The Akallabeth narrative in The Silmarillion deals with classic mythological themes like fall, temptation, evil, and the fate of mankind. It seems to mirror the Fall from the Garden of Eden in Genesis 3. After reading it for the first time, I was tempted to simply conclude that the Númenóreans disobeyed the one, essential commandment not to sail westward in much the same fashion that Eve ate from the forbidden tree. However, I find that accounting—especially considering our discussion in class today—to be insufficient. Tolkien is offering a much broader meditation on the desire to escape death and the dangers of creation. He warns the modern reader to be wary of false promises and new technologies that claim to set us free from the shackles imposed on us by our own mortality. The Númenóreans drank from that particular poisoned chalice.
They darkened their own skies by hungering for “the undying city that they saw from afar, and the desire of everlasting life to escape from death.” (Silmarillion, 396). This is their downfall. Tolkien, through the tale of the Númenóreans, depicts a fallen world in which man has allowed evil to slip through his defenses. If they had only known their place, not bothered themselves with visions of power and glory, and certainly never set out on an adventure that would bring about their undoing, the Númenóreans would have enjoyed the fruits of paradise for their long and prosperous lives. Unfortunately, the human condition is to always shoot for a little more than we ought to, get completely out over our skis and spend the rest of our days trying to get back to the moment right before everything went sideways. Life is a journey back to the place from which we fell. We probably will never get there. But, in my opinion, Tolkien’s lost civilization of Númenór allows his readers to imagine a possible justification, an endpoint for the confusing project we call life.
The academics in The Notion Club Papers believe that Númenór is a real and accessible place. Lowdham attempts to provide a way for his fellow club members to get back to Númenór through the restoration of old myths and old tongues. As the narrative breaks off, Lowdham and his compatriots are preparing to embark on a journey through both time and language, bracing themselves for the difficulties that await them. It will be a long and treacherous journey. Nevertheless, it seems to all those involved a worthwhile endeavor. Reading The Notion Club Papers earlier this quarter, I was reminded of the late night, ambitious discussions I often have with my friends that seem fraught with danger and tend toward conclusions we did not anticipate.
In lecture today, we discussed the idea that these kinds of arguments and discussions often resemble journeys. An argument does have an endpoint—an ultimate resolution that both parties are aiming towards—but contains within it no guarantee that the participants of the argument will arrive at a destination. It’s easy to get sidetracked. It’s fairly common to hear someone refer to “the turns of the argument” or ask that certain points be made more clear for those listening. This understanding of what an argument is invites the interpretation that all arguments, and perhaps stories, lives, and many other such things, rest on a proper ordering of their component parts. Language enables this ordering, allowing us to describe different elements of our lives and imbue them with meaning. A shadow is but a shadow, unless we start enumerating its component parts. Then, by carefully selecting a few appropriate adjectives, we can turn it into an evil, sinister shadow—one that heralds approaching evil and the eternal destruction of mankind. Those few words are themselves instruments of creation, used to bring structure to something that otherwise would remain a shapeless, nameless blob…well actually that is just as much as an act of creation as describing it as evil is but I hope I am making myself clear.
All this is to say, language constrains us. Our capacity to describe and interpret our collective experiences is defined by our linguistic capabilities. This cuts two ways. Before taking this course, I might have concluded that these constraints somehow make language less important, deadening the mystical essence that defines our lives and allows us to appreciate fantasy stories. By simply describing something, we drag it through the mud of language and turn it into some disgusting, deformed thing–a laughable imitation of the original, indescribable experience. However, I now believe the opposite may be true. Language, when properly handled, can transport us into new worlds and open ourselves to new civilizations. Words and phrases are like containers, packed with meaning and history. After all, as we discussed in class, Hamlet is just a bunch of words and phrases strung together in a certain order. Yet, as most of us know, it is simultaneously so much more than that. Shakespeare brought those words and phrases to life. That is his creative act.
Returning to a discussion of themes, I wish to conclude by emphasizing the role that Akallabeth plays in Tolkien’s project. This course has sharpened up my appreciation for the many layers present in Tolkien’s mythology. His work operates on several levels—imaginary, historical, and mythological—that are still relevant for all of us. In the Akallabeth, he engages with the eternal question of what happens when one tries to escape death. It is a cautionary tale. Tolkien is concerned about the growing power of technology and the ways in which it acts upon those who use it, molding and shaping their moral character. Sauron persuades the Númenóreans into committing human sacrifices by convincing them that they can achieve immortality if they only set aside most of their principles. People can do terrible things if they believe it will get them what they want. Tolkien does believe in Goodness but he allows for the possibility that man can be turned away from the path of righteousness. On the one hand, we can choose to exercise our Free Will in damaging ways. Like the Númenóreans, we can disobey sacred commands handed down from on high. Or, and I believe this is the far more informative lesson for today, we can be manipulated and led astray, often without our knowledge.
Marshall McLuhan famously argued that the medium is the message, that the information conveyed by some technology is secondary to the effect that it has on the user. He was writing as the introduction of television into the American home upended domestic life, creating a culture in which sitting around watching Gilligan's Island with Grandpa became a way—perhaps the way—to connect with one’s family. In other words, technology transforms how we interface with our world, changing our behavior. Tolkien’s Palantíri—or, for us moderns, our IPhones—crack open brand-new channels of communication, collapsing distances, allowing people to communicate with each other instantaneously, and placing all available information at our fingertips. I can find out, with just a few strokes on the keyboard, when and where Tom Petty was born. Does that make for a better world? Do I really need to know that? As Thoreau put it in Walden, we may be in “great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas; but Maine and Texas, it may be, have nothing important to communicate.”
- ES
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