The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien (54 page)

Theologically (if the term is not too grandiose) I imagine the picture to be less dissonant from what some (including myself) believe to be the truth. But since I have deliberately written a tale, which is built on or out of certain ‘religious' ideas, but is
not
an allegory of them (or anything
else), and does not mention them overtly, still less preach them, I will not now depart from that mode, and venture on theological disquisition for which I am not fitted. But I might say that if the tale is ‘about' anything (other than itself), it is not as seems widely supposed about ‘power'. Power-seeking is only the motive-power that sets events going, and is relatively unimportant, I think. It is mainly concerned with Death, and Immortality; and the ‘escapes': serial longevity, and hoarding memory.

Yours sincerely

J. R. R. Tolkien.

Since I have written so much (I hope not too much) I might as well add a few lines on the Myth on which all is founded, since it may make clearer the relations of Valar, Elves, Men, Sauron, Wizards &c.

The Valar or ‘powers, rulers' were the first ‘creation': rational spirits or minds without incarnation, created
before
the physical world. (Strictly these
spirits
were called
Ainur,
the
Valar
being only those from among them who entered the world after its making, and the name is properly applied only to the great among them, who take the imaginative but not the theological place of ‘gods'.) The Ainur took part in the making of the world as ‘sub-creators': in various degrees, after this fashion. They interpreted according to their powers, and completed in detail, the Design propounded to them by the One. This was propounded first in musical or abstract form, and then in an ‘historical vision'. In the first interpretation, the vast Music of the Ainur, Melkor introduced alterations, not interpretations of the mind of the One, and great discord arose. The One then presented this ‘Music', including the apparent discords, as a visible ‘history'.

At this stage it had still only a validity, to which the validity of a ‘story' among ourselves may be compared: it ‘exists'
in
the mind of the teller, and derivatively in the minds of hearers, but not on the same plane as teller or hearers. When the One (the Teller) said
Let it Be
,
^fn76
then the Tale became History, on the same plane as the hearers; and these could, if they desired,
enter into it.
Many of the Ainur did enter into it, and must bide in it till the End, being involved in Time, the series of events that complete it. These were the Valar, and their lesser attendants. They were those who had ‘fallen in love' with the vision, and no doubt, were those who had played the most ‘sub-creative' (or as we might say ‘artistic') part in the Music.

It was because of their love of Eä, and because of the part they had played in its making, that they
wished
to, and
could
, incarnate themselves in visible physical forms, though these were comparable to our
clothes
(in so far as our clothes are a personal expression) not to our bodies. Their forms were thus expressions of their persons, powers, and loves. They need not be anthropomorphic (
Yavanna
wife
^fn77
of Aulë would, for instance, appear in the form of a great Tree.) But the ‘habitual' shapes of the Valar, when visible or clothed, were anthropomorphic, because of their intense concern with Elves and Men.

Elves and Men were called the ‘children of God', because they were, so to speak, a private addition to the Design, by the Creator, and one in which the Valar had no part. (Their ‘themes' were introduced into the Music by the One, when the discords of Melkor arose.) The Valar knew that they would appear, and the great ones knew when and how (though not precisely), but they knew little of their nature, and their foresight, derived from their pre-knowledge of the Design, was imperfect or failed in the matter of the deeds of the Children. The uncorrupted Valar, therefore, yearned for the Children before they came and loved them afterwards, as creatures ‘other' than themselves, independent of them and their artistry, ‘children' as being weaker and more ignorant than the Valar, but of equal lineage (deriving being direct from the One); even though under their authority as rulers of Arda. The corrupted, as was Melkor/Morgoth and his followers (of whom Sauron was one of the chief) saw in them the ideal material for subjects and slaves, to whom they could become masters and ‘gods', envying the Children, and secretly hating them, in proportion as they became rebels against the One (and Man we his Lieutenant in Eä).

In this mythical ‘prehistory'
immortality
, strictly longevity co-extensive with the life of Arda, was part of the given nature of the Elves; beyond the End nothing was revealed.
Mortality
, that is a short life-span having no relation to the life of Arda, is spoken of as the given nature of Men: the Elves called it the
Gift of Ilúvatar
(God). But it must be remembered that
mythically
these tales are Elf-centred,
^fn78
not anthropocentric, and Men only appear in them, at what must be a point long after their Coming. This is therefore an ‘Elvish' view, and does not necessarily have anything to say for or against such beliefs as the Christian that ‘death' is not part of human nature, but a punishment for sin (rebellion), a result of the ‘Fall'. It should be regarded as an Elvish perception of what
death
– not being tied to the ‘circles of the world' – should now become for Men, however it arose. A divine ‘punishment' is also a divine ‘gift', if accepted, since its object is ultimate blessing, and the supreme inventiveness of the Creator will make ‘punishments' (that is changes of design) produce a good not otherwise to be attained: a ‘mortal' Man has probably (an Elf would say) a higher if unrevealed destiny than a longeval one. To attempt by device or ‘magic' to recover longevity is thus a supreme folly and wickedness of ‘mortals'. Longevity or counterfeit ‘immortality' (true immortality is beyond Eä) is the chief bait of Sauron – it leads the small to a Gollum, and the great to a Ringwraith.

In the Elvish legends there is record of a strange case of an Elf (Míriel mother of Feanor) that tried to
die
, which had disastrous results, leading to the ‘Fall' of the High-elves. The Elves were not subject to disease, but they could be ‘slain': that is their bodies could be destroyed, or mutilated so as to be unfit to sustain life. But this did not lead naturally to ‘death': they were rehabilitated and reborn and eventually recovered memory of all their past: they remained ‘identical'. But Míriel wished to abandon being, and refused rebirth.
^fn79

I suppose a difference between this Myth and what may be perhaps called Christian mythology is this. In the latter the Fall of Man is subsequent to and a consequence (though not a necessary consequence) of the ‘Fall of the Angels': a rebellion of created free-will at a higher level than Man; but it is not clearly held (and in many versions is not held at all) that this affected the ‘World' in its nature: evil was brought in from outside, by Satan. In this Myth the rebellion of created free-will precedes creation of the World (Eä); and Eä has in it, subcreatively introduced, evil, rebellions, discordant elements of its own nature already when the
Let it Be
was spoken. The Fall or corruption,
therefore, of all things in it and all inhabitants of it, was a possibility if not inevitable. Trees may ‘go bad' as in the Old Forest; Elves may turn into Ores, and if this required the special perversive malice of Morgoth, still Elves themselves could do evil deeds. Even the ‘good' Valar as inhabiting the World could at least err; as the Great Valar did in their dealings with the Elves; or as the lesser of their kind (as the Istari or wizards) could in various ways become self-seeking. Aulë, for instance, one of the Great, in a sense ‘fell'; for he so desired to see the Children, that he became impatient and tried to anticipate the will of the Creator. Being the greatest of all craftsmen he tried to
make
children according to his imperfect knowledge of their kind. When he had made thirteen,
^fn80
God spoke to him in anger, but not without pity: for Aulë had done this thing
not
out of evil desire to have slaves and subjects of his own, but out of impatient love, desiring children to talk to and teach, sharing with them the praise of Ilúvatar and his great love of the
materials
of which the world is made.

The One rebuked Aulë, saying that he had tried to usurp the Creator's power; but he could not give independent
life
to his makings. He had only one life, his own derived from the One, and could at most only distribute it. ‘Behold' said the One: ‘these creatures of thine have only thy will, and thy movement. Though you have devised a language for them, they can only report to thee thine own thought. This is a mockery of me.'

Then Aulë in grief and repentance humbled himself and asked for pardon. And he said: ‘I will destroy these images of my presumption, and wait upon thy will.' And he took a great hammer, raising it to smite the eldest of his images; but it flinched and cowered from him. And as he withheld his stroke, astonished, he heard the laughter of Ilúvatar.

‘Do you wonder at this?' he said. ‘Behold! thy creatures now live, free from thy will! For I have seen thy humility, and taken pity on your impatience. Thy making I have taken up into my design.'

This is the Elvish legend of the making of the Dwarves; but the Elves report that Ilúvatar said thus also: ‘Nonetheless I will not suffer my design to be forestalled: thy children shall not awake before mine own.' And he commanded Aulë to lay the fathers of the Dwarves severally in deep places, each with his mate, save Dúrin the eldest who had none. There they should sleep long, until Ilúvatar bade them awake. Nonetheless there has been for the most part little love between the Dwarves and the children of Iluvatar. And of the fate that Ilúvatar has set upon the children of Aulë beyond the Circles of the world Elves and men know nothing, and if Dwarves know they do not speak of it.

25 October 1958

I do not like giving ‘facts' about myself other than ‘dry' ones (which anyway are quite as relevant to my books as any other more juicy details). Not simply for personal reasons; but also because I object to the contemporary trend in criticism, with its excessive interest in the details of the lives of authors and artists. They only distract attention from an author's works (if the works are in fact worthy of attention), and end, as one now often sees, in becoming the main interest. But only one's guardian Angel, or indeed God Himself, could unravel the real relationship between personal facts and an author's works. Not the author himself (though he knows more than any investigator), and certainly not so-called ‘psychologists'.

But, of course, there is a scale of significance in ‘facts' of this sort. There are insignificant facts (those particularly dear to analysts and writers about writers): such as drunkenness, wife-beating, and suchlike disorders. I do not happen to be guilty of these particular sins. But if I were, I should not suppose that artistic work proceeded from the weaknesses that produced them, but from other and still uncorrupted regions of my being. Modern ‘researchers' inform me that Beethoven cheated his publishers, and abominably ill-treated his nephew; but I do not believe that has anything to do with his music. Then there are more significant facts, which
have
some relation to an author's works; though knowledge of them does not really explain the works, even if examined at length. For instance I dislike French, and prefer Spanish to Italian – but the relation of these facts to my taste in languages (which is obviously a large ingredient in
The Lord of the Rings
) would take a long time to unravel, and leave you liking (or disliking) the names and bits of language in my books, just as before. And there are a few basic facts, which however drily expressed, are really significant. For instance I was born in 1892 and lived for my early years in ‘the Shire' in a premechanical age. Or more important, I am a Christian (which can be deduced from my stories), and in fact a Roman Catholic. The latter ‘fact' perhaps cannot be deduced; though one critic (by letter) asserted that the invocations of Elbereth, and the character of Galadriel as directly described (or through the words of Gimli and Sam) were clearly related to Catholic devotion to Mary. Another saw in waybread (lembas)=viaticum and the reference to its feeding the
will
(vol. III, p. 213) and being more potent when fasting, a derivation from the Eucharist. (That is: far greater things may colour the mind in dealing with the lesser things of a fairy-story.)

I am in fact a
Hobbit
(in all but size). I like gardens, trees and unmechanized farmlands; I smoke a pipe, and like good plain food
(unrefrigerated), but detest French cooking; I like, and even dare to wear in these dull days, ornamental waistcoats. I am fond of mushrooms (out of a field); have a very simple sense of humour (which even my appreciative critics find tiresome); I go to bed late and get up late (when possible). I do not travel much. I love Wales (what is left of it, when mines, and the even more ghastly sea-side resorts, have done their worst), and especially the Welsh language. But I have not in fact been in W. for a long time (except for crossing it on the way to Ireland). I go frequently to Ireland (Eire: Southern Ireland) being fond of it and of (most of) its people; but the Irish language I find wholly unattractive. I hope that is enough to go on with.