an important question: What was the point of the Great Music? Similarly, I would ask, what was the point of the vision after the music? What is the significance of moving from hearing, to sight, to embodiment? Are these somehow “metaphors,” perhaps for the level of comprehension of the Ainur? In thinking about Melkor’s disharmony, is the Music descriptive or prescriptive, or only largely predictive of the world to come? You argue that it is a “blueprint”—that thought and order must come before being. The question of time, then, seems important. Is there time outside of Ëa, outside of Creation? For an Augustinian, space and time are created simultaneously, and God exists outside of creation and outside of time. What would it mean for his thought then to precede it? Is the Ainulindale somehow different?
I appreciate the attention to relationships and personhood as being somehow at the heart of creation. What is Tolkien telling us about creation and sub-creation in the primary world? -LB
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