Well, since no one seems to care either way, I might as well get this out of my system. People can ignore it now just as easily as later.
Of the Sun and the Moon and the Hiding of Valinor
I love this little six page long chapter. Ironically, it is perhaps the one part of the story that Tolkien was most dissatified with, as well as one of the parts that changed the most in tone from the original story. I think the published version is just right. I’m glad that he did not make the fundamental changes to his lengendarium that he indicated he believed were necessary. But I’m equally glad that he toned down the original, highly ‘primitive’ and even absurd (yet very powerful in its own right) Tale of the Sun and the Moon from the original Lost Tales. Christopher says, of the original Tale:
the last outpourings of life from the dying Trees are utterly strange and ‘enormous’, those of Laurelin portentious, even ominous; the Sun is astoundingly bright and hot even to the Valar, who are awestruck and disquieted by what has been done (the Gods know ‘that they had done a greater thing than they at first knew'); and the anger and distress of certain of the Valar at the burning light of the Sun enforces the feeling that in the last fruit of Laurelin a terrible and unforeseen power has been released
As the legendarium evolved, this description evolved into the “succinct and beautiful language” (as Christopher rightly describes it) that survive in the published Silmarilion regarding the creation of the Sun and the Moon:
Manwë bade Yavanna and Nienna to put forth all their powers of growth and healing; and they put forth all their powers upon the Trees. But the tears of Nienna availed not to heal their mortal wounds; and for a long while Yavanna sang alone in the shadows. Yet even as hope failed and her song faltered, behold! Telperion bore at last upon a leafless bough one great flower of silver, and Laurelin a single fruit of gold.
These Yavanna took, and then the Trees died, and their lifeless stems stand yet in Valinor, a memorial of vanished joy. But the flower and fruit Yavanna gave to Aulë, and Manwë hallowed them; and Aulë and his folk made vessels to hold them and preserve their radiance, as is said in the Narsilion, the Song of the Sun and the Moon. These vessels the Valar gave to Varda, that they might become lamps of heaven, outshining the ancient stars, being nearer to Arda; and she gave them power to traverse the lower regions of Ilmen, and set them to voyage upon appointed courses above the girdle of the Earth from the West unto the East and to return.
I love the sense of hope being born out the depths of quiet melancholy. This is the divine plan working in harmony. Eru inserting the finger of God to bring forth Light when all hope is seemingly gone. Yavanna and Aulë working together with Manwë and Varda and the rest of the Valar to take Eru’s gift and bring its radiance to “the world” (rather then keeping it in “heaven”as was the case with the Trees). And, as Christopher says also:
The grave and tranquil words cannot entirely suppress a sense that there emerges here an outcropping, as it were, uneroded, from an older level, more fantastic, more bizarre. So indeed it does: such was the nature of the work, evolved over so many years. But it did not stand in the work as an isolated myth, a now gratuitous element that could be excised; for bound up with it was the myth of the Two Trees (‘the Elder Sun and Moon’), giving light through long ages to the land of Valinor, while Middle-earth lay in darkness, illumined only by the stars in the firmament of Arda.
However, Tolkien came to feel that this conception was too “astronomically absurd” and should be abandoned. In the “Myths Transformed” section of Morgoth’s Ring, there are several examples of his attempts to alter this fundamental part of the story (strangely, he never seems to have considered abandoning the concept of the Two Trees themselves, though its hard to see how that concept is any less absurd). These efforts were highly unsuccessful in my eyes, and strike me as completely unnecessary. But of course, I was a transcendentalist long before I had ever heard of Peter Jackson. For me it doesn’t matter so much whether the story makes “sense”. Or rather, as I have repeated so often, sense is what you make of it. Christopher says (and I agree – unlike some other who have dismissed Christopher as nothing more then a clerk and a cataloguer of his father’s work, I have tremendous respect for Christopher’s thoughts about his father’s writings):
In this brief text he wrote scornfully of the ‘the astronomically absurd business of the making of the Sun and Moon’. I think it possible that it was the actual nature of the this myth that led him finally to abandon it. It is in conception beautiful, and not absurd; but it is exceedingly ‘primitive’.
I agree that it is in conception beautiful. And I would argue, in execution as well. The two short paragraphs that survive in the published Silmarillion from the original far more detailed (and far more bizarre and fantastic) description of the creation of the Sun and the Moon wonderfully capture the Sense of Mystery and Awe that (to me at least) makes Tolkien's work so special (as Wildwood pointed out in a different context in the Bombadil thread).
And, as Tolkien himself notes, if this “absurd” business of the making of the Sun and Moon were to be abandoned:
One loses, of course, the dramatic impact of such things as the first ‘incarnates’ waking in a starlit world – or the coming of the High Elves to Middle-earth and unfurling their banners at the first rising of the Moon.
We have already discussed the former, and we will come to the latter in a few chapters. To me at least, those losses alone would be enough to outweigh any benefits of making the change.
But I have, of course, gotten a bit ahead of the story. At the beginning of the chapter:
It is told that after the flight of Melkor the Valar sat long unmoved upon their thrones int eh Ring of Doom; but they were not idle, as Fëanor declared in the folly of his heart. For the Valar may work many things with thought rather then with hands, and without voices in silence they may hold council one with another. Thus they held vigil in the night of Valinor, and their thoughts passed back beyond Eä and forth to the End; yet neither power nor wisdom assuaged their grief, and the knowing of evil in the hour of its being.
This is once again Tolkien at his best. I love the way that he uses formal, stately language to preserve the sense of remoteness in time, and of the high majesty of the Valar (despite their naivete). The image of the Valar silently holding council one with another has always brought to my mind Gandalf, Elrond, Celeborn and Galadriel holding council with each other on the journey from Minas Tirith after Sauron is defeated [
’for they did not move or speak with mouth, looking from mind to mind’]. But a question occurred to me that I had not thought of before. If the Valar’s thoughts
passed forth to the End, does that mean that they know what will happen at the End of Arda?
What is clear is that despite everything that had happened -- Melkor’s destruction of the Lamps, and all the other battles they had fought with him -- until the Darkening of Valinor and the Marring of Fëanor, the Valinor simply did not understand that evil existed. What a difficult concept for us to grasp and yet, we take the existence of evil for granted. Try to imagine, if you will, knowing a universe in which evil does not exist. Despite what John Lennon said, it
is hard to do.
I’ve already commented in the Fëanor thread about the Valar mourning as much for the marring of Fëanor as they did for the death of the Trees, so I won’t belabor the point, except to say that despite the surface similarities between Melkor and Fëanor I see them in very different light: if Melkor was the “Marrer” then Fëanor was epitomy of the “Marred.”
I did promise wilko that I would comment on the words that come next in the long first paragraph of this chapter, and indeed they do relate very strongly to the overriding themes that have underscored this whole multi-messageboard discussion:
when the messengers declared to Manwë the answers of Fëanor to his heralds, Manwë wept and bowed his head. But at that last word of Fëanor: that at the least the Noldor should do deeds to live in song for ever, he raised his head, as one that hears a voice far off, and he said: ‘So shall it be! Dear-bought those songs shall be accounted, and yet shall be well-bought. For the price could be no other. Thus even as Eru spoke to us shall beauty not before conceived be brought into Eä, and evil yet be good to have been.’
But Mandos said: ‘And yet remain evil. To me shall Fëanor come soon.
Manwë raising his head as though hearing a voice far off can only be interpreted as Eru revealing to him more of the divine plan then had been previously revealed to this Vala, who is repeatedly described as knowing the most of Eru’s mind. The bolded words are highly significant, to me at least.
For the price could be no other. Is Manwë saying that in fact only one reality is possible, that no other paths could have been tread?
What a paradox the concept of evil being good to have been is! Mandos at least ain’t buying it at all. He of all the Valar recognizes evil when he sees it (though he himself is NOT evil).
And that last sentence:
“To me shall Fëanor come soon.” This shows just how far from typical literary convention Tolkien was. Not only does he kill off the closest thing to a main character that the story has a third of the way through the book, he telegraphs that it is going to happen two chapters before it actually does! Although to be honest, I really can’t say for sure whether I understood when I first read this that it meant that Fëanor was going to die soon, but I think I did, and I think I was mighty put out by it, actually. It is only over time that I have come to realize that Fëanor’s early death really was the necessary path that the story had to take. But now I’m getting ahead of myself.
It is at this point that the beautiful words concerning the original “making” of the Sun and the Moon that I describe above appear. And now, I fear, having spent more then two pages on the first two pages of the chapter, I must run more swiftly to the end, and let others (more worthy) fill in the details.
We see the Valar resolving to illuminate Middle-earth to hinder Melkor, for the benefit of the Avari, and the exiled Noldor, and even of Men. We are asked to believe that, just as the Valar made war upon Melkor for the sake of the Quendi upon their awakening, they now “forebore for the sake of the Hildor, the Aftercomers, the younger Children of Ilúvator” out of fear that the weak mortals would not survive the fear and tumult that would result. I don't buy it. Sounds like an avoidance mechanism to me.
Isil and Anar, and, many other names as well, are given to the Moon, the last flower of Telperion, and Anar, the last fruit of Laurelin. Interesting because the first time most of us see those times is in the names of the sons of Elendil, but it is the Isildur that seems to burn the brighter of the two, not Anárion. I wonder what's up with that?
We learn of Arien, the fire-maiden that steers the ship of the Sun, and Tirion the hunter, who guides the vessel of the Moon. But she was “mightier then he”.
Isil was first wrought and made ready, and first rose into the realm of the stars, and was the elder of the new lights, as was Telperion of the Trees. Then for a while the world had moonlight, and many things stirred and woke that had waited long in the sleep of Yavanna. The servants of Morgoth were filled with amazement, but the Elves of the Outer Lands looked up in delight; and een as the Moon rose above the darness in the west, Fingolfin let blow his silver trumpets and began his march into Middle-earth, and the shadows of his host went long and black before them.
[see Ath, my feelings about Fingolfin are very mixed, as I told you before]
Tilion had traversed the heaven seven times, and thus was in the furthest east, when the vessel of Arien was made ready. Then Anar arose in glory, and the first dawn of the Sun was like a great fire upon the towers of the Pelóri: the clouds of Middle-earth were kindled, and there were heard the sound of many waterfalls.
Tilion was wayward and uncertain in speed, and held not to his appounted path; and he sought to come near to Arien, being drawn by her splendour, though the flame of Anar scorched him, and the island of the moon was darkened.
Because of the waywardness of Tilion, therefore, and yet more because of the prayers of Lórien and Estë, who said that sleep and rest had been banished from the Earth, and the stars were hidden, Varda changed her counsel, and allowed a time wherein the world should still have shadow and half-light.
...Tilion went with uncertain pace, as yet he goes, and was still drawn towards Arien, as he shall ever be; so that often both may be seen above the Earth together, or at times it will chance that he comes so nigh that his shadow cuts off her brightness and there is a darkness amid the day.
This beautiful imagery is all the Sense that I need. Tolkien describes a universe that is both identifiably our world, and identifiably Other. It is perfect. I am very grateful to the fates that he was not able to abandon this beautiful conception.
We see that still the light of Valinor was greater and fairer then upon Middle-earth. But that light could not “recall the light that was of old, that came for the Trees before they were touched by the poison of Ungoliant. That light lives now in the Silmarils alone.” (Getting ahead of the story again, never until this moment did it occur to me the significance of the fact that the original “holy” light survives in the sky only in the Evening Star - but I’ll have to wait until we get to the end of the story to talk about that.)
We see Melkor unsuccessfully assail Tirion. Thankfully, we no long see him “ravish” Arien, as he does in the original Tale. In fact, he is so greatly reduced already at this time that he greatly fears her, and hides himself and his servants from her.
But they are not the only ones to hide. The Valar too hide themselves away from the trials and tribulations to come in Middle-earth, raising the mountain-walls of the Pelóri to sheer and dreadful heights, and set the Enchanted Isles a in the Shadowy Seas before Tol Eressëa.
Thus it was that as Mandos foretold to them in Araman the Blessed Realm was shut against the Noldor; and of the many messengers that in after days sailed into the West none came ever to Valinor – save one only: the mightiest mariner of song.
"Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever to and from his halls; and their eyes could see to the depths of the seas, and pierce the hidden caverns beneath the world."
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