The Silmarillion Discussion at The Hall of Fire
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Voronwë the Faithful
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I'm no expert in optics, but the way I see it is that the greater the resolution you have, the greater the need for light gathering so that you have enough light to make use of that resolution. Either that or you need to be able to process the light better (more sensitive retina, better information processing capability). That's why I suggested that one might need these as well, in addition to the proven better resolution of Elvish eyesight.scirocco wrote:wouldn't the greater resolving power of the lenses of the Elves' eyes also mean that they were a "brighter" lens than Men's eyes? In other words, not only would the Elves have some of the blackness that we see between individual stars filled in, but that stars that both they and we see would appear brighter to them? So a clear night sky that would cause us to pick our way around obstacles if there was no Moon, might appear as bright as perhaps a cloudy day to them?
Since Middle-earth is a non-Darwinian world (oops another scientific concept sneaked in there
), there would be little point in have such eyesight unless they could make use of it. This means (IMO), that the night sky would indeed look very bright to them. Sorry if I didn't make it clear first time around.
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Voronwë the Faithful
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Chapter 12 - Of Men
Well, no one seems to want to talk about the Sun or the Moon (at least Sassy commented on my summary
), so I figured I would move on to the next (short) chapter, which deals with the introduction onto the scene of our own progenitors. This way, once our intrepid traveler returns from her investigations of the tropics, she can move us on to the great events that occur with the return of the Noldor to the shores of Middle-earth.
We see in the beginning of this chapter the Valar pulling away and largely leaving the scene of the story (other then Melkor, of course). Only Ulmo continues to take an active role in the affairs of the residents of Middle-earth. Men, however "have not skill in such matters, and still less in those days before they had mingled with the Elves. Therefore they loved the waters, and their hearts were stirred, but they understood not the messages." Even today, humans are drawn to the multifarious voices of running water, though we do not even today understand the language of those voices, or messages being brought to us.
With no guidance from the Valar, Men (the Second People, the Followers, the After-Born, the Sickly, the Mortals, the Usurpers, the Strangers, the Inscrutable, the Heavy-Handed, the Night-fearers (Hobby?), the Children of the Sun) became companions and disciples of those Elves who never made the journey to Valinor and to whom the Valar were naught but "a rumour and a distant name." But these Dark Elves, though surpassing Men in wisdom, skill, and beauty, were themselves equally surpassed in these things by the returning Noldor (and the people of Doriath).
There is discussion of the fate of Men upon their death, and some foreshadowing of the story of Beren, son of Barahir "whose hand touched a Silmaril" (yet another reference to the "holy" nature of the Jewels). But little is told, other then that the fate of Men is really not known. Most significant are these words:
Mandos under Ilúvatar alone save Manwë knows whither they go after the time of recollection in those silent halls beside the Outer Sea. ... The fate of Men after death, maybe, is not in the hands of the Valar, nor was all foretold in the Music of the Ainur.
I find these two sentences, if not contradictory, at least somewhat at odds. Why would Mandos and Manwë be granting knowledge of the fate of Man after death, if this fate is out of their hands? This is a mystery to me. But it seems to me that though Tolkien repeatedly stated that the insertion of the Children of Eru (meaning both Elves and Men) into the Music of the Ainur was the first intrusion of the Hand of God into the ongoing drama of the universe, and that Men and Elves both represent different aspects of humanity, that these statements are not really true. It has always occurred to me that the Elves were very much part of the same pattern as the Valar and the rest of the Ainur, that they really were just ‘smaller’ versions of the same kind of being. It is Man, the Followers – the Inscrutable– that represents the real deviation from the original plan, it seems to me, as that Plan was established in the original Music propounded by Eru. It seems to me that these older beings, the Valar themselves and the Maiar, and even the elder Children, were created by Eru simply to lay the foundation for the Aftercomers, the Children of the Sun. We’ve already seen that the Music “is as fate to all things else” but not to Men. It is for Man that the Tale of Eternity is laid, not the Elves, who are bound to the finite fate of Arda itself.
But among those Men some found themselves drawn inexorably into the Tale of the Doom of the Noldor. And so a strain of that divine race was inserted into blood of Men.
And in the glory and beauty of the Elves, and in their fate, full share had the offspring of elf and mortal, Eärendil, and Elwing, and Elrond their child.
Well, no one seems to want to talk about the Sun or the Moon (at least Sassy commented on my summary
), so I figured I would move on to the next (short) chapter, which deals with the introduction onto the scene of our own progenitors. This way, once our intrepid traveler returns from her investigations of the tropics, she can move us on to the great events that occur with the return of the Noldor to the shores of Middle-earth.We see in the beginning of this chapter the Valar pulling away and largely leaving the scene of the story (other then Melkor, of course). Only Ulmo continues to take an active role in the affairs of the residents of Middle-earth. Men, however "have not skill in such matters, and still less in those days before they had mingled with the Elves. Therefore they loved the waters, and their hearts were stirred, but they understood not the messages." Even today, humans are drawn to the multifarious voices of running water, though we do not even today understand the language of those voices, or messages being brought to us.
With no guidance from the Valar, Men (the Second People, the Followers, the After-Born, the Sickly, the Mortals, the Usurpers, the Strangers, the Inscrutable, the Heavy-Handed, the Night-fearers (Hobby?), the Children of the Sun) became companions and disciples of those Elves who never made the journey to Valinor and to whom the Valar were naught but "a rumour and a distant name." But these Dark Elves, though surpassing Men in wisdom, skill, and beauty, were themselves equally surpassed in these things by the returning Noldor (and the people of Doriath).
There is discussion of the fate of Men upon their death, and some foreshadowing of the story of Beren, son of Barahir "whose hand touched a Silmaril" (yet another reference to the "holy" nature of the Jewels). But little is told, other then that the fate of Men is really not known. Most significant are these words:
Mandos under Ilúvatar alone save Manwë knows whither they go after the time of recollection in those silent halls beside the Outer Sea. ... The fate of Men after death, maybe, is not in the hands of the Valar, nor was all foretold in the Music of the Ainur.
I find these two sentences, if not contradictory, at least somewhat at odds. Why would Mandos and Manwë be granting knowledge of the fate of Man after death, if this fate is out of their hands? This is a mystery to me. But it seems to me that though Tolkien repeatedly stated that the insertion of the Children of Eru (meaning both Elves and Men) into the Music of the Ainur was the first intrusion of the Hand of God into the ongoing drama of the universe, and that Men and Elves both represent different aspects of humanity, that these statements are not really true. It has always occurred to me that the Elves were very much part of the same pattern as the Valar and the rest of the Ainur, that they really were just ‘smaller’ versions of the same kind of being. It is Man, the Followers – the Inscrutable– that represents the real deviation from the original plan, it seems to me, as that Plan was established in the original Music propounded by Eru. It seems to me that these older beings, the Valar themselves and the Maiar, and even the elder Children, were created by Eru simply to lay the foundation for the Aftercomers, the Children of the Sun. We’ve already seen that the Music “is as fate to all things else” but not to Men. It is for Man that the Tale of Eternity is laid, not the Elves, who are bound to the finite fate of Arda itself.
But among those Men some found themselves drawn inexorably into the Tale of the Doom of the Noldor. And so a strain of that divine race was inserted into blood of Men.
And in the glory and beauty of the Elves, and in their fate, full share had the offspring of elf and mortal, Eärendil, and Elwing, and Elrond their child.
"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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truehobbit
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Ack, sorry, I hadn't noticed that there were answers to my post! I'd stopped looking when there was none for a few days. 
Thanks for taking up the subject!
Roccondil, I agree it would often seem pointless to apply science to explain fiction, but I thought you made an excellent point! Like scirocco said: )
Ok, off to read the next chapter!
Thanks for taking up the subject!
But what makes me want to scream is not so much fear of the dark, but a feeling of helplessness at imagining it would never get really bright - like being trapped in a tight spot, the way you sometimes are in a nightmare, or the way I imagine it must be when one of your senses is impaired.Voronwë wrote:Hobby, I'll let Tom Bombadil of all people answer this:
'When the Elves passed westward, Tom was here already, before the seas were bent. He knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless -- before the Dark Lord came from Outside
Roccondil, I agree it would often seem pointless to apply science to explain fiction, but I thought you made an excellent point! Like scirocco said:
(Good to see I don't seem to be the only one who has trouble with the concept, btw!scirocco wrote:If this is feasible, I feel much more comfortable with the whole idea of thousands of years of existence under a sky with no Sun or Moon!
)Ok, off to read the next chapter!
but being a cheerful hobbit he had not needed hope, as long as despair could be postponed.
Stay tuned...........this "intrepid traveller" has finished her notes on both chapters today whilst sitting under a palapa sipping beer and sucking on limes, so I should have something to add tomorrow. 
(I've also been happily scribbling away at my photocopied pages of "The Return of the Noldor" to much
from my family. Quote from my daughter, who has been forced to work on a lit assignment based on Swift's "A Modest Proposal" while we're here: "Mom, I can't believe you actually do that kind of thing for FUN.")
Sometimes I feel so alone.
(I've also been happily scribbling away at my photocopied pages of "The Return of the Noldor" to much
from my family. Quote from my daughter, who has been forced to work on a lit assignment based on Swift's "A Modest Proposal" while we're here: "Mom, I can't believe you actually do that kind of thing for FUN.")Sometimes I feel so alone.
Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of moon.
Jalal ad-Din Rumi
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Voronwë the Faithful
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Ah, Athrabeth, that gave me the purest laugh that I've had so far this year. Thank you.
And I look forward to your thoughts.
And I look forward to your thoughts.
"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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Sassafras
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Ath ... 
Not quite alone ...
Apanor, the After-born, Engwar, the Sickly, and Firimar, the Mortals; and they named them the Usurpers, the Strangers, and the Inscrutable, the Self-cursed, the Heavy-handed, the Night-fearers, the Children of the Sun.
What’s in a name?
What is the power in the naming of names?
A not very auspicious beginning for Men, is it? The Valar abandon them to their fates, to Morgoth; the Elves can hardly have been less welcoming. They are reviled, called names … all of which prove prophetically accurate … one is left with the feeling that Men are very much second class citizens in an Elven world ... despite the chapter's later assertion that they were allies and held themselves akin.
Voronwë wrote:
I agree with all of this, Voronwë, but where I think we might differ is in Tolkien’s attitude towards Men. I tend to believe that he very much viewed them as ‘lesser’ than the Elves. That his first love was for Elves and that Men only play such a prominent part of the tale because … well … Tolkien was a member of the human race and because he wanted to make the legend consistent with his Christian point of view … My bet is, if he’d had his druthers, he would have been an Elf.
More to come later.
Not quite alone ...
Apanor, the After-born, Engwar, the Sickly, and Firimar, the Mortals; and they named them the Usurpers, the Strangers, and the Inscrutable, the Self-cursed, the Heavy-handed, the Night-fearers, the Children of the Sun.
What’s in a name?
What is the power in the naming of names?
A not very auspicious beginning for Men, is it? The Valar abandon them to their fates, to Morgoth; the Elves can hardly have been less welcoming. They are reviled, called names … all of which prove prophetically accurate … one is left with the feeling that Men are very much second class citizens in an Elven world ... despite the chapter's later assertion that they were allies and held themselves akin.
Voronwë wrote:
It seems to me that these older beings, the Valar themselves and the Maiar, and even the elder Children, were created by Eru simply to lay the foundation for the Aftercomers, the Children of the Sun. We’ve already seen that the Music “is as fate to all things else” but not to Men. It is for Man that the Tale of Eternity is laid, not the Elves, who are bound to the finite fate of Arda itself.
I agree with all of this, Voronwë, but where I think we might differ is in Tolkien’s attitude towards Men. I tend to believe that he very much viewed them as ‘lesser’ than the Elves. That his first love was for Elves and that Men only play such a prominent part of the tale because … well … Tolkien was a member of the human race and because he wanted to make the legend consistent with his Christian point of view … My bet is, if he’d had his druthers, he would have been an Elf.
More to come later.
Ever mindful of the maxim that brevity is the soul of wit, axordil sums up the Sil:
"Too many Fingolfins, not enough Sams."
Yes.
I don't know, Sassy. He was certainly fond of his Hobbits, which seem to combine the traits he valued most in humans - love for simple pleasures with unambitious courage.
If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn't as cynical as real life.
Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
Okay, so here are some quick thoughts on the last two chapters. And thank-you, Voronwë, for taking the lead with such thoughtul summaries! 
Of The Sun and Moon
With this reading, I was struck by a phrase in the opening passage: "yet neither power nor wisdom assuaged their grief, and the knowing of evil in the hour of its being". To me, it seems remarkably close to Tolkien´s description of Arwen´s despair at Aragorn´s deathbed; that for all her deep wisdom and long ages of life, she is unprepared for THIS experience of absolute loss. I find it interesting that Tolkien even presents the Valar with this limited capacity to embrace the very darkest moments in the tale of Arda with pure estel - that even they need time to "get a hold on themselves" again, to fully fathom the experience and begin to learn from it.
And what do they learn? Well, it seems that they now understand that darkness is no longer "fearless" (as old Bombadil recalls it from the time before the Dark Lord came from "outside"): "These things the Valar did, recalling in their twilight the darkness of the lands of Arda; and they resolved now to illunmine Middle-earth and with light to hinder the deeds of Melkor" My take on the actions of the Valar, of their creation of the Sun and Moon, and their decision not to make war against Morgoth, is that they are absolutely sincere in their fear of endangering, perhaps even destroying, the newly-born race of Men. They are indeed, NOT omnipotent Powers, but beings capable of erring and of learning. Even their unfathomable wisdom can be expanded and deepened with this earthly experience that they willingly took on uncounted ages before. And, let´s face it, they´ve just learned a bundle since Melkor and Ungoliant paid them a call!
I love how the Valar even learn that their first plan for the Sun´s and Moon´s paths across the heavens is not the best one, even if it means allowing darkness to routinely dominate a part of the daily cycle, for like so much in Tolkien´s writings, there always seems to be "yin" to balance "yang" in the workings of the world, and though darkness now holds many fears and evils within its shadows, it also provides the opportunity for sleep and rest and subsequent renewal and refreshment.
But the newly found wisdom of the Valar is dearly bought. I love the ominous and terrible beauty of Tolkien´s description of the newly "fortified" Pelóri, and how, with the rising of the Sun each day, ..."the shadows of the Mountains of Defence lay heavy on the Blessed Realm.": a reminder that even Aman is now forever marred by the malice of Melkor. Never again will those in Aman walk in the gentle glory of the "mingled lights" of Telperion and Laurelin. Each remnant of their light has become singular now, not part of a balanced harmony of gold and silver. It could, I suppose, stand as symbolic of the sundering of many paths as the marring of Arda continues; as symbolic perhaps of the increasingly singular natures of Men and Elves, who, in their beginnings within the First Music, sprang from a common source, but now, with the coming of the "Years of the Sun", will rarely find the pure beauty and power of their shared heritage.
Hmmmmm.....I´m going to have to return a bit later with my post on "Of Men", as this took a bit longer to type out than I anticipated, and my palapa by the pool is beckoning.......urgently.
Until then......... to everyone and this wonderful discussion.
Of The Sun and Moon
With this reading, I was struck by a phrase in the opening passage: "yet neither power nor wisdom assuaged their grief, and the knowing of evil in the hour of its being". To me, it seems remarkably close to Tolkien´s description of Arwen´s despair at Aragorn´s deathbed; that for all her deep wisdom and long ages of life, she is unprepared for THIS experience of absolute loss. I find it interesting that Tolkien even presents the Valar with this limited capacity to embrace the very darkest moments in the tale of Arda with pure estel - that even they need time to "get a hold on themselves" again, to fully fathom the experience and begin to learn from it.
And what do they learn? Well, it seems that they now understand that darkness is no longer "fearless" (as old Bombadil recalls it from the time before the Dark Lord came from "outside"): "These things the Valar did, recalling in their twilight the darkness of the lands of Arda; and they resolved now to illunmine Middle-earth and with light to hinder the deeds of Melkor" My take on the actions of the Valar, of their creation of the Sun and Moon, and their decision not to make war against Morgoth, is that they are absolutely sincere in their fear of endangering, perhaps even destroying, the newly-born race of Men. They are indeed, NOT omnipotent Powers, but beings capable of erring and of learning. Even their unfathomable wisdom can be expanded and deepened with this earthly experience that they willingly took on uncounted ages before. And, let´s face it, they´ve just learned a bundle since Melkor and Ungoliant paid them a call!
I love how the Valar even learn that their first plan for the Sun´s and Moon´s paths across the heavens is not the best one, even if it means allowing darkness to routinely dominate a part of the daily cycle, for like so much in Tolkien´s writings, there always seems to be "yin" to balance "yang" in the workings of the world, and though darkness now holds many fears and evils within its shadows, it also provides the opportunity for sleep and rest and subsequent renewal and refreshment.
But the newly found wisdom of the Valar is dearly bought. I love the ominous and terrible beauty of Tolkien´s description of the newly "fortified" Pelóri, and how, with the rising of the Sun each day, ..."the shadows of the Mountains of Defence lay heavy on the Blessed Realm.": a reminder that even Aman is now forever marred by the malice of Melkor. Never again will those in Aman walk in the gentle glory of the "mingled lights" of Telperion and Laurelin. Each remnant of their light has become singular now, not part of a balanced harmony of gold and silver. It could, I suppose, stand as symbolic of the sundering of many paths as the marring of Arda continues; as symbolic perhaps of the increasingly singular natures of Men and Elves, who, in their beginnings within the First Music, sprang from a common source, but now, with the coming of the "Years of the Sun", will rarely find the pure beauty and power of their shared heritage.
Hmmmmm.....I´m going to have to return a bit later with my post on "Of Men", as this took a bit longer to type out than I anticipated, and my palapa by the pool is beckoning.......urgently.
Until then.........
to everyone and this wonderful discussion.Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of moon.
Jalal ad-Din Rumi
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Sassafras
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Musings prompted by Ath's post:
Why does Ungoliant not try to get to this new light source? Is she bound by gravity? Or is she still digesting the Two Trees and the wells of the Valar?
Why does sunlight hasten the waning of the Eldar? Is there something in the quality of the light which has a degenerative affect upon them ... it has thinned .... and is lacking in nourishment somehow? Say, the way a person can subsist upon a limited diet ... enough to sustain life but not enough to promote true health.
... Years of the Sun. Swifter and briefer are they than the long years of the Trees. In that time the air of Middle-earth became heavy with the breath of growth and mortality, and the changing and ageing of all things was hastened exceedingly, life teemed upon the soil and in the waters in the Second Spring of Arda, and the Eldar increased and beneath the new Sun Beleriand grew green and fair.
It almost sounds like fertility run riot ... as though life's natural order has become acelerated and frenzied ... as though Arda has become over-ripe ... and death lurks just beneath the new green surface.
And then there is this:
In after days, when because of the truimph of Morgoth Elves and Men became estranged, as he most wished, those of the Elven race that lived still in Middle-earth waned and faded, and Men usurped the sunlight.
How usurped? Sunlight is, we are told, not natural for the Elves; Starlight is. And if they are indeed doomed from the beginning to pave the way for Men so that Eru might find the way to enter into Arda and heal the Marring ... then I fail to understand how Men stole the sunlight.
<sigh>
So many questions.
Never again will those in Aman walk in the gentle glory of the "mingled lights" of Telperion and Laurelin. Each remnant of their light has become singular now, not part of a balanced harmony of gold and silver. It could, I suppose, stand as symbolic of the sundering of many paths as the marring of Arda continues;
Why does Ungoliant not try to get to this new light source? Is she bound by gravity? Or is she still digesting the Two Trees and the wells of the Valar?
Why does sunlight hasten the waning of the Eldar? Is there something in the quality of the light which has a degenerative affect upon them ... it has thinned .... and is lacking in nourishment somehow? Say, the way a person can subsist upon a limited diet ... enough to sustain life but not enough to promote true health.
... Years of the Sun. Swifter and briefer are they than the long years of the Trees. In that time the air of Middle-earth became heavy with the breath of growth and mortality, and the changing and ageing of all things was hastened exceedingly, life teemed upon the soil and in the waters in the Second Spring of Arda, and the Eldar increased and beneath the new Sun Beleriand grew green and fair.
It almost sounds like fertility run riot ... as though life's natural order has become acelerated and frenzied ... as though Arda has become over-ripe ... and death lurks just beneath the new green surface.
And then there is this:
In after days, when because of the truimph of Morgoth Elves and Men became estranged, as he most wished, those of the Elven race that lived still in Middle-earth waned and faded, and Men usurped the sunlight.
How usurped? Sunlight is, we are told, not natural for the Elves; Starlight is. And if they are indeed doomed from the beginning to pave the way for Men so that Eru might find the way to enter into Arda and heal the Marring ... then I fail to understand how Men stole the sunlight.
<sigh>
So many questions.
Ever mindful of the maxim that brevity is the soul of wit, axordil sums up the Sil:
"Too many Fingolfins, not enough Sams."
Yes.
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Voronwë the Faithful
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Ungoliant wouldn't have gone after the Trees if she hadn't been directed to do so by Melkor. Once she turned against him, and was defeated and driven off by the balrogs, she became a non-factor.Sassafras wrote:Why does Ungoliant not try to get to this new light source? Is she bound by gravity? Or is she still digesting the Two Trees and the wells of the Valar?
I think that it is just the opposite. It hastens the waning of the Eldar because it fostered the swifter growth of all things. Just as yourself go on to point out.Why does sunlight hasten the waning of the Eldar? Is there something in the quality of the light which has a degenerative affect upon them ... it has thinned .... and is lacking in nourishment somehow? Say, the way a person can subsist upon a limited diet ... enough to sustain life but not enough to promote true health.
And then there is this:... Years of the Sun. Swifter and briefer are they than the long years of the Trees. In that time the air of Middle-earth became heavy with the breath of growth and mortality, and the changing and ageing of all things was hastened exceedingly, life teemed upon the soil and in the waters in the Second Spring of Arda, and the Eldar increased and beneath the new Sun Beleriand grew green and fair.
It almost sounds like fertility run riot ... as though life's natural order has become accelerated and frenzied ... as though Arda has become over-ripe ... and death lurks just beneath the new green surface.
I'm glad you pointed this out, Sassy, because I have been pondering this very question. I think that what Tolkien is really saying is not that Men stole the sunlight (even though that is what the words say). I think what is really happening is that Arda is being usurped for Man by Eru, through the Valar and in part by use of the Sun, which is a symbol of Man's ultimate usurpation of ArdaIn after days, when because of the triumph of Morgoth Elves and Men became estranged, as he most wished, those of the Elven race that lived still in Middle-earth waned and faded, and Men usurped the sunlight.
How usurped? Sunlight is, we are told, not natural for the Elves; Starlight is. And if they are indeed doomed from the beginning to pave the way for Men so that Eru might find the way to enter into Arda and heal the Marring ... then I fail to understand how Men stole the sunlight.
That's why we pay you the big bucks.<sigh>
So many questions.
"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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Sassafras
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Voronwë wrote:
And it leads me (again!) to the conclusion that only Men (and Hobbits) truly experience free will. The doom of the Eldar is meant to be.
Yes. This makes sense .... still, I can't shake the feeling that it's awfully unfair to the Elves though.I think that what Tolkien is really saying is not that Men stole the sunlight (even though that is what the words say). I think what is really happening is that Arda is being usurped for Man by Eru, through the Valar and in part by use of the Sun, which is a symbol of Man's ultimate usurpation of Arda
And it leads me (again!) to the conclusion that only Men (and Hobbits) truly experience free will. The doom of the Eldar is meant to be.
That's why we pay you the big bucks
Ever mindful of the maxim that brevity is the soul of wit, axordil sums up the Sil:
"Too many Fingolfins, not enough Sams."
Yes.
It seems fitting that the Years of the Sun are "swifter and briefer" than the "long years of the Trees in Valinor", as Men are swifter and briefer than the Eldar........and yet, as Andreth notes in the Athrabeth, Men also tire more swiftly of things familiar, and what was new and wondrous to their eyes quickly becomes "stale". It´s interesting that Tolkien balances his description of Arda as teeming with "life", and "growth" and "change", with the ever-present ideas of aging and mortality: like shadowy "usurpers" themselves, they gnaw from the very beginning, at the hearts of Men.
I´m really seeing the Sun and Moon as much more symbolic of the two races than I ever have before. Like the eldest Tree, Telperion, the Elves are the elder race, and somehow, its gentle silver light seems to represent them fittingly. As the light of the Moon, it complements the beloved starlight of the Elves, and it is more free to go whither it will, dancing a lighter path across the heavens. The light of the younger Tree, Laurelin, that becomes the core of the Sun, is more burdensome upon Arda, but also more life-giving. It is its path that now marks Time, not the constant waxing and waning and blending of the light of the Trees, and it marks Time, it seems, with relentless efficiency. I love how the first rising of the Sun is in the West, and how the "opening eyes" of Men are turned towards it before all else: this great golden beacon that first beckons them westward and stirs their hearts with strange hope, that gives them warmth and strength and life itself, only to become the focus of their greatest fears and sorrows; of "days numbered" and "time passing" and life moving inexorably towards death.
I used to find the names given by Elves to Men as rather scornful, but I think I´ve changed my mind about this. When you look at all those terms, they really are just accurate descriptions of what the Elves saw in Men - mysterious, strange, fleeting creatures that they somehow know and yet cannot fully know.
"To Hildórien there came no Vala to guide Men, or summon them to dwell in Valinor; and Men have feared the Valar, rather than loved them, and have not understood the purposes of the Powers, being at variance with them, and at strife with the world."
This passage reminds me so much of what Andreth has to say (bitterly) about "no messages" being sent to her people. It also contains this remarkable assertion that essentially, Men are not "harmonious" with the forces that guide their earthly home. To me, it rings with the theme of "Man as Usurper": to be compelled to dominate the natural world rather than live in harmony within its wondrous circles, to consume and not renew, to fear the unknown rather than trust the guiding hand, the "Something" that is beyond the known.
("Who accepts harmony, becomes harmonious.
Who accepts loss, becomes lost.
For who accepts harmony, the Way harmonizes with him,
And who accepts loss, the Way cannot find.")
And yet, and yet........Men in their infancy DO look upon the world with wonder and gladness; not at all like the stories alluded to by Andreth!
"West, North, and South the children of Men spread and wandered, and their joy was the joy of the morning before the dew is dry, when every leaf is green"
I don´t know, Sass.......it seems to me that the Years of the Sun are rather unfair to Men as well.
I´m really seeing the Sun and Moon as much more symbolic of the two races than I ever have before. Like the eldest Tree, Telperion, the Elves are the elder race, and somehow, its gentle silver light seems to represent them fittingly. As the light of the Moon, it complements the beloved starlight of the Elves, and it is more free to go whither it will, dancing a lighter path across the heavens. The light of the younger Tree, Laurelin, that becomes the core of the Sun, is more burdensome upon Arda, but also more life-giving. It is its path that now marks Time, not the constant waxing and waning and blending of the light of the Trees, and it marks Time, it seems, with relentless efficiency. I love how the first rising of the Sun is in the West, and how the "opening eyes" of Men are turned towards it before all else: this great golden beacon that first beckons them westward and stirs their hearts with strange hope, that gives them warmth and strength and life itself, only to become the focus of their greatest fears and sorrows; of "days numbered" and "time passing" and life moving inexorably towards death.
I used to find the names given by Elves to Men as rather scornful, but I think I´ve changed my mind about this. When you look at all those terms, they really are just accurate descriptions of what the Elves saw in Men - mysterious, strange, fleeting creatures that they somehow know and yet cannot fully know.
"To Hildórien there came no Vala to guide Men, or summon them to dwell in Valinor; and Men have feared the Valar, rather than loved them, and have not understood the purposes of the Powers, being at variance with them, and at strife with the world."
This passage reminds me so much of what Andreth has to say (bitterly) about "no messages" being sent to her people. It also contains this remarkable assertion that essentially, Men are not "harmonious" with the forces that guide their earthly home. To me, it rings with the theme of "Man as Usurper": to be compelled to dominate the natural world rather than live in harmony within its wondrous circles, to consume and not renew, to fear the unknown rather than trust the guiding hand, the "Something" that is beyond the known.
("Who accepts harmony, becomes harmonious.
Who accepts loss, becomes lost.
For who accepts harmony, the Way harmonizes with him,
And who accepts loss, the Way cannot find.")
And yet, and yet........Men in their infancy DO look upon the world with wonder and gladness; not at all like the stories alluded to by Andreth!
"West, North, and South the children of Men spread and wandered, and their joy was the joy of the morning before the dew is dry, when every leaf is green"
I don´t know, Sass.......it seems to me that the Years of the Sun are rather unfair to Men as well.
Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of moon.
Jalal ad-Din Rumi
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Voronwë the Faithful
- At the intersection of here and now
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Thank you for these thoughts, dear Athrabeth. Very helpful, as always.
If Men have dealings with the Mistress of Magic who swells in the Golden Wood, then they may look for strange things to follow. For it is perilous for mortal man to walk out of the world of this Sun, and few of old came thence unchanged, 'tis said.
And yet still we retain a kernal of that original wonder and gladness in each of our hearts. Perhaps it is our task to nurture that feeling and regain a sense a harmony with the world and the Powers that direct it.
I like that observation a lot. I never really made that connection with the Elves being the elder race being associated with the elder Tree, and the elder light, the Moon, with Man being connected to the younger light, the Moon. But it makes perfect sense to me now that you have made it. It brings to mind Faramir's words to Frodo about traveling in Lothlórien:Athrabeth wrote:I´m really seeing the Sun and Moon as much more symbolic of the two races than I ever have before. Like the eldest Tree, Telperion, the Elves are the elder race, and somehow, its gentle silver light seems to represent them fittingly. As the light of the Moon, it complements the beloved starlight of the Elves, and it is more free to go whither it will, dancing a lighter path across the heavens. The light of the younger Tree, Laurelin, that becomes the core of the Sun, is more burdensome upon Arda, but also more life-giving. It is its path that now marks Time, not the constant waxing and waning and blending of the light of the Trees, and it marks Time, it seems, with relentless efficiency. I love how the first rising of the Sun is in the West, and how the "opening eyes" of Men are turned towards it before all else: this great golden beacon that first beckons them westward and stirs their hearts with strange hope, that gives them warmth and strength and life itself, only to become the focus of their greatest fears and sorrows; of "days numbered" and "time passing" and life moving inexorably towards death.
If Men have dealings with the Mistress of Magic who swells in the Golden Wood, then they may look for strange things to follow. For it is perilous for mortal man to walk out of the world of this Sun, and few of old came thence unchanged, 'tis said.
Thank you, Ath. This idea of Man being at strife with the world is very important, I think. But in keeping with the general theme of this discussion, must it not be said that Eru made Humankind so that we would be at strife with the world, and at odds with the Powers that be? Or is that truly the work of Morgoth? Either way, Andreth's despair seems to me to be all too justified."To Hildórien there came no Vala to guide Men, or summon them to dwell in Valinor; and Men have feared the Valar, rather than loved them, and have not understood the purposes of the Powers, being at variance with them, and at strife with the world."
This passage reminds me so much of what Andreth has to say (bitterly) about "no messages" being sent to her people. It also contains this remarkable assertion that essentially, Men are not "harmonious" with the forces that guide their earthly home. To me, it rings with the theme of "Man as Usurper": to be compelled to dominate the natural world rather than live in harmony within its wondrous circles, to consume and not renew, to fear the unknown rather than trust the guiding hand, the "Something" that is beyond the known.
("Who accepts harmony, becomes harmonious.
Who accepts loss, becomes lost.
For who accepts harmony, the Way harmonizes with him,
And who accepts loss, the Way cannot find.")
And to me.And yet, and yet........Men in their infancy DO look upon the world with wonder and gladness; not at all like the stories alluded to by Andreth!
"West, North, and South the children of Men spread and wandered, and their joy was the joy of the morning before the dew is dry, when every leaf is green"
I don´t know, Sass.......it seems to me that the Years of the Sun are rather unfair to Men as well.
And yet still we retain a kernal of that original wonder and gladness in each of our hearts. Perhaps it is our task to nurture that feeling and regain a sense a harmony with the world and the Powers that direct it.
"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."
Of The Return of the Noldor
Ah, we come to it at last. The Noldor walk upon the great stage of Middle-earth to begin the telling of their glorious tragedy and their long defeat. And Fëanor, though it seems his part will end barely after the curtain rises, will remain a shadow and a force upon all the players entering and leaving the tale, until a single mariner steps upon the shores of Aman to plead for the redemption of Elves and Men. In fact, I suppose that the ghost of his character doesn’t really leave Middle-earth until Sam watches that single white ship fade and vanish into the West. What a story.
Although this chapter is only twelve pages long, the narrative is filled to overflowing with a series of events that span over two hundred and fifty years. I think that there might be so much to examine and discuss, that I have decided it would be best to break up the extraordinarily long post that I have composed into two parts in order to make it easier for people to focus on the smaller details as well as the more sweeping themes of this rich tapestry without getting lost in the process! This first installment takes us up to the reuniting of the Noldor.
I find it fitting that Fëanor and his sons first step onto the lands of Middle-earth at Lammoth, the Great Echo, where Morgoth betrayed his promise to Ungoliant and felt the fury of her anger. The triumphant cries of the Noldor mingle with the roaring flames that are consuming the white ships, and these in turn are multiplied into countless echoes “as a tumult of great wrath”. There seems to be no joy in this momentous return, or perhaps, what joy there is becomes twisted and distorted by the very earth and air themselves, stained forever by the battle throes of those two great villains. Fëanor, in his own fury of vengeful thought and limitless pride, executes the betrayal of Fingolfin and his people with spectacular abandon, broadcasting his intent not only to those left behind, but also to Morgoth himself. The words that stirred some debate in the “Memorable Lines” thread, “Let us remember that a traitor may betray himself and do good that he does not intend”, come to mind now, but it is difficult to discern the “good” that may come to pass because of this act of treachery. Is it that Fingolfin and his host will find greater strength and resolve because of the dangers they must overcome? Or that in proclaiming his arrival to Morgoth, Fëanor helps set up his own death, which will ultimately allow for the reunification of the Noldor? I wonder.
It is interesting that Tolkien writes that Fëanor begins his march into Hithlum “under the cold stars”. I can’t recall another instance when the beauty and glory of Varda’s labours are termed in such a way. It’s almost as if the power of the now cold-blooded and “fey” Fëanor can affect the very lights of heaven. It is under these stars that the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand is fought, with a swift and decisive victory going to the Noldor, “for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible.” I find it rather ironic that it is the residual power afforded them from their time in Aman that allows them to defeat a surprise attack by a greater host – the very place they rejected as hindering to the growth of their power, and regard as a forced confinement of their greatness.
I can never come to the passage about Fëanor’s death without remembering how surprised I was upon my first reading at Tolkien’s swift dispatch of this complex and compelling character who seemed destined to remain as the driving force of the tale. Now, I see that Fëanor actually does fulfill this role through the great, brooding, ever-present force of his oath. I see that his fall in Aman is so complete, his treachery so utterly irrevocable, that a prolonged presence within the unfolding story would really only serve to have the reader remain wondering when and how he would finally perish, and if he might repent and accomplish some great deed of sacrifice before the end. And I think that somehow, this would have diminished the Silmarillion. Fëanor is like a great stone dropped into the midst of still water: long after it sinks beneath the surface, its presence is felt in wave after wave of unquiet that reach ever further from the source. And this tale is about the waves, not the stone.
Upon this reading, I think I was more aghast than ever at Fëanor’s final moments:
And looking out from the slopes of Ered Wethrin with his last sight he beheld far off the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of Middle-earth, and knew with the foreknowledge of death that no power of the Noldor would ever overthrow them; but he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father.
What a sad and terrible end: to willingly spend the blood not only of your sons, but of your entire people, on an utterly hopeless cause. I may be fascinated by this character, and appreciate his pivotal role in the great tale of Arda Marred, but I don’t like him at all, and find some kind of strange comfort in the thought of the innumerable ages he will spend “houseless” and alone in the Halls of Mandos.
When Morgoth offers to treat with the sons of Fëanor, both sides prove faithless to the terms, but it is the former, of course, that shows he is capable of the greater treachery. In capturing Maedhros, Morgoth must think that the threat of the Noldor is now effectively void: he has killed their king and now purposes to hold his heir in perpetual torment as an example of what happens to those who dare to challenge his supremacy. But then ”…the Sun rose flaming in the West; and Fingolfin unfurled his blue and silver banners, and blew his horns, and flowers sprang beneath his marching feet…” What an entrance! It always sends a delightful shiver up my spine, only to end with a cold, hard jolt at the words, “and the ages of the stars were ended”. There is something deeply sad in those words for me, like a final farewell to a beloved friend.
With the Sun blinding and terrifying the servants of Morgoth, Fingolfin leads his host up to the very gates of Angband, shaking the towers of Thangorodrim with the challenge of their trumpets. But Fingolfin is not Joshua, and the realm of Morgoth is not Jericho, and so, with the rational wisdom that Fëanor did not possess, he leads his people back to Mithrim, to allow them to rest and regain their strength behind the shield of the Mountains of Shadow, although there is also the rather sinister mention that he also wishes to seek out the sons of Fëanor, the “accomplices” of their father.
The potential of another terrible kinslaying is averted when the people of Fëanor defer to the host of Fingolfin and move from the northern shore of Lake Mithrim to encamp instead on its southern borders. The great lake stands like a physical manifestation of the deep gulf between the two houses of the Noldor, filled with such bitterness and distrust and shame that it seems impossible that any bridge could be built to reunite them. But then there comes one of those wonderful “Tolkien moments”, one of those times when we are caught at unawares by the wonder and goodness and beauty of the human heart shining like a beacon of light in the darkness.
I love the little “tale within a tale” of Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros. It is so reminiscent of Sam’s search for Frodo in Cirith Ungol, challenging the shadow of despair with a song of hope that springs directly from the heart. So compelling is the terrible choice of Fingon, to kill his closest friend out of pure mercy and love, that his selfless prayer invoking pity “for the Noldor in their need” is answered by Manwë who succours them both through the arrival of Thorondor, and in doing so, changes forever the Noldorin line of kingship. As he so often does, Tolkien only hints at the resulting chasm within the House of Fëanor, now “The Dispossessed”, by revealing to the reader that the brothers of Maedhros “did not all in their hearts agree” with his decision to pass the kingship from the eldest line of Finwë to that of the “second-born”. Just which brothers those may be is withheld from us for the moment, but the foreshadowing casts an intended pall upon the momentous occasion of the reuniting of the Noldor and the consolidation of their strength in the lands of Middle-earth. It seems that for the reader of the Silmarillion, there are only brief respites from the ominous whisperings of Fëanor’s legacy, that the teller of the tale seems to wish to keep us balanced precariously on a keen edge between hope and despair, good and evil, calm and turmoil. Wherever there is darkness, there is always a glimmer of light bravely defying its dominion, but wherever there is light, there is sure to be darkness threatening to obliterate it.
Ah, we come to it at last. The Noldor walk upon the great stage of Middle-earth to begin the telling of their glorious tragedy and their long defeat. And Fëanor, though it seems his part will end barely after the curtain rises, will remain a shadow and a force upon all the players entering and leaving the tale, until a single mariner steps upon the shores of Aman to plead for the redemption of Elves and Men. In fact, I suppose that the ghost of his character doesn’t really leave Middle-earth until Sam watches that single white ship fade and vanish into the West. What a story.
Although this chapter is only twelve pages long, the narrative is filled to overflowing with a series of events that span over two hundred and fifty years. I think that there might be so much to examine and discuss, that I have decided it would be best to break up the extraordinarily long post that I have composed into two parts in order to make it easier for people to focus on the smaller details as well as the more sweeping themes of this rich tapestry without getting lost in the process! This first installment takes us up to the reuniting of the Noldor.
I find it fitting that Fëanor and his sons first step onto the lands of Middle-earth at Lammoth, the Great Echo, where Morgoth betrayed his promise to Ungoliant and felt the fury of her anger. The triumphant cries of the Noldor mingle with the roaring flames that are consuming the white ships, and these in turn are multiplied into countless echoes “as a tumult of great wrath”. There seems to be no joy in this momentous return, or perhaps, what joy there is becomes twisted and distorted by the very earth and air themselves, stained forever by the battle throes of those two great villains. Fëanor, in his own fury of vengeful thought and limitless pride, executes the betrayal of Fingolfin and his people with spectacular abandon, broadcasting his intent not only to those left behind, but also to Morgoth himself. The words that stirred some debate in the “Memorable Lines” thread, “Let us remember that a traitor may betray himself and do good that he does not intend”, come to mind now, but it is difficult to discern the “good” that may come to pass because of this act of treachery. Is it that Fingolfin and his host will find greater strength and resolve because of the dangers they must overcome? Or that in proclaiming his arrival to Morgoth, Fëanor helps set up his own death, which will ultimately allow for the reunification of the Noldor? I wonder.
It is interesting that Tolkien writes that Fëanor begins his march into Hithlum “under the cold stars”. I can’t recall another instance when the beauty and glory of Varda’s labours are termed in such a way. It’s almost as if the power of the now cold-blooded and “fey” Fëanor can affect the very lights of heaven. It is under these stars that the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand is fought, with a swift and decisive victory going to the Noldor, “for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible.” I find it rather ironic that it is the residual power afforded them from their time in Aman that allows them to defeat a surprise attack by a greater host – the very place they rejected as hindering to the growth of their power, and regard as a forced confinement of their greatness.
I can never come to the passage about Fëanor’s death without remembering how surprised I was upon my first reading at Tolkien’s swift dispatch of this complex and compelling character who seemed destined to remain as the driving force of the tale. Now, I see that Fëanor actually does fulfill this role through the great, brooding, ever-present force of his oath. I see that his fall in Aman is so complete, his treachery so utterly irrevocable, that a prolonged presence within the unfolding story would really only serve to have the reader remain wondering when and how he would finally perish, and if he might repent and accomplish some great deed of sacrifice before the end. And I think that somehow, this would have diminished the Silmarillion. Fëanor is like a great stone dropped into the midst of still water: long after it sinks beneath the surface, its presence is felt in wave after wave of unquiet that reach ever further from the source. And this tale is about the waves, not the stone.
Upon this reading, I think I was more aghast than ever at Fëanor’s final moments:
And looking out from the slopes of Ered Wethrin with his last sight he beheld far off the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of Middle-earth, and knew with the foreknowledge of death that no power of the Noldor would ever overthrow them; but he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father.
What a sad and terrible end: to willingly spend the blood not only of your sons, but of your entire people, on an utterly hopeless cause. I may be fascinated by this character, and appreciate his pivotal role in the great tale of Arda Marred, but I don’t like him at all, and find some kind of strange comfort in the thought of the innumerable ages he will spend “houseless” and alone in the Halls of Mandos.
When Morgoth offers to treat with the sons of Fëanor, both sides prove faithless to the terms, but it is the former, of course, that shows he is capable of the greater treachery. In capturing Maedhros, Morgoth must think that the threat of the Noldor is now effectively void: he has killed their king and now purposes to hold his heir in perpetual torment as an example of what happens to those who dare to challenge his supremacy. But then ”…the Sun rose flaming in the West; and Fingolfin unfurled his blue and silver banners, and blew his horns, and flowers sprang beneath his marching feet…” What an entrance!
It always sends a delightful shiver up my spine, only to end with a cold, hard jolt at the words, “and the ages of the stars were ended”. There is something deeply sad in those words for me, like a final farewell to a beloved friend. With the Sun blinding and terrifying the servants of Morgoth, Fingolfin leads his host up to the very gates of Angband, shaking the towers of Thangorodrim with the challenge of their trumpets. But Fingolfin is not Joshua, and the realm of Morgoth is not Jericho, and so, with the rational wisdom that Fëanor did not possess, he leads his people back to Mithrim, to allow them to rest and regain their strength behind the shield of the Mountains of Shadow, although there is also the rather sinister mention that he also wishes to seek out the sons of Fëanor, the “accomplices” of their father.
The potential of another terrible kinslaying is averted when the people of Fëanor defer to the host of Fingolfin and move from the northern shore of Lake Mithrim to encamp instead on its southern borders. The great lake stands like a physical manifestation of the deep gulf between the two houses of the Noldor, filled with such bitterness and distrust and shame that it seems impossible that any bridge could be built to reunite them. But then there comes one of those wonderful “Tolkien moments”, one of those times when we are caught at unawares by the wonder and goodness and beauty of the human heart shining like a beacon of light in the darkness.
I love the little “tale within a tale” of Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros. It is so reminiscent of Sam’s search for Frodo in Cirith Ungol, challenging the shadow of despair with a song of hope that springs directly from the heart. So compelling is the terrible choice of Fingon, to kill his closest friend out of pure mercy and love, that his selfless prayer invoking pity “for the Noldor in their need” is answered by Manwë who succours them both through the arrival of Thorondor, and in doing so, changes forever the Noldorin line of kingship. As he so often does, Tolkien only hints at the resulting chasm within the House of Fëanor, now “The Dispossessed”, by revealing to the reader that the brothers of Maedhros “did not all in their hearts agree” with his decision to pass the kingship from the eldest line of Finwë to that of the “second-born”. Just which brothers those may be is withheld from us for the moment, but the foreshadowing casts an intended pall upon the momentous occasion of the reuniting of the Noldor and the consolidation of their strength in the lands of Middle-earth. It seems that for the reader of the Silmarillion, there are only brief respites from the ominous whisperings of Fëanor’s legacy, that the teller of the tale seems to wish to keep us balanced precariously on a keen edge between hope and despair, good and evil, calm and turmoil. Wherever there is darkness, there is always a glimmer of light bravely defying its dominion, but wherever there is light, there is sure to be darkness threatening to obliterate it.
Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of moon.
Jalal ad-Din Rumi
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Impenitent
- Throw me a rope.
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I haven't seen the Fëanor thread, and I'm about to go to bed so I won't go searching - don't even know why I'm posting! It's quite an insane thing to do at this time of night. 
- so please forgive that this is so brief but this quote pricked my mental mechanism:
I compare Fëanor's position, his decision to pursue the Silmarils with vengeance, to withhold them even though their light could re-enliven the trees- well, it puts me in mind of Pharaoh:
God told Moses, even before he went back to Egypt, "When you go back into Egypt, see that you do before Pharaoh all the wonders which I have put in your hand, but I will harden his heart and he will not let the people go."
So all those plagues, and it was God who hardened Pharaoh's heart so he would not yield to God's very demands! In other words, God foresaw it, his path was laid out.
I'm not suggesting there is a direct parallel, nor that Tolkien meant anything by it (or perhaps he did? but then, he was not explicit about it in the way that the biblical text is explicit) - but it does seem so tragic to me that Fëanor was intended to do this (as Frodo, many ages later, was intended to take on his task).
Fëanor was not evil, no. He had greatness in him and the tragedy of it is that this greatness did not see its fruition in joy.
- so please forgive that this is so brief but this quote pricked my mental mechanism:The tragedy of Fëanor in my mind is that he was intended to do what he did (IMO, of course); that his path was laid out. It was all in Eru's creation music.Voronwë_the_Faithful wrote:And this says something about Fëanor, too, that for all of his evil deeds, he was not himself truly evil. But perhaps I should expound upon that in the Fëanor thread as well.
I compare Fëanor's position, his decision to pursue the Silmarils with vengeance, to withhold them even though their light could re-enliven the trees- well, it puts me in mind of Pharaoh:
God told Moses, even before he went back to Egypt, "When you go back into Egypt, see that you do before Pharaoh all the wonders which I have put in your hand, but I will harden his heart and he will not let the people go."
So all those plagues, and it was God who hardened Pharaoh's heart so he would not yield to God's very demands! In other words, God foresaw it, his path was laid out.
I'm not suggesting there is a direct parallel, nor that Tolkien meant anything by it (or perhaps he did? but then, he was not explicit about it in the way that the biblical text is explicit) - but it does seem so tragic to me that Fëanor was intended to do this (as Frodo, many ages later, was intended to take on his task).
Fëanor was not evil, no. He had greatness in him and the tragedy of it is that this greatness did not see its fruition in joy.
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Voronwë the Faithful
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Impy, any day that there is a post from you in this forum is a great day! That is a really excellent and fascinating observation. I'm not a bible scholar by any means, but the story of Moses is certainly known to me (and to most people, I would venture to say). The incongruity of that "I will harden his heart" never once occurred to me, even though it is obvious once you point it out. But Tolkien certainly knew the Bible (old Testement as well as New) infinitely better then I. I would have to say that even if there were no direct link between Pharoah and Fëanor, that Tolkien's intimate knowledge of this and other biblical tales greatly influenced the paradoxical nature of Tolkien's own cosmological creation.
I'll be back to to respond to Ath's great summary of the first part of the Return of the Noldor (one of the pivotal chapters in the whole book) and hopefully to all the other great comments that other people are going to make in response to it. Would I be admitting too much to say that when I first read Ath's posts I was impressed and enthralled by it that one of my first reactions was to selfishly wish that she had posted the rest of the post about the rest of the chapter.
I'll be back to to respond to Ath's great summary of the first part of the Return of the Noldor (one of the pivotal chapters in the whole book) and hopefully to all the other great comments that other people are going to make in response to it.
Would I be admitting too much to say that when I first read Ath's posts I was impressed and enthralled by it that one of my first reactions was to selfishly wish that she had posted the rest of the post about the rest of the chapter. "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."
Aaargh!! After Aths post this is going to be incredibly brief and shallow as I gallop to catch up.
While in London I took the time to read from "The Darkening of Valinor" up to and including "Of Maeglin". I found it surprisingly easy reading this time. I still have a problem with all the "F" names but my grasp of the overall tapestry of the story is much greater than it was when I last read it, in part I think because I listened to the Audio Book since then. Spoken word has a different kind of memory stamp to written word, perhaps.
Feanors speech to the Noldor. The Kinslaying. The Doom of Mandos. The burning of the fleet at Losgar. The crossing of Helcaraxë. All of a sudden, the book shifts gear. The change in momentum in these few chapters in staggering. All of a sudden it feels like the storyteller in Tolkien has awakened and he seems to rush headlong into the tale. After such a sedate (some would say boring) setup, all of a sudden the narrative explodes. Unfortunately, it feels like a cliffnotes version. One could well imagine a 500 page novel to cover the events from the Darkening of Valinor to the Rising of the Moon. Instead we get 20 pages. After setting up the amazing character of Fëanor, we lose him just as things get interesting. Of his sons, we know nothing, yet they are suddenly the main protagonists. We don't know Maedhros well enough to feel for his cruel torture, and Fingon even less, robbing his deeds of the emotional impact they deserve. As much as I love these chapters I mourn their wasted potential. When we see later what a fuller treatment of the tales of Túrin and Tuor reveal, one can only wonder how powerful the full tale of Fëanor and his sons would have been. Still, we have what we have and should, I suppose, be grateful for that. But still, what it might have been...
More later.
While in London I took the time to read from "The Darkening of Valinor" up to and including "Of Maeglin". I found it surprisingly easy reading this time. I still have a problem with all the "F" names but my grasp of the overall tapestry of the story is much greater than it was when I last read it, in part I think because I listened to the Audio Book since then. Spoken word has a different kind of memory stamp to written word, perhaps.
Feanors speech to the Noldor. The Kinslaying. The Doom of Mandos. The burning of the fleet at Losgar. The crossing of Helcaraxë. All of a sudden, the book shifts gear. The change in momentum in these few chapters in staggering. All of a sudden it feels like the storyteller in Tolkien has awakened and he seems to rush headlong into the tale. After such a sedate (some would say boring) setup, all of a sudden the narrative explodes. Unfortunately, it feels like a cliffnotes version. One could well imagine a 500 page novel to cover the events from the Darkening of Valinor to the Rising of the Moon. Instead we get 20 pages. After setting up the amazing character of Fëanor, we lose him just as things get interesting. Of his sons, we know nothing, yet they are suddenly the main protagonists. We don't know Maedhros well enough to feel for his cruel torture, and Fingon even less, robbing his deeds of the emotional impact they deserve. As much as I love these chapters I mourn their wasted potential. When we see later what a fuller treatment of the tales of Túrin and Tuor reveal, one can only wonder how powerful the full tale of Fëanor and his sons would have been. Still, we have what we have and should, I suppose, be grateful for that. But still, what it might have been...
More later.
I just can't agree with this, ImpyImpenitent wrote:The tragedy of Fëanor in my mind is that he was intended to do what he did (IMO, of course); that his path was laid out. It was all in Eru's creation music.
. Although Sassy might. I think Fëanor was indeed intended to achieve greatness beyond imagining, which in Tolkien's world is always a very dangerous thing, but I don't think he was intended to slaughter his own kinsmen. If I thought that were so, I don't think I could hold the Sil so dear. I just could not be touched so deeply by a work with such a cold and manipulative heart at its centre. If everything that occurs in the Sil is intended to occur in just one way and no other, it becomes a mere puppet play to my thinking. If every note of the Music must be played a certain way, what is the whole point of creating sub-creators whose purpose is to interpret the "theme propounded" to them, so that they may add their own individual variations or seek out others so that they may weave together new harmonies? I think that the great mind and will and imagination of Fëanor are both his curse and his blessing. I think he is intended to walk a very fine line that separates opposite manifestations of his doom - to rise to a pinnacle of greatness unachievable by any other of the Eldar, or to fall to a depth unfathomable. Either way, it's a hard doom to bear......I'll certainly concede that. Fëanor, IMO, self-destructs and falls for any number of reasons that can be explored and debated. But if what you're saying is that he is singled out by Eru to specifically commit the deeds that he does by walking a set path with no chance to exercise his own gift of free will, then that is quite an alien (and unpleasant) thought to me. I just can't imagine the entire Sil being written in the detail that Tolkien put into the stories of Túrin and Tuor in UT, although like you, I love every single extra word that is in them!Alatar wrote:Feanors speech to the Noldor. The Kinslaying. The Doom of Mandos. The burning of the fleet at Losgar. The crossing of Helcaraxë. All of a sudden, the book shifts gear. The change in momentum in these few chapters in staggering. All of a sudden it feels like the storyteller in Tolkien has awakened and he seems to rush headlong into the tale. After such a sedate (some would say boring) setup, all of a sudden the narrative explodes. Unfortunately, it feels like a cliffnotes version. One could well imagine a 500 page novel to cover the events from the Darkening of Valinor to the Rising of the Moon. Instead we get 20 pages. After setting up the amazing character of Fëanor, we lose him just as things get interesting. Of his sons, we know nothing, yet they are suddenly the main protagonists. We don't know Maedhros well enough to feel for his cruel torture, and Fingon even less, robbing his deeds of the emotional impact they deserve. As much as I love these chapters I mourn their wasted potential. When we see later what a fuller treatment of the tales of Túrin and Tuor reveal, one can only wonder how powerful the full tale of Fëanor and his sons would have been. Still, we have what we have and should, I suppose, be grateful for that. But still, what it might have been...
I think these "tales within the tale" were more "personal" for him and closest to his heart, as was the story of Lúthien and Beren, and so were afforded more of his time and thought as the years went by. But generally, I accept the form of the Sil as more like a "spoken tale"; like some kind of ancient epic that is recounted by a loremaster to a listening audience. Such mythic tales, I think, are thematically driven to address the great and mysterious scope of the human condition - our relationship with the world and our creator, the reasons why we love and hate and rise and fall and live and die. The characters come and go, act and react, not to tell us about themselves, but to tell us more about ourselves, our "global selves", if anyone can understand that term . I feel for Maedhros because I have experienced real pain. I can empathize with Fingon because I too, would be torn by such a terrible decision. It is, I believe, the terrible decision that is the focus, not Fingon, and when old Thorondor "stays his hand" and bears both friends to safety, it somehow satisfies a very human need (at least for this human) to know that sometimes hope unlooked for can find us and set things right.Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of moon.
Jalal ad-Din Rumi