In class last Thursday, we discussed the symbolism and meaning found within the central story of the Silmarillion, that of the jewels themselves. The Silmarils, as created by Fëanor, are a set of three jewels, unrivaled throughout all of Middle Earth, so much so that protracted wars were fought over them. Most importantly, the Silmarils contain the light of the trees, Telperion and Laurelin, which provides to them a light and inner beauty that makes them so coveted. Due to this beauty, the Vala Melkor covets the jewels, going as far as to first rob the world of the light of the trees, leaving only the jewels to remain as their bearer, and then kill Fëanor’s father to steal them for himself.
Tolkien’s Christian (and more specifically, Roman Catholic) faith is hardly obscured in his works. Famously, he said that “The Lord of the Rings is of course a fundamentally religious and Catholic work; unconsciously so at first, but consciously in the revision” (Letters, 142). Based on this, it is wholly unsurprising that we would find religious symbolism and parallels in his works. At the same time, it is important not to fall into the trap of allegory. Tolkien also famously hated allegory, saying it detracts from the work and the universe. If you write with metaphors and symbols, then the reader can read what they want into those. If you work instead with allegory, however, then there is only one way to read your work, and that is as a whole, and mapped onto some other work or event. This type of writing is antithetical to Tolkien’s, as your read would never be deeper than the event it is based on, while his works seemingly have the depth of the real world.
With this being said, religious metaphor and symbolism does find its way into Tolkien’s writing with regularity, being a religious work. The Book of Revelation provides a description of the city of Jerusalem coming out of heaven in the end times, which in and of itself bears many similarities to things in Tolkien’s works. The city on Túna is described in a fairly paradisal way, being home to the Valar in Valinor. The city from Revelation bears the strongest resemblance to Gondolin, however. In Revelation, it is said “And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God” (21:10, KJV) as well as “And had a wall great and high, and had twelve gates, and at the gates twelve angels, and names written thereon, which are the names of the twelve tribes of the children of Israel” (21:12). Gondolin, meanwhile, is a city hidden among the mountains, so hidden that one must be shown it, which has guarding it seven unique gates before the entrance one must pass through. Neither of these is a perfect fit, although I find Gondolin a more compelling candidate. Similarly, it is this lack of a perfect fit for things that makes Tolkien’s writing non-allegorical. The reader can read whatever of these Biblical stories into it as they want, or none. It is a part of what gives his writing the mystique of “Did his stories come from ours, or ours from his, somewhere way back in history?”.
One of the most compelling parallels I have noticed, however, is that of Silmarils with the forbidden fruit in Genesis. There are many similarities between the way Tolkien treats the Silmarils and the effects they have with the Biblical story of the first humans on Earth.
For starters, there is the obvious comparison that they both come from trees in some way. Genesis 2:17 states “but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die.” The Silmarils, likewise, contain the light of the trees, as created by Fëanor. In this sense, we could say that just as the knowledge the fruit contains is an emanation of the Tree, the light contained within the Silmarils is also an emanation of their respective trees.
The trees, and thus their light, originate in the home of the Valar, Valinor. Though I vaguely compared it to Jerusalem earlier, it is a more apt comparison to liken it to Eden, given that there, the Elves live alongside the Valar, the refracted lights of Eru made physical, or their gods. They are described similarly, as being a lush paradise unspoiled by mortals. This is not an uncommon comparison for scholars of Tolkien, and strengthens the association between the Silmarils and the forbidden fruit.
For a few minor points, the Silmarils themselves are described as being unrecreatable, that the knowledge of how to make them was lost alongside their actual creation. This serves as a storytelling element to make them rare and more desirable, but also reinforces their connection with knowledge. Additionally, Fëanor was one of the Noldor, literally meaning “those with knowledge” in Quenya.
The light of the trees, additionally, was “drank” by Ungoliant in Melkor’s plot. This phrasing makes the light seem like a food, or at least something that can be physically consumed, furthering the connection.
Most strongly in relation to Tolkien’s specifically Catholic faith, however, is the Silmaril’s connection to original sin. In his quest to reclaim the Silmarils, Fëanor swears a “terrible oath” that he and his descendants will reclaim the jewels no matter the cost. In doing so, they war for years, even going as far as the kin-slaying, the killing of other Elves in Valinor to steal their ships and pursue Melkor. The Elves that arrive in Beleriand to chase him later settle in Middle Earth after the end of the wars. Not every Elf in Middle Earth is a descendant of or one of those who did the kin-slaying, but many are, and their exile in mortal lands is a constant reminder of their separation from their paradise. In many ways, the consumption of the forbidden fruit by Adam and Eve and man’s subsequent mortality and separation from God is extremely analogous.
These types of comparisons are everywhere in Tolkien’s works if one looks for them, but leave a large amount of room for interpretation in them. It is this inspiration but also room for interpretation that, in part, makes his writing and world seem so magical and connected with our own.
-BTS
2 comments:
I agree absolutely with your caution about reading symbolically rather than allegorically. I would have liked to hear more about what you suggest towards the end about the ways the Silmarils as "fruits" of the Trees help us think about sin and free will. This, after all, is the one thing Tolkien said EXPLICITLY about what he hoped to do: "make visible and physical the effects of sin and misused free will." Could you build on this insight about the jewels and the Trees? Why make tree jewels of Light to carry this story? Why not just flowers or fruits? RLFB
Being a Roman Catholic myself I have always found it interesting to analyze and interpret the religious symbolism and parallels within the Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or There and Back Again, and The Silmarillion. As you mentioned in your post Tolkien himself was a religious man and let that show through in his work. So, examing these parallels allows us to take an even deeper step into the mind of Tolkien and the meaning behind his work. I really enjoy though how you state clearly that these parallels and allegories between Tolkien’s work and religion are left up to the reader to interpret. If one wants to view these texts as a religous allegory they can, but if they want to also ignore the religious symbolism these texts can still stand alone. That is because Tolkien does such a good job making the symbolism he draws never a perfect match to any biblical reference, therefore it is left to us to infer and draw those interpretations ourselves. Overall, the religious lens is one of my favorite ways of interpreting and analyzling these texts. From the heavy ties to genesis and original sin, to also relationships that reflect those of the disciples, drawing out these parallels between the Catholic faith and Tolkien’s books allows for us to view these stories in a whole new light.
TJG
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