The Existence of Hobbits Proves That The Ring is Not Sauron’s Propaganda, But An Addictive Drug

To be effective in shifting one’s mindset, propaganda needs its receivers to possess two skills: to fear and to desire. Out of all Middle-earth’s races, hobbits are the most capable of great fear and desire, which means that The Ring should corrupt them faster than all other beings in Middle-Earth. Yet, the opposite is the case. Whilst men like Isildur and Boromir are quickly corrupted by The Ring, hobbits such as Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin are slowly or never drawn to possess it as their own. The resistance shared by the Shire-folk community, individuals who both desire and fear more than all else, is no accident. Due to fear of larger creatures, most hobbits spend their entire lives in the Shire: a close-knit community with an abundance of resources. Because of the abundance present, hobbits can usually fulfill their desires and maintain a steady lifestyle of continuous happiness. 

It is this propensity for fear and desire that makes hobbits have such a stable and happy lifestyle. Addictive drugs are the most appealing to those who do not maintain continuous happiness; the ricochet of emotions that unfulfilled desires produce is sedated by an addictive substance. As hobbits maintain a limited form of emotional ricochet, they are the least likely to be vulnerable to the pull of The Ring, as it does not offer an antidote to a problem they experience. All of the other races in Middle-Earth do experience emotional ricochet in varying degrees, which is why – time and time again– The Ring avoids destruction. Hobbits are the most susceptible to the tenants of propaganda and the least susceptible to The Ring, which implies that The Ring is not propaganda. In addition, hobbits experience continuous happiness more than any other creature, which gives them resistance to addictive substances. Therefore, hobbits are resistant to The Ring because their predisposition to maintain an environment of happiness makes them resistant to addictive substances, such as The Ring.

The Ring is not propaganda because the tenants of propaganda: fear and desire, are experienced the most by the group (hobbits) that is the least susceptible to its corruption. In all fearing creatures, the neural mechanisms that produce fear are universal; they are activated when the potential of death is made aware to a being. This means that to have an effect on all fearing creatures, propaganda only needs to create something, such as a group or a concept, that has the potential to cause death to activate the neural mechanisms of fear. As Tolkien writes in the prologue of The Fellowship of the Ring, hobbits as a people experience fear from the beginning when “...the Sea became a word of fear among them, and a token of death, and they turned their faces away from the hills in the west.” Using a cause-and-effect sentence structure, Tolkien makes clear that the cause of the hobbit’s extreme isolation was fear. It is important to note that no other entire race isolated themselves to the extent that hobbits did; therefore, the severity of the hobbit community’s isolation reflects the extreme fear response they are capable of. 

In addition to fear, propaganda needs desire to mobilize one’s fear response towards a specific goal. Fear and desire are not mutually exclusive; the activation of fear results in the desire to alleviate it. Propaganda takes the desire of fear relief and dictates a seemingly perfect plan of action to accomplish the goal. Hobbits experience the capacity to have desire in many cases. For example, throughout The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is referenced as the source of disappearance for many of Bilbo’s silver spoons during his unexpected journey. Lobelia’s desire for these spoons was so evident that Bilbo decided to give the rest of them to her as he prepares to depart to live with the elves. In addition, the continued incidence of spoon disappearance means that Lobelia’s desire mobilized her to commit thievery while Bilbo was away, likely because she feared that she would never get another golden opportunity to steal the spoons. In this way, Tolkien shows us that hobbits have desires, and the fear of leaving that desire unfulfilled mobilizes them into action to fulfill that desire. If The Ring was propaganda, hobbits should have been seduced by it because they experience both tenants necessary for propaganda to be effective. 

So, if The Ring can’t be propaganda, then what is it?

Because hobbits experience continuous happiness and are not corrupted by The Ring (as fast as others or at all), this implies that The Ring is an addictive substance. The individuals who are most at risk for substance addiction are those who frequently experience mood swings. During a low, a user may take a substance to artificially bring them up to a higher state. However, this desired feeling only lasts as long as the substance is in effect, leading to the user to depend, and then become addicted, to the substance. The Ring gives the wearer a feeling of power and control when possessed; in fact, it literally makes the user invisible and, therefore, in control of the situation. During his first sighting of a Black Rider, Frodo expresses his desire to “slip [The Ring] on. And then he would [feel] safe.” Frodo, who feels apprehensive and out of control in this situation, has a desire to artificially regain control by using the invisibility powers of The Ring. During a later near encounter with a Black Rider, “the desire to slip on The Ring came over Frodo; but this time it was stronger than before.” In this instance, the user Frodo experiences a trigger to use – the feeling of lack of power when a Black Rider is present – and is compelled to use to restore his feeling of control. Because Frodo has already been exposed to The Ring for a longer amount of time during his second Black Rider encounter, a precedent for emotional relief is beginning to form a pattern of behavior that will eventually lead to addiction, hence the ‘stronger’ feeling of wanting to use. 

Other works of Tolkien, such as Farmer Giles, have brought up a theme of farmers and heroism. Given that the real-life counterpart of hobbits is most likely Tolkein’s conception of farmers, the heroism that Tolkein associates is likely due to the resistance of influence that a happy farm-life creates. As this theme remains so persistent, it implies that Tolkien greatly idolizes those who follow a simpler path, as he sees them as the resistors of evil.

-SCJ

Sauron’s Propaganda: Fear, Ambition, and the Curious Case of Hobbits

The history of Middle Earth is littered with examples of Sauron’s corrupting influence. From the fall of Numenor to the many corrupted by the Ring, Sauron clearly has the power to impose his will upon individuals and even whole communities. What’s especially interesting is that this power is impossible to resist; most characters are swayed by Sauron’s will (often through the Ring) almost immediately (such as Smeagol), while even the hardiest give in after enough time (Frodo at Mount Doom). Sauron’s triumph almost feels inevitable for those directly under his influence or that of the Ring.

When discussing the Ring’s power over its bearers, language within the books suggest that they lack the same degree of free will others have. Gollum is an extreme example; Gandalf says that he both hates and loves the ring, but “has no will left in the matter.” Frodo also experiences compulsion even though he had possessed the Ring far less than Gollum—at Weathertop he “felt that he must take the Ring and put it on his finger” and that “resistance became unbearable.” That’s not to say that everyone completely loses all free will under Sauron, nor are characters completely absolved of responsibility for the choices they make while under Sauron’s will. But Sauron appears to reduce the ability to make choices contrary to his will or act against his interests.

This power of Sauron’s is exactly what makes hobbits so fascinating. Hobbits systematically seem to be most able to resist Sauron’s influence and also evil in general, far more so than other races of Middle Earth. Gandalf comments after Frodo survives the splinter of the Morgul-knife (another form of Sauron’s influence) that “hobbits fade very reluctantly,” meaning Frodo was able to hold out against the evil influence. This is borne out by Frodo’s ability to resist the Ring until the very end, far longer than anyone else we’ve seen, and also in how Sam is relatively unaffected by it. This strength of the hobbits is sometimes characterized as stubbornness, which is definitely part of how they are able to resist, but I’m not convinced that’s a full enough explanation.

To understand why hobbits seem to react so uniquely to Sauron’s influence, we first need to understand how Sauron is able to sway people so consistently. Conceiving of Sauron’s influence as propaganda is very useful here, but to see exactly what his propaganda is preying upon requires us to look at actual examples within Tolkien’s work. The two that are most relevant are Sauron’s words as spoken to Ar-Pharazon in the Akallabeth, and Boromir’s conversation with Frodo in which he attempts to take the Ring for himself.

The first visible technique of persuasion is that Sauron or the Ring directly exploit some underlying fear that Boromir and Ar-Pharazon have. Boromir obviously fears the fall of his city, and rants about how unwise he thinks it is to have “a halfling walk blindly into Mordor.” Ar-Pharazon and the Numenoreans in general, meanwhile, fear death, and even before the arrival of Sauron they question why they are subject to death while the elves are not. Sauron then exploits this fear, pushing the character to act in a way that is dangerous and harmful.

Yet I would argue fear alone isn’t enough to explain why Sauron’s propaganda is so effective; he’s also exploiting the underlying ambition of the characters as well. It’s telling that Boromir’s train of thought on how to use the Ring first begins with using it against the Enemy, but ends with him envisioning himself as leader of the host. There’s clearly an underlying ambition of being recognized and admired as a powerful leader. Ar-Pharazon also desires power—when he arrives in Arda, he “claim[ed] the land for his own,” suggesting he is immensely ambitious given he is claiming the literal land of the gods. 

This combination of fear and ambition combines under evil influence to produce a sense of entitlement or ownership over something the character definitely does not control. Boromir finishes his rambling speech, in which he slowly appears more and more corrupted by the Ring’s influence, by declaring that “men of Numernor” are the true owners of the Ring and that “it should be mine.” We have been told numerous times that attempting to claim the Ring is impossible, and yet the Ring’s exploitation of Boromir’s fear and ambition allows it to happen. Similarly, Sauron convinces Ar-Pharazon to sail west by telling him that “the gift of life … is only for such as are worthy, being men of might and pride and great lineage,” suggesting it is unfair that “the King of Kings” Ar-Pharazon is deprived of the eternal life he deserves.

So Sauron is able to influence the wills of others through propaganda that preys on their fear and ambition, thus developing a sense of entitlement to something they cannot control. This then opens them to evil action. Now that we’ve established how Sauron’s propaganda is effective, we can look to hobbits to find why this may not influence them to the same degree it does Men. It would be silly to claim hobbits don’t fear—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin definitely experience fear throughout the course of the books. It is true that your average hobbit is definitely insulated from fears on the scale that Boromir and Ar-Pharazon experienced, but they can still be scared. Ambition, on the other hand, is worth looking more closely at.

In general, hobbits could best be described as being content with the Shire. Bilbo is thought of as very odd for having left to go on his adventures in The Hobbit, and adventuring in general is described as “not entirely hobbitlike.” Furthermore, when meeting Gandalf, Bilbo declares “We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures …. Make you late for dinner!” Bilbo is of course not being entirely honest about his own desire for adventures, but his sentiment is broadly true—hobbits don’t really have grand desires or ambitions beyond the borders of the Shire. In fact, Bilbo’s comment on dinner feels particularly apt, as hobbits are generally more concerned with food and simple pleasures than any sort of ambition Sauron could easily exploit.

This relative lack of ambition then eliminates the sense of entitlement or ownership that corrupted both Boromir and Ar-Pharazon. Hobbit society in general comes across as fairly generous—it is the custom to give out presents on one’s birthday instead of receiving them. They are not without greed, as the Sackville-Bagginses can attest, but it is again limited to things far beneath Sauron’s concern (e.g. the possession of Bilbo’s silver spoons). Thus if hobbits don’t really have worldly ambitions or entitlement that Sauron can effect, it stands to reason that they would be much more resistant to his “propaganda” than those whose lives involve the fate of kingdoms. Hobbits are on a much smaller scale than Sauron ever bothers to think, and combined with their stubbornness that makes them poor targets for Sauron’s will.

-AS

Sauron Supreme: Analyzing Middle-Earth's Rogues Gallery with Tolkien's Conception of Evil

We are following
The will of the one
Through the dark age
And into the storm 

- "Into the Storm" by Blind Guardian

In our discussion on the Ring and Sauron this week, we came upon this idea of evil being the domination of the free will of others. And this works extremely well with both the lore of Middle-Earth, but also Christian beliefs. And ultimately, this gives us Sauron as the great villain of Middle-Earth, because he is the personification of this idea of evil.

To start, consider Saruman. He, believing himself wise (as even Gandalf calls him!), wants to control the world. He says to Gandalf,

The time of the Elves is over, but our time is at hand: the world of Men, which we must rule. But we must have power, power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see... and the Wise, such as you and I, may with patience come at last to direct its courses, to control it. (The Lord of the Rings, 259).

His goal, should he obtain the Ring, is to order the world according to "Knowledge, Rule, Order" (The Lord of the Rings, 259). But, even if this was good-intentioned, there is still the lust for power and for dominating the will of others. Therefore, in this conception, Saruman is very clearly evil.

His methods are just as important as his intentions. Saruman speaks in this very political, doublethink fashion. He tries to trick Gandalf and manages to trick Radagast, and all the while playing both sides with Sauron. Should Saruman obtain the Ring, there would undoubtedly be a more forceful domination, but without it, Saruman relies on his sly tongue in order to dominate the will of others. He uses propaganda.

And this perfectly parallels Christian belief. When the serpent convinced Eve to eat of the Tree of Knowledge, he does not force her. He tricks her into doing his bidding, convincing her not only that it is a good idea, but that she wants to do it. He dominates her will in the most powerful way possible: convincing her it is her own. Paralleling this, Eve then convinces Adam to do the same, dominating him with her will (although it is really the serpent's will). Just as Frodo fails, choosing evil because his will is so thoroughly dominated, so Man falls.

The other major force of evil in Middle-Earth (besides the obvious conclusion) is Morgoth. And, admittedly, Morgoth struggles to fit into this as neatly. In contrast with Saruman and Sauron, Morgoth is a very reactive character; he introduces dissonance, knocks over the lamps, destroys the trees, steals the Silmarils. He does not seem to want to dominate the wills over the other Ainur or Ilúvatar; rather, he wants to dominate their creations, namely in stealing or destroying them. As I noted in a blog comment, I think this stems from the initial rejection of Melkor's creation, and that leads to a bitterness such that he wants to destroy other's creations. Therefore, I struggle to see how he fits in with this idea of evil, considering he is undoubtedly evil by the end.

But at the same time, though not written by Tolkien, Blind Guardian's incredible "Into the Storm" has the exact same ideas. "We are following / The will of the one" has a very subtle, yet important word choice. It is not just following someone, like a great leader or exemplary figure; it is following the will, letting your will be dominated by someone else. And the song is very clearly about Morgoth, with the lyrics "The Silmarils / Gems of treelight / Their life belongs to me." Thus, there is absolutely something with Morgoth about dominating wills, but the question becomes what. This is something that I am unsure on but would like to discuss further.

Now, we come to the big bad to end them all: Sauron. What makes Sauron special, in this conception of evil and against the other rogues of Middle-Earth, is that he is the most pure, distilled form of domination over free will, specifically because of his ultimate goal and how he attacks it from all possible angles. 

In Akallabêth, Sauron is described as doing essentially the exact same things that Saruman attempts to do with the Númenóreans—and it works. Númenor is drowned while Sauron laughs, even as his fair form is destroyed. Sauron, at least for a period of time, was capable of acting in this sly form, tricking and deceiving in order to dominate the will of others.

But we also see him act with open intention, as is stated during the council of Elrond: "'The time of my thought is my own to spend,' answered Daín. 'For the present,' said [Sauron's messenger], and rode into the darkness" (The Lord of the Rings, 241). The intentions of the Nazgûl are similarly open:

In their white faces burned keen and merciless eyes; under their mantles were long grey robes; upon their grey hairs were helms of silver; in their haggard hands were swords of steel. Their eyes fell on him and pierced him, as they rushed towards him… The third was taller than the others: his hair was long and gleaming and on his helm was a crown. In one hand he held a long sword, and in the other a knife; both the knife and the hand that held it glowed with a pale light. (The Lord the Rings, 196)

They are, in appearance, unquestionably evil, and their following actions reflect this. Sauron is capable of both honesty and deception in the pursuit of his domination. He can openly tell you "I will soon be controlling your thoughts," but he can also weasel his way to become a great advisor and lead to the downfall of a once-great city.

And this is the strength of the Rings as well. Through the Rings given to the Nine, Sauron creates the Nazgûl, his most powerful servants that are completely enslaved to him, with no will of their own. Likewise, through the One Ring and its propagandistic powers, Sauron is able to spread his control far and wide and is able to exert his will over others. This domination is so powerful that, "Of ‘mortals’ no one, not even Aragorn" could resist the Ring at the Cracks of Doom (Letters, #246). And when Frodo fails, it is not just that he is unable to throw the Ring in, but that he says he chooses not to. The Ring controls him to the extent that its will is unrecognizable from his own. Thus, the Ring, as a separate entity, is just as much a part of Sauron's desire to completely dominate the will of all as his own personal actions are.

To tie all this together, through the various villains of Middle-Earth (including those I have not discussed), Tolkien helps to cultivate this idea of evil as dominating free will. Some are clearer than others (Saruman versus Morgoth), but this conception is clear and works extremely well with Christian faith, specifically the Fall. This allows Tolkien to craft Sauron as the ultimate form and personification of evil, a being whose sole goal and purpose is to dominate the wills of others in any and every possible way. He is the Joker to Middle-Earth's Batman. He is the ultimate villain because he is evil incarnate.

-CVB

Remembrance as Redemption

Recently in class we have been wrestling with the question of why evil exists. While I was pondering this, an idea came to me which did not completely satisfy this question, but at least gave me an interesting new angle from which to look: remembrance and forgetfulness. Does the desire to sin stem from a failure to remember what is true and good? Perhaps not; but although forgetfulness is not the ultimate cause and memory is not the ultimate solution, I do believe remembrance can play a part in the fight against evil.

To begin with, Sauron persuades the Numenoreans that the Valar are liars who are afraid of Men taking their power, hence the ban. The Men forget how Illuvatar (not the Valar!) made them: as mortal beings endowed with the “gift” of death, a nature that they cannot change. Sauron causes them to forget that it is not the land of the Valar or the Valar themselves that confer eternal life, but Illuvatar alone. They forget that death is not something Men can shirk by simply sailing West. If they had remembered these things and resisted the whisperings of Sauron, the story of Numenor might have ended differently. Memory can be a powerful weapon to deploy against propaganda like the words of Sauron; we will see the Ring’s battle with memory in a moment, but first let us examine how memory acts against evil when Frodo wakes up in the barrow:

  “But though his fear was so great that it seemed to be part of the very darkness that was round him, he found himself as he lay thinking of Bilbo Baggins and his stories, of their jogging along together in the lanes of the Shire and talking about roads and adventures. . . . He thought he had come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought hardened him. He found himself stiffening, as if for a final spring; he no longer felt limp like helpless prey” (Bk 1 Ch VIII).

Frodo’s memories of the Shire and the stories connected to it stir within him the potential for a renewed strength, even in the face of hopelessness and defeat. Something about his memories allow him to resist the power of evil– here, the power of the death-filled atmosphere of the barrow and the barrow-wights. This is also a strengthening of his own will, banishing the feeling of being “helpless prey” who is under the force of someone or something else.

Just like how Frodo’s remembrance of Bilbo gives him strength when hope seems lost in the barrow, it likewise strengthens Sam when, on the way to Mount Doom, he realizes that there will be not return journey: 

  “But I would dearly like to see Bywater again, and Rosie Cotton and her brothers, and the Gaffer and Marigold and all. . . . But even as hope died in Sam, or seemed to die, it was turned to a new strength” (Bk 6 Ch III).

In both of these examples, it is only after remembering good things that the characters are able to persevere in the fight against evil. In particularly hopeless moments– when Frodo thinks his journey will end in the barrow and when Sam realizes he will never go home– the only sanctuary is that of remembrance, and this remembrance has a real, physical power to embolden them to go on.

As a final example, we can see the workings of the Ring against memory in Frodo’s response to Sam when he last looks at his cooking gear before casting it away:

    “‘Do you remember that bit of rabbit, Mr. Frodo?’ he said. ‘And our place under the warm bank in Captain Faramir’s country, the day I saw an oliphaunt?’

    ‘No, I am afraid not, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘At least, I know that such things happened, but I cannot see them. No taste of food, no feel of water, no sound of wind, no memory of tree or glass or flower, no image of moon or star are left to me’” (Bk 6 Ch 3).

The Ring has taken away Frodo’s ability to remember, especially to remember good, pure things like trees and stars and food. In fact, the simplicity and ordinariness of these things is what makes this specific power of the Ring so frightening– everyone should be able to remember what a tree looks like. But the strength of the Ring is such that nothing Frodo knew can be relied upon anymore. The power of the propaganda is so strong that even the simplest truth may seem foreign or hostile.

 
I think a crucial part of remembrance is that it is more than just “recollection.” Frodo could “recall” the rabbit, Faramir, and the oliphaunt; but he couldn’t “see,” “feel,” “taste,” or hear any part of those moments. True remembrance requires making things present and real again in an embodied way, through the senses. There must be a reason Christ said “do this in remembrance of me,” and not just “remember me.” Remembering is doing. I think this is in part why Tolkien places such emphasis on passing down stories through songs and poetry– we need stories to be incarnate in order to remember them! Once a story is ingrained in us in a physical way, it is easier to remember and to be able to conform ourselves to them whenever we need to– when we are fighting against evil, for instance. I think this is demonstrated well by a comment from LeGuin about writing her chapter entitled “The Child and the Shadow.” As a child, she read the Andersen story about the man and his shadow, and she didn’t really like it and she certainly didn’t understand it. But now, as an adult, she is able to remember this story and apply it (even subconsciously) to greater things outside of a simple children’s fairytale.

-LJE

The Gift of Death and The Envy of Life

Continuing with the comparison to the Catholic canon from our discussion of the Ainulindale, Akallabeth mirrors the fall of man described in Genesis 3.  This is fairly obvious with the prohibition of sailing to the west, the rejection of that prohibition, and the outcome of death because of failing to listen to the Valar, but there are some distinct differences that highlight the questions of why we die and why we would fall into evil if we live on paradise.Again, since Tolkien was trying to replicate the existing Christian myth in his own sub-creation, the differences must highlight truths instead of confusing them.    

Akallabeth, like Genesis, claims that Iluvatar gave the Numenoreans death, but unlike is Biblical counterpart, this happens before the fall.  The first description gives death a negative connotation,"But they did not thus escape from the doom of death that Iluvatar had set upon all mankind, and they were mortal still." Later on the same page, though, the narrator calls it, "the gift of death" denoting that death itself is positive in some way, especially since it occurs pre-fall.   

In Genesis 3, Adam and Eve seem to know about the concept of death since the Snake tempts them by saying they will not die but instead become like God, but it is unclear whether or not they have the ability to die in Eden. Death is not mentioned until God lists the punishment for Adam where the idea of returning to dust is in conjunction with working the fields. This line also seems to imply that Adam was mortal beforehand, but now he must do hard work until he dies. The one line which contradicts this reading is verse 22 where God claims, "The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever." This implies that Adam would have lived forever had he not fallen, but the Hebrew word translated as "forever" is le'olam, which can also be translated as "a long time". This would be consistent with the Akallabeth reading of man living a long time but never getting sick.  

The question of the fall becomes more interesting as Genesis and Akallabeth seem to diverge after this; In Genesis, Adam and Eve do not question the prohibition of the tree until tempted by the snake whereas in Akallabeth, the Numenoreans ask the Messengers themselves why they should not fear death before Sauron appears.  We had discussed in class that Sauron is more akin to a demon or devil worshipper than Lucifer himself, whereas Morgoth is the Lucifer stand-in for the Numenor and Middle-Earth.  Even though Sauron acts as the tempter, before he arrives we are told Morgoth had already "cast his shadow on the world". This fits well with the broader idea of temptation being a constant force and not necessarily a one-off event as represented in Genesis 3.  Perhaps Adam and Eve were always tempted and acted so quickly by the Snake's temptation because they had thought about this before. This would be tthe same level of escalation for the Numenoreans who we see questioning the Valar and then only taking action to sail west once Sauron arrives.

So the question still remains as to why? To answer this, we should characterize death more thoroughly. 

1. Even though death is a gift from Iluvatar, the Numenoreans do not see it that way.  They envy the Valar who do not die, and it is this comparison that makes them question.

2. The reason the Numenoreans envy the Valar for not dying is because they think by dying they are going in with "blind trust" and "knowing not what lies before us".  It is the fear of not knowing. 

These two things seem to make light of the possibilities of why one would fall from paradise.  First and foremost the unequal treatment strikes one as being unjust instead of diverse.  For this comparison I thought of Cain and Abel's story in Genesis 4 rather than Genesis 3. Because God had praised Abel's gift and not Cain's this jealousy led to Cain murdering Abel. This idea of envy leading to murder is a consistent theme which we see in Feanor's story of the Silmarils as well as the story of the ring, particularly Gollum's story.  You could almost read Cain and Abel as an alternative fall story as it isn't until Cain kills is he sent out from the land, another sinking of Numenor.   

All of this is backed by the idea of the envy coming from a lack of understanding and a wanting of information. In Eden, Adam and Eve wanted knowledge to be like God, the Numenoreans wanted knowledge to be like the Valar, and Cain wanted to be like his brother Abel. This particular envy is the envy to be something other than oneself, the envy of being another. It's wasn't just wanting to know, but wanting to be.  It is against the harmony of creation, and if anything, it is the clearest example of what the discord of creation looks like. I was struggling to figure out exactly what discord looked like, but this idea of envying the being of another seems to somewhat fit.  

The Akallabeth notes, "But for all this, death did not depart from the land, rather it came sooner and more often".  

It is not that death was the issue, as death was an essential part of mortal being, but an agonizing death. But the Numenoreans and those in Eden did not understand this. 

I'm not sure if it fully answers the question we left hanging at the end of class, but this idea of envying the essence of another and wanting to become that, to deny your own creation, seems to be on some track given Tolkien's myth and Genesis.

-Gabby Bayness

The manipulation of the Numenoreans

This journey we have taken so far in class has led us to many discussions regarding the method behind Tolkien’s writings, his motivations, and how Tolkien’s stories spin a new tale of mythology, fate, beauty, and free will. But in Tuesday's class we had an opportunity to discuss the origins and beginnings of evil in Tolkien’s universe. This discussion of evil and striving towards the light centered around the Elves and how they navigated Tolkien’s world. 

In these stories the Elves can be seen navigating through the darkness and towards the light. The Eldar, or the group of elves who decided to embark on this immense journey to possibly reach Valinor represent a group of people who are seeking the light. An interesting discussion and stance can be taken on these Elves representing those who are seeking enlightenment. The question therein lies, what is this enlightenment? What are they truly seeking? Could it possibly be that these Elves were turning their back on darkness and evil and attempting to find the goodness in the world that Tolkien had created. 

It is said that some of the Elves that embarked on this journey after the capture of Melkor never made it to the land of immortality, instead they stayed behind in middle earth and are the elves we come to later interact with and know in the Lord of the Rings stories. These elves get coined as dark elves, whereas the elves that completed the journey towards the light are known as the elves of the light. Commonly, but not in all cases, the dark elves that stayed behind are portrayed as having dark hair, and the elves that completed the journey to Valinor are seen with having perfectly white hair. 

These elves, with their stunning white hair, are said to be wise beyond their years. Having reached the light at the end of the journey they not only received immortality but they received the greatest gift of all which is knowledge. This knowledge is something that was their greatest advantage and set them apart the most from those who were mortal and left in darkness. This idea of them getting enlightened is metaphorically portrayed through the description of their transition. But it gets cemented symbolically through seeing the light of the trees. Once they see the light of the trees they transcend into beings that are fully enlightened. 

This creates an interesting dynamic between the valor and the mortals who inhibit middle earth. The most intriguing discussion we had in class was whether or not the valor should be envied by mortal men. For we know that the valor have amassed immense knowledge and have been fully enlightened, but these same valor who have grown up surrounded by the light of the trees also experience no knowledge of death or morality to begin with. So, they end up having things and abilities that mere mortals do not, but are also completely unaware of what is truly the main motivating factor of mortal life, which is death. 

It is through this encounter that the jealousy of the mortal elvish descendants, or Numenoreans, begins. Knowing that they cannot live forever, and knowing that they have direct ancestors who have received this great gift of immortality, it is clear to see how jealousy arose. Even though they were given a life that lasted much longer than that of an average mortal man, and also were blessed with incredible height, strength, and fighting prowess, there was still this idea that there were those who were immortal, and they were being excluded from this group. The Numenoreans were the most powerful inhabitants of middle earth. They dominated man for centuries, and were feared by all, even Sauron at one point. But, as the story goes they fell to the deceit of Sauron, who told them of Melkor and promised them everlasting life, something they had been previously denied. Sauron, the true embodiment of evil thus took over and began not only leading these people, but he became worshiped. 

This leads perfectly into the discussion held around the source and power of evil. Sauron represents evil because he is the embodiment of someone who would purposefully corrupt and marr that which is good in the world. Sauron’s greed and lust for power led him to completely dominate the will of others. He was able to be this all controlling figure, influencing every decision of the Numenoreans is a perfect representation of evil at work in middle earth. Sauron exerted all of his force, manipulation, and power onto others and got them to do his will. 

So, with Sauron representing all that is evil in this world, he convinced the Numenoreans to disobey their godlike figure. This was wittily represented by the Babycandian diagram we were shown. Sauron got the Numenoreans to think like the baby in the diagram, challenging the validity of the Valor. It was this line of thinking that led them to the attempt to destroy the Valar. But obviously the Valar prevailed and destroyed the Numenoreans and also Sauron, sending him back to middle earth where he would begin work again to try and overtake the mortal world. So, Sauron represents this true and pure form of evil. The ability for one to completely control and use another for their own benefit or gain is what true evil is. 

TJG

Melkor Did Nothing Wrong… Well, Maybe a Few Things?

Now before I start, I should warn you that I am likely about to spew heresy, and probably have already done so. Here we go.

Let’s begin first with Eru, or Iluvatar as he is known in Arda (and Tolkien does say “he,” which presumes that Iluvatar created the concept of gender before even creating the Ainur, but I am wandering into dangerous territory here. Besides, I’ll cut Tolkien some slack and observe the context of the time period and religious reference). He is primordial and original, creator of creation and of things to come. There is no existence previous to Iluvatar, and he is the beginning of all things. Given Tolkien’s observance of his own Christian worship in the process of writing about Middle-Earth, it can be reasonably inferred that Iluvatar here is synonymous with God.

Moving on, then, to the Ainur. They are Iluvatar’s first creation, “offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made” (Silmarillion, pg. 3). They are Iluvatar’s angels, and in the Book of Job the angels “shouted for joy” as God created the world (Job 38:4-7). Melkor is one of the Ainur. He had been given out of all the Ainur “the greatest gifts of power and knowledge” (Sil., 4). What sets Melkor apart from the rest of the Ainur is his desire “to bring into Being things of his own” (Sil., 4). This brings Melkor into contention with Iluvatar and the Ainur, as his independence gets woven into his music. The “discord of Melkor” begins to spread, discouraging some of the Ainur and influencing others. In this way, Melkor resembles the fallen angel: Lucifer.

 

But (and here is where things get dicey) is Melkor a spitting image of Lucifer? Can the two of them be completely and perfectly synonymous? Has he even done anything wrong?

The short answer is no. But, if you’re still reading, you want to hear the long answer.

 

There is, of course, the war in the heavens to deal with. The discordance of music in the Ainulindale parallels this conflict. Melkor and Iluvatar wrest for control of the sonority with each other, until Iluvatar reveals his total control of the situation and Melkor is defeated. Iluvatar tells the Ainur and Melkor especially that “no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite.” Melkor is “filled with shame, of which came secret anger” (Sil., 6). Why the shame and anger? On the surface, it appears to be because Iluvatar singled out Melkor out of all the Ainur for his actions. But the reaction is not repentance, but shame and even resentment. This implies that Melkor finds himself justified and Iluvatar’s authority unfair. But why bother trying to see things from Melkor’s point of view?

For the same reason that we pay attention to any of the other Ainur: they represent a facet of Iluvatar’s thoughts. And what does Melkor have that the other Ainur don’t? There are many things we can call it - rebelliousness, discordance, dissent. But we must remember that Melkor is born out of Iluvatar’s thought: Melkor has inherited Iluvatar’s desire for creation. Naturally, creativity will come at odds with other notions of conception, and this is where the discord comes from. However, the root of what Melkor represents is not pure malice, but a desire for independence and creation. It is this desire for free creation that gets undermined by Iluvatar and the other Ainur, which leads to Melkor’s shame and anger. It is a struggle between creativity and order, between originality and foresight. Melkor is an artist, and cannot stand it that his artistry is not truly his but Iluvatar’s. 

There is, of course, one other thing Melkor holds besides the pride of an artist. It is greed. A desire to hold and possess. And at face value, this is sinful. We should not be greedy, we should give and not take, and so on. But Melkor is born from Iluvatar’s thought. Melkor’s desires are also Iluvatar’s own. Iluvatar says it himself: “nor can any alter the music in my despite.” The music of the world is all Iluvatar’s, and none of it is actually individually Melkor’s (much to his consternation). And this, perhaps, is the thing that complicates the issue: all the Ainur, Melkor included, are different facets of Iluvatar. We cannot read Melkor’s desire to possess unless we read the same thing in Iluvatar, and that threatens a theological dilemma. 

So I’ll conclude by saying that Melkor does not seem to be a spic and span copy of Lucifer, and as such, Iluvatar is also a more complicated deity than simply a virtuous creator. Indeed, it could be said that Iluvatar is the most conceptually complex character possible, as all contradictions and opposites in the world live conjoined in the plans of Iluvatar. 

- CLP

The Origin of Evil

 This week in class one of the things we discussed was evil, and how it came to be in the Tolkien Universe, and what was its purpose. This question is interesting when looking at both how it came to be in the Tolkien Universe, and how Tolkien speaks about it and the other creations in the universe. The idea of evil seems to be closely related to that of free will. More specifically the origin of evil seems to be tightly intertwined with the idea of both subcreation and the free will of the creations. One thing that we have talked about alot is the idea of being a subcreator, and how they go about their creations. In Letters, no. 153, Tolkien is responding to a letter from Peter Hastings and is talking about this idea, and one of the things he talks about is evil and where it comes from in his creation. 

In this letter Tolkien talks about Sauron and says “Sauron was of course not ‘evil’ in origin. He was a ‘spirit’ corrupted by the Prime Dark Lord (the Prime sub-creative Rebel) Morgoth (190).” The first thing that stands out is the way in which he states that Sauron was obviously not evil from the beginning, but instead he was corrupted. Throughout the series we see Sauron as a source of evil, and the place where many evil actions come from. But here Tolkien is essentially saying that Sauron had no predisposition for being evil. Instead he was corrupted by something else that was already evil. It is clear that Tolkien is saying that Sauron had free will and decided to be evil, as opposed to his creator making him in a way in which he would become evil. The choice is important because it ties it closer to the real world and religion, more specifically Christianity. Without the choice of good or evil, it may give undue sympathy to the one who is evil, because it is not their fault, instead they were created that way. The fact that Sauron had a choice, is a huge part to what actually makes him evil.

If we take this a step further and look at how Morgoth became evil, we arrive at an interesting question. When reading The Silmarillion  and looking at the creation of Morgoth, then known as Melkor we see he also was not created with any predisposition to evil either. In the beginning we see that his desire was not to be evil, but instead “to bring into Being things of his own (4)”. This eventually led him down a path that was what we call evil, but his original desires were not that. The question that brings us to is what made him evil? In class when attempting to answer the question I attempted to say that the reason for evil was to show that free will exists. I said that without evil how could people have real options if everything they do is good, is that really free will. But this does not fully encapsulate what was happening. When reexamining The Silmarillion, I realized there was something missing. The thing that led Melkor down the wrong path was envy, and the desire to create in the same way that Eru did. It seems like Tolkien is showing us that the root of evil in his universe comes not through trying to create, but instead trying to create in a way that rivals Eru.

This still does not give us the answer to why Melkor is evil. It is interesting comparing what Tolkien said in Letters to what Augusitne said in City of God. When talking about the good and bad Angels Augustine says “the contrasted aims of the good and evil angels did not arise from any difference in nature or origin(471)”. This is interesting because it is practically the same thing that Tolkien says about his creations. Here Augustine is saying that good and evil have no difference in terms of where they were created and instead it has to come from somewhere else. Later he says that “we must believe that the difference had its origin in their wills and desires” (471). It seems like here Augustine is not only explaining their differences, but he is also saying that evil comes from the desires of those that are evil. So it is not something that comes from their person, but instead from their free will, which even though it was given to them by God, is not a reflection of him. This is a very interesting way to look at the creation of evil, because Augustine also tells us that God saw it coming, but allowed it anyway. It can be somewhat difficult to align the fact that God created the thing that would create evil while knowing that evil would be created, but He was not responsible for the creation. The answer to why belongs in free will. 

Free will is clearly important to Tolkien because he draws on it in a similar vein to Augustine. Free will is the reason a creator is not responsible for the creations of its creations. If a creator gives a subcreator the freedom to create, and do as they please, then they have the ability to make choices. These choices can either be things that are good, or they can be things that are evil and destructive. Either way both Tolkien and Augustine are telling us that the creator is not the source, as long as they do not directly imbue the evil into their creations. 

-RL

Music as Analogy: Melkor and the “Discord”

In Ainulindale, Eru demanded the Ainur to make a Great Music together, in harmony. Thus I wonder if we may connect the Ainur’s Music with the classical music of real life, as an extended metaphor, when discussing the fall of Melkor. Christopher Tolkien did not choose to add a frame to the story of creation, but the elves who noted down the tale may have used music as a way of understanding in the first place, since none of them were there to witness Creation and could not perceive what it was like in the Void, or outside of the World.

At first, it is remarked that the Ainurs sang “only each alone, or but few together”, which seems that they are only capable of  singing monotonic tones or  melodies together in the same pitch. Perhaps it resembles the parallel octaves etc. in unison or round, such as the Parallel organum. Tolkien used the word “unison” to describe the state of the Ainur’s Music, when they gained deeper understanding of their brethren.

Comparing it with the music history, gradually the Ainur performed more sophisticatedly. Instead of simply singing in unison, they would move gradually toward a more complex polyphonic music, featuring two or more lines at the same line, while each may be considered as a melody of its own. Their voices are thus balanced and varied, in melody and rhythm.

When Illuvatar declared that they should make “in harmony together a Great Music”, the voices of the Ainur became greatly diverse. No longer they sang in unison, but like “unto harps and lutes, and pipes and trumpets, and voils and organs…” These are the metaphors of the elves, since it would be hard to imagine any being singing as if they are the instrument themselves. But,  in analogy, the singing of the Ainur at this stage may be compared to a symphony orchestra, where people form parts and follow the melodic direction of that specific part. The Ainurs who lead and those who follow may be differed into the Valar and the Maiar.

If such is the real-life representation of Illuvatar’s Great Music, what may be suggested about Melkor and his discordant ideas? One major use of dissonance in classical music is to separate various harmonic intervals by inviting uneven pitches so that each interval has its own sense. Intervals that sound harsh and do not blend in are the dissonant intervals. Melkor might have started by creating a dissonant interval when he had the thought of heightening himself, refusing to be in accord with others.

But Melkor did not stop by creating the discord alone. Others who were near him were also affected by his music and decided to “attune their music to his”, which reminds me that another way of breaking the harmony is to add a tone or chord to the music that is not in the original key, or create a out-of-tune division of a whole tune, so that it sounds higher or lower of the original version. The latter sparks me as a possibility when I read Letter 153, in which Tolkien explains that Morgoth made the Orcs as a mockery of the Children of God. It is not Creation, but a distortion of the original being, twisted and ugly. Melkor, when he became to glorify himself, gradually lost the ability to create, shown especially when he took form and descended into the World. As a metaphor, here, the dissonance he and his followers created may have been just a mockery as well.

Ironic that although Melkor tried hard to adopt his dissonance for his own use, the tone, along with the harmony of other Ainur, becomes part of the whole.

It may be quite difficult to create dissonances in a piece of music in the real world, since the means described earlier are few and demand a certain degree of skill, or, in this case, cunningness. Melkor was the Ainur that had the greatest power then, equipped with a wide understanding of music and knowledge, so his place and ability suited well with the discord he created. He may have planned his melody with great intention, leading others along, not just by adding a few notes therefore. 

But the power of Illuvatar was not defeated by the dissonance Melkor created. Instead, the Great Music became more sorrowful, more diverse, sometimes full of chaos, yet on a whole, more beautiful, with his influence, which was of course beyond his expectation. Just like an Orchestra, dissonance was a part of the music, and may be used to heighten the diversity and beauty of the piece when mastered carefully. The World had Evil, Shadows, loss and wrath, because of Melkor, but his was not the Creator, and the World could not have ended so. Through the sadness, there were harmony, glory and hope. Illuvatar showed mercy when he chose to encompass all of the Music, and he again demonstrated this godlike mercy when Melkor made the Orcs. Although they were created as distorted version of elves and men, they still came into being and were permitted to live.

All the Ainurs are thoughts of the Creator, and Melkor was the one that had the most power and was most gifted. His music was tolerated and woven into the greater Music that he was not aware of. This explains the limitation of Ainur’s Free Well. They may be given the choice to become evil and have the chance to act out their parts, each choice came with a price. Like a discordant melody, though it may lead for a while and threaten to let other’s astray, harmonious love shall ultimately take its place.

--JX

The Interplay Between Free Will and the Nature of Evil

 In front of you are two souls, both black and twisted. One was predestined to turn to evil, the other chose it willingly. Which do you deem worse? In Tolkien’s two main works not concerning burglars, the villain is an elemental representation of pure evil. Both Ainur, both immortal spirits, both were formerly, in a sense, “good”. The first, Melkor, later Morgoth, is Tolkien’s vehicle of original sin. Once the greatest of the Vala, he sought to contend with his creator, Eru Ilúvater, in the Music of the Ainur, the fabric of the world, introducing discord that begat all the world’s ills. But it is unclear whether he had any choice in the matter. Each Valar “comprehended only that part of the mind of Ilúvatar from which he came.” (Ainulindalë.) Melkor was only a vehicle for an aspect of Ilúvater’s thought, and was nothing that did not ultimately flow from the allfather. Additionally, the seeds of his treachery and covetousness were sown from the beginning. Before the singing, “he had gone often alone into the void places seeking the Imperishable Flame; for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being things of his own.” (Ainulindalë.) If he was from the outset created to be uniquely prideful as to think himself capable of wielding the sacred flame, and pride is the sin that causes his contention and ultimately his destruction, then was his fall not inevitable by the will of Ilúvater? Was he not a tragic figure, ineluctably saddled by his creator with the unenviable task of introducing shadows to accentuate the light? Without struggles, and those who rise above them, Ilúvater’s world would be but a sandbox, (a video game sandbox more than a playground one,) beautifully adorned, but with no depth. And so Morgoth rose, and so he fell, and so he was cast out into the void until the world’s end.

Each Valar is almost a personification of his or her element. (It’s never stated which Melkor’s is, but when the Vala descend to Arda, he’s shown to have a particular affinity for fire and a particular role in its conception, just as Ulmo did for water.) The Maia are more ambiguous, and more nuanced. They are not aspects of their masters like the Vala are, and don’t even necessarily serve just one Valar, as seen in the case of Melian. This nuance manifests itself in an important way—unlike the Vala, who are Eru’s unquestioning instruments save Morgoth, who is just as inextricably locked into his own ruinous spiral, the Maia have free will to a meaningful degree. (The qualifier is important here—it matters not if the Vala have free will if they’re fated by their given natures to always follow a particular path, as do Melkor and Mandos.) And so there is Sauron. A Maia servant of Aulë, he is seduced by Melkor’s power, choosing of his own volition to follow him. “It was the apparent will and power of Melkor to effect his designs quickly and masterfully that had first attracted Sauron to him.” (Morgoth’s Ring.) First Morgoth’s lieutenant, he becomes in time an evil to rival Morgoth’s: “In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself.” (Valaquenta.) (The quote raises some really interesting questions about whether, to Tolkien, the capacity for worship, as Sauron did Melkor, at least in Númenor, was itself a virtue.)

Sauron’s descent is marked by choices, whereas Morgoth incarnate is an elemental, unthinking avatar of destruction. After the War of Wrath and Morgoth’s sundering, Sauron came in contrition before Eönwë, chief of the Maiar. Tolkien leaves open the possibility that this desire for penitence was genuine, if motivated by fear. However, referred up to Manwë, (the structure of Tolkien’s Heaven not unreminiscent of a bureaucracy,) Sauron chooses to flee rather than face the consequences of his actions. “Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation and to receive from the Valar a sentence.” (Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age.) To be unwilling of course implies a will to be directed. With this action more than any other, (though the Luciferian War on Heaven [Aman] is a strong contender,) in choosing not to repent and accept the god’s salvation, Sauron chooses his destiny as absolute evil, and the rise and fall that accompanied it.

But was his fall inevitable? Sauron, Tolkien writes, believed that the sundering of the Undying Lands represented the gods’ (the Vala and Eru’s) abnegation of Middle Earth, blessing and cursing its populace with freedom. He could thereby exercise and grow his power without drawing himself into a conflict with the almighty. Morgoth never stood a chance, and neither did the fleet of Númenor, but, had things gone a little differently, Sauron could easily have razed both Gondor and the Shire, and everything in between. Tolkien, however, suggests that Eru intervened in hidden ways, just as the Christian God is said to do. Eru, he writes, saw to it that Bilbo found the Ring, and that Frodo’s failure at Mount Doom was for naught. (It is humorous that, from the available evidence, the post-sundering acts of Eru Ilúvatar, omnipotent father of all and font of gods, seem entirely consigned to manipulating Gollum.) If the God of Gods was indeed intervening, was Sauron’s destruction predestined? If Frodo had faltered, would the deus ex machina have found another way? And why did he take so long, and let the War of the Ring, and all the misery it caused occur? The same reason he let Morgoth’s Fall and the War of Wrath occur. The master craftsman, he knows that his creation needed discord, and needed depth. It needed to be interesting. Why? To add to his ultimate creation, the end to which everything he made hurtled inextricably towards: the Red Book of Westmarch. For the one allfather had his own creator, and he knew how stories work, and he wanted people to buy his book.

As for which soul is weightier? It doesn’t particularly matter, any more than something that came up when I Googled Eru Ilúvater—“Eru Ilúvater power level?” Is he stronger than the Christian God? What about Allah? It’s of course a ridiculous question unanswerable by all but children and perhaps the most scholastic theologists. Each is all. Each is different. Sauron and Morgoth are both as close to absolute evil as evil can get, but they have different domains. One is the elemental evil that shaped the universe, one a scourge in the minds of men. Tolkien even makes an attempt at comparing their powers, but he never sought to seriously answer that. Because after a certain point it’s infinitesimals. Sauron served another, sure, but he was also more conscious of what he was doing, not acting out of pure elemental rage. Is one 0.000001 on the goodness scale, and another 0.00000000001? (Tolkien did not believe in absolute evil.) Who cares? -LAL

Should we teach aliens to play Monopoly? -On metaphors in the world of Tolkien

Imagine a scenario where we are visited by extraterrestrial life whose civilization is unknown to us. This raises the question of how we can introduce our civilization to them. Two potential options come to mind: firstly, we could teach them to play Monopoly; secondly, we could introduce them to the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. The question remains: which option should we choose? At first glance, these two options may seem equally absurd, but upon closer analysis, their viability becomes apparent. 

Although some may initially doubt Monopoly's ability to represent our civilization, those familiar with the history of the Cold War may find the answer to this question rather straightforward. The USSR banned Monopoly in the 1980s, as it was believed that the board game, along with Coca-Cola, played a significant role in helping people in the East understand Western culture and evoking their longing for it. Given its potential impact, could Monopoly be used as an icebreaker during our initial interaction with extraterrestrial beings? Nevertheless, are there any potential risks associated with this approach? 

Another example may aid in analyzing this issue. In 2016, a film called Arrival, directed by Villeneuve, depicted humanity's attempt to establish communication with an extraterrestrial species possessing a completely distinct language system. While the protagonist, Louise Banks, worked to decipher their language, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) used a simpler yet seemingly effective method to communicate: playing Mahjong, a competitive board game. However, this approach led the CCP to interpret the aliens' intentions as hostile, in contrast to the message Louise had directly translated from the aliens' writing. Why did the CCP's approach distort the message of benevolence conveyed by the aliens? One explanation is rooted in the theories presented in our lecture: our language and cognition systems rely heavily on metaphors, and competitive games such as chess and Mahjong typically embody war-related metaphors. Consequently, these metaphors have established perilous "unspoken lines" between humans and aliens, which may contribute to misunderstandings and complications in inter-species communication. 

Now, let's consider the message we would convey to aliens if we introduced our civilization by teaching them to play Monopoly. The central objective of the game is to compete for resources and thwart the other players, driven by greed and an intense desire to win. While this may be a sad reality for many people in our flawed world, the question remains: are we ready to acknowledge and accept this fact? Are we willing to plummet into places, deep and dark, without hoping to hold on to the thing we could climb to? Rung after rung, don’t we pray for pulling ourselves out of ourselves, reaching for something greater? We are flawed, but we can convey to aliens that we possess the courage to confront our flaws and take steps to better ourselves. Can Tolkien's literary works effectively convey this message to aliens? To determine the answer, we must delve into the metaphors that Tolkien aimed to express through his writing.

The first metaphor in Tolkien's work pertains to the Truth of Creation, which distinguishes it from craftship. Our lectures have taught us that in Tolkien's world, true creation originates in the mind of Eru. The thoughts, or themes, are then brought to life by the incarnated Valars after they enter the material world where time flows. Finally, the Children of Eru show their gratitude and appreciation for the creation, which is conveyed back to Eru through the Valars. As Professor Brown pointed out, we can see from Sayers' book "The Mind of the Maker" that this three-stage procedure aligns with the general creation process of artists. For example, in the case of a writer, everything starts with an idea, which is non-being. Then, through hard work, we bring the idea to life and create a book. Finally, we receive feedback from readers, including ourselves, which completes the creative cycle.

Craftsmanship, in contrast to creation, involves the transformation of raw materials into finished products, as exemplified by the works of Celebrimbor, Fëanor, Sauron, and even Morgoth in Middle-earth. This process operates within the realm of the material world, dealing with objects that already exist, from being to being. Furthermore, in the tales of Middle-earth, the most magnificent crafts, such as the Silmarillion and the Rings of Power, often bring with them a series of tragic events, serving as a poignant reminder of the catastrophic consequences that followed the rapid advancement of human technology during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, including devastating wars. 

Through a deep understanding of this metaphor and a constant remembrance of the Truth of Creation, we can endeavor to create with good intentions, just as our Creator did in the beginning. Even if our work entails crafting, we must not forget the cautionary tale of Celebrimbor's tragedy, which serves as a stark reminder of the peril that comes with blindly pursuing advanced craftsmanship. It highlights the potential risk of corrupting our initial good intentions, leading to the inadvertent perversion of our work into something malevolent.

The second metaphor concerns the nature of evil, with the One Ring serving as a perfect representation of the obsession with possessions in the material world. This obsession is often considered to be the root of all evil, as it drives individuals to engage in unethical and immoral behavior in pursuit of their desires. Whether it was Isildur, Gollum, Boromir, or even Frodo, their gaze upon the One Ring revealed a similar obsession to that of Morgoth's desire to conquer Arda and make it his own kingdom. In contrast to other works that may exploit such obsession to attract readers or even subtly encourage it, Tolkien's writings demonstrate a deep sympathy for those caught in its grasp. He endeavored to guide readers towards a path of escape. In the third chapter of The Children of Húrin, Tolkien used the voice of Húrin to convey a message:

“Do you forget to whom you speak? Such things you spoke long ago to our fathers; but we escaped from your shadow. And now we have knowledge of you, for we have looked on the faces that have seen the Light, and heard the voices that have spoken with Manwe. Before Arda you were, but others also; and you did not make it. Neither are you the most mighty; for you have spent your strength upon yourself and wasted it in your own emptiness. No more are you now than an escaped thrall of the Valar, and their chain still awaits you.”

With the power of the Light and the Words from the One, we can see through the pathetic nature of evil and break free from the downward spiral of obsession and destruction. Hold onto this faith, and the darkness shall not conquer us.

In the third metaphor, the focus is on the connection between sorrow and compassion. According to the Valaquenta, Nienna, the Lady of Sorrows, “is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered in the marring of Melkor.” “So great was her sorrow, as the Music unfolded, that her song turned to lamentation long before its end, and the sound of mourning was woven into the themes of the World before it began.” I would like to share a poem by Rilke,

Pietà

Jetzt wird mein Elend voll, und namenlos

erfüllt es mich. Ich starre wie des Steins

Inneres starrt.

Hart wie ich bin, weiß ich nur Eins:

Du wurdest groß -

... und wurdest groß,

um als zu großer Schmerz

ganz über meines Herzens Fassung

hinauszustehn.

Jetzt liegst du quer durch meinen Schooß,

jetzt kann ich dich nicht mehr

gebären.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Yet, “those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope.” 

-Y.P.L.