Tolkien's subcreated world in Not a modern "myth"

Tolkien's subcreation - his Legendarium as a whole - is often described as a modern "myth" or its mythic qualities are emphasized. I do not think this is correct, because of a quality of myth that seems essential, but is distinct from the situation with Tolkien's work. 

I will first describe what I regard as an essential attribute of a myth - which is that a myth is distinct from any specific expression, and particular "version", of that myth...

While, on the other side; Tolkien's world is ultimately rooted in his own work: his own rather specific words and the actual published structure. 

"Fuzziness" - imprecision - seems to be a characteristic of a myth; such that the specific form in which a myth is expressed - e.g. its exact words - does not seem to matter very much. It is as if the myth has a life of its down, and the words or images by which a myth is presented are not its origin; but serve some secondary purpose, as reminders or pointers. 

The two great myths of England are King Arthur - including Merlin; and Robin Hood and his Merry Men. 

When I think of either of these, no specific version comes to mind; and indeed I find that none of the versions of these myths is very satisfactory. 

For instance, whenever I decide to read one of the Arthur accounts - whether historical (Geoffrey of Monmouth, Layamon, Malory) or a modern description, novel, story, TV programme or movie - I am often overwhelmed with a kind of irritation at their inadequacy; and end-up quitting, bailing-out before I have gone very far. 

The best I can hope for is odd and brief hints, images, phrases, or gestures; that imply rather than depict the mythical - and many versions lack even this. 

I also find the "explanations" of myth to be unsatisfactory - and when a myth gets decoded or unpacked, and its supposed underlying meaning is described - this too always distorts the "reality", and again often evokes a rather strong sense of rejection, or even revulsion. 

So what is the myth? On the one hand it is nebulous, indefinable; on the other hand the particular feeling and expectation that it evokes is quite precise. 

If I am engaging with some version of Arthur I seem to have a pretty clear grasp of what I am looking for and what is valid - even if I could not say just what that is. 

But really, the situation with respect to myth is not really unusual. After all - much the same applies to such everyday and real-life matters as our attitude to a place or nations, or loving a particular someone. 

A real myth is a kind of "miniature" or "model" of something in real life. The situation is just that any specific "model" we make of reality, is really just that: a model; whether it is made of words, pictures, or theories. 

A model is made by leaving-out almost everything, and only including a few things - so it never captures real life, always distorts it; and indeed the relationship between the model and the real is itself indefinable. And the number of ways that any actual model is wrong are innumerably large.    

Unless we have some way of knowing reality directly, and without intermediary communications such as words, images, stories, or other models; then we cannot ever know it At All. 

At bottom, our ability genuinely to live in a relationship with this world depends on the ability to know directly and unmediated; and we need to decide, each for himself, whether or not this direct knowing is actually real and actually happens.

By this account a myth that "works" and is not a fail or fake, works first for one person at a time - no matter how national (or international) it may supposedly be; and secondly by a direct, person-to-person sharing of that myth. 

And this situation is the bottom line "collective" mythic reality, towards which any particular version of a myth may gesture - or not.

From the above, if the argument is regarded as valid; it seems that Tolkien's world is not a myth-proper; but a literary creation. 

The essential depth and relevance of Tolkien's work is not, therefore, the same as that of a myth-proper - although of course there are similarities and overlaps, "mythic qualities" in Tolkien.

This not-myth nature of Tolkien strikes me as significant, because there are malign tendencies that want instead to declare Tolkien's work a myth, with the implication that new "versions" - in other media than literature, and by other authors than Tolkien - validly add-to, re-shape, and re-interpret that myth...

And even, potentially, that these "re-imagined" versions may be equally valid expressions of the "Tolkien myth". 

In a nutshell; when Tolkien's world is regarded as a myth, then Tolkien himself and his published work are nothing more than the first and oldest expression of a universal and universally-accessible myth. This line or reasoning would justify - indeed already has "justified" - an "open-season" of commercialization, exploitations, subversions, and inversions of Tolkien's work. 

Further reflections deriving from yet-another engagement with Tolkien's On Fairy Stories

In Master of Middle Earth, Paul Kocher's superb literary criticism of Tolkien's published work as of 1972, the author reflects on the frequency and significance of the theme of a Man in (literal or imaginative) contact with Faery. 

Kocher further, and plausibly, suggests that Tolkien's interest derives from his personal feelings - the contrast he felt between those times when he dwelt imaginatively, and created, in the enchanted world of fairy stories; and the rest of his life. 

The painful nature of this contrast is evident at least from Looney (from 1934, when Tolkien was aged 42) which was the earlier-published version of a poem that later became The Sea Bell - and it is the main theme of Tolkien's last published new work, Smith of Wootton Major (1967). 

**

At the end of my teens, in the late summer and autumn (after my family moved from Somerset to Scotland), I seemed to go through a stage of development towards becoming more self-aware. 

This manifested in many ways, including a greater interest in philosophy of an existential flavour, and in books that explored similar territory. But in terms of personal relationships, I became aware that there was a qualitative difference between the level of everyday interactions on the one hand, and what I then termed as "touching minds" - which phrase is pretty self explanatory. 

I would nowadays probably equate touching minds with "direct knowing" - an un-mediated relationship between persons or other Beings, without the interposition of senses and communications - something akin to a simultaneous (albeit momentary) sharing of thoughts. 

Anyway; I had the idea that touching minds was what it was all about; and would often brood on the rarer occasions in which this had happened, and what these might mean - and, reciprocally, I also became much more conscious of the lower, and unsatisfying, level of most of life. 

In sum; I became aware of the problem of "alienation" and that it was my usual state - and apparently that of nearly everybody around me; the difference being that (unlike most people around me) I was aware of and interested by the situation, and wanted to escape from it, as much as possible - whereas "they" were neither aware nor interested.

This self-recognition coincided-with, followed, and was amplified-by; reading Colin Wilson's The Outsider, and parts of William Arkle's A Geography of Consciousness (especially Wilson's introduction to this). I was ready and primed for this reading; and/but the reading also interacted with my dawning self-awareness to accelerate it.  

Ever since that time, some half a century ago, I have believed that such moments as "touching minds" are among the most significant in life - and this significance somehow transcends the moment, and has almost nothing to do with what happens afterwards; and also that the great bulk of our life (including most of our relationships with other people) are, by comparison, trivial.

At first, I imagined that this new knowledge would enable me to transform my own life positively - for example by having more of these enriching mind-touching experiences, more often and with more people. 

At first I supposed that this lack of mind-touching was due to the undoubted presence of those defensive shells or manipulative pretences with which most people chose to surround themselves. Maybe if these shells could perhaps be dissolved mutually, or the self-image unilaterally cracked... Maybe we could live in realities rather than images? 

But I soon discovered that - once the mind's capacity for self-delusion had washed-out (and the touching of minds had become distinguished from sexual attraction!) - this was, beyond a rather limited point, not something to be got by wanting, nor even by striving.      

This early conclusion was, I now think, a correct generalization about life; and one that tends to lead to the condition of "romantic despair" so commonly found among the most reflective and responsive people. 

I mean the conclusion that the primary and most-valued of our experiences are relatively infrequent and temporary - and the bulk baseline of mundane living is second-level, and a majority of human relationships (even some that have frequent interactions, and are relatively long-term and intense), are apparently stuck at a level of indirect, distanced, symbolic "communication" - with a complete (or nearly complete) absence of mind-touching.  

The idea that the higher we have risen, the further we shall be compelled to fall - so that one who successfully sometimes "escapes" into a more intense, better, more creative and participatory - more real world; is "doomed" to a sharply-divided, and thereby tragic life...

In that the mundane and false troughs will always be our baseline; but can never be merged with the best of which Men are capable. 

This would be, and was, where matters rested - until after I began to understand more about the possibility (and choice) of Resurrection and Heaven; and how these post-mortal states are rooted in our mortal experiences and character.

Without that which Jesus did for us - life is a Tragedy, albeit it rises to the level of a comic-tragedy: fun and joys en route to a bad finale, the stage strewn with corpses: an unhappy ending. 

Whereas with Jesus; life is a Comedy, symbolized in Shakespeare by the open-ended possibilities of loving "marriage"...

Albeit that life is more like a tragi-comedy than a pure comedy - life usually being strewn with serious travails (including deaths) en route to that happiest of possible endings...

Which will include "touching minds" featuring as the normal, maybe universal, form of relationship; instead of being a rare and fleeting experience.  

Heaven will also be, as Tolkien stated at the conclusion of his essay On Fairy Stories; the fulfilment of the romantic impulse as it applies to Faery. 

In conclusion; it seems to me that, as Kocher suggested, the incompatibility between Faery and the mundane world, between the realm of Fantasy and ordinary life, was and is insoluble in mortal life. Tolkien never found an answer to it, because there is no answer to be had. 

But if Faery is seen to be a glimpse of some aspects of Heaven, much as "touching minds" is a brief experience of normal relationships in Heaven; then a Christian can look forward with confidence to living whatever is good and valid in Faery on the other side of death...

Such that the relatively brief glimpses of enchantment Tolkien (and others) experience, will also be discovered to have served as both incentive and permanent memories throughout eternal resurrected life...

Much as Tolkien himself described allegorically in Leaf by Niggle.  

   

**

Note: The above derived from reflections provoked by yet-another engagement with JRR Tolkien's great essay On Fairy Stories.  

Faery by John T Kruse - 2020; the elves of folklore compared with those of Tolkien

I have been reading some of the work of John T Kruse on the subject of fairies; especially  - especially his Faery: a guide to the lore, magic and world of the Good Folk (2020) - which is, by far, the single most informative and readable work on the subject I have encountered. 

Elf is the usual name for such people among Anglo-Saxons and ancient Scandinavians, and this survived into the Middle Ages and beyond in the Scottish Borders - where they form the subject of numerous ballads. 

The word "Fairy" is a more recent, French-derived import - spreading from the metropolis. 

I also read his annotated collection Fairy Ballads and Rhymes (2020) - which features and discusses the fairy-referencing Ballads (mostly originating from the Marches of Northumberland and Cumberland and the southernmost counties of Scotland). 

Some of my particular favourite examples of these include Thomas the Rhymer, and Tam Lin - to which I would add (although it is not included here) Willy O' Winsbury. 

Another perhaps fairy is the protagonist of Long Lankin (or, in Northumbrian Lang Lonkin) - the site of whose exploits we recently encountered during a walk. In his novel about the return of the elves, Lords and Ladies; Terry Pratchett names the Fairy Queen's (especially cruel) lieutenant Lankin - and this certainly fits some versions of the ballad (although this is not the usual explanation).  

Once you have tuned-into fairy references in literature and song, which are often implied rather than explicit; then you can see they may be present at a pretty high frequency. For example in the Arthurian stories - where Wendy Berg and Gareth Knight have both argued that nearly-all of the women, including Guinevere, are probably fairies. 

What has this to do with the elves of JRR Tolkien? Not very much! 

Tolkien's elves - as depicted in The Silmarillion, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings - have little relationship to folklore and are mostly his own creation. 

Indeed the high elves of Middle Earth (who are the focus of the stories) were at first called fairies; (in poems then the Lost Tales) then called Gnomes until a pretty advanced stage of publication. Although the Gnome name was chosen for its etymological link to knowledge (as in "gnosis"), rather than from its previous usage in folklore, magic etc. 

(Only after garden gnomes - which are more like mini-caricature-dwarves - became popular between the wars, did Tolkien drop the name.)  

If you want Ballad or folklore elves, you can find them (more or less) in Alan Garner's first two novels, Terry Pratchett, and Susanna Clarke's stories - and many other places, including the more authentic fairy stories, such as those of the Grimm brothers.  

Within Tolkien's oeuvre the closest are the Mirkwood elves, in The Hobbit

The feasting people were Wood-elves, of course. These are not wicked folk. If they have a fault it is distrust of strangers. Though their magic was strong, even in those days they were wary. They differed from the High Elves of the West, and were more dangerous and less wise. For most of them (together with their scattered relations in the hills and mountains) were descended from the ancient tribes that never went to Faerie in the West... In the Wide World the Wood-elves lingered in the twilight of our Sun and Moon, but loved best the stars; and they wandered in the great forests that grew tall in lands that are now lost. They dwelt most often by the edges of the woods, from which they could escape at times to hunt, or to ride and run over the open lands by moonlight or starlight; and after the coming of Men they took ever more and more to the gloaming and the dusk. Still elves they were and remain, and that is Good People. 

Tolkien's emphasis on elves as Good People is un-ironic, and is a symptom of the fact that his understanding of faery folk originally derived from literary sources; rather than folklore - where the appellation "good" is apparently fear-motivated and propitiatory.  

However, in the writings of Morgoth's Ring (volume ten of The History of Middle Earth) Tolkien made provision for the transformation of his genuinely good elves, into the much more ambiguous elves of folklore; when he described the fate and nature of the "lingerers" - those elves who refused to migrate to the undying lands when their time was ended: 

It would seem that in these after-days more and more of the Elves, be they of the Eldalie in origin or be they of other kinds, who linger in Middle-earth now refuse the summons of Mandos, and wander houseless in the world, unwilling to leave it and unable to inhabit it, haunting trees or springs or hidden places that once they knew. 

Not all of these are kindly or unstained by the Shadow. Indeed the refusal of the summons is in itself a sign of taint....

The Unbodied, wandering in the world, are those who at the least have refused the door of life and remain in regret and self-pity. Some are filled with bitterness, grievance, and envy. Some were enslaved by the Dark Lord and do his work still, though he himself is gone. They will not speak truth or wisdom. 

To call on them is folly. To attempt to master them and to make them servants of one own's will is wickedness. Such practices are of Morgoth; and the necromancers are of the host of Sauron his servant.

This is all much closer to the folklore and ballad descriptions detailed by John T Kruse in his Faery compilations. 

The passage indicates that Tolkien saw value in explaining how the nature and reputation of elves had undergone such a transformation from the era of his Legendarium down into recorded history. 

We can also note how thoroughly Tolkien had left-behind his early "Victorian" attitude to fairies* as tiny, pretty creatures who were harmless when not benign - but never scary or wicked. 

  

*Most notoriously evident in his very early, and quite popular anthology, poem Goblin Feet; which Tolkien later detested - but which, at the time of its composition in 1915, was typical of his fairy writings.  

Aunt Grace Day - A new Tolkien tradition established: March 3rd

Last week, my wife and I decided to establish a new tradition of celebrating the anniversary day of the death of JRR Tolkien's Aunt Grace, by laying some flowers on her grave - this being the most tangible link between JRRT and Newcastle upon Tyne.  

The most chilling lines in The Lord of the Rings...

From The Two Towers "Shelob's Lair" (slightly edited):

‘We’ll see, we’ll see,’ Gollum said often to himself, when the evil mood was on him, as he walked the dangerous road from Emyn Muil to Morgul Vale, ‘we’ll see. 

'It may well be, O yes, it may well be that when Shelob throws away the bones and the empty garments, we shall find it, we shall get it, the Precious, a reward for poor Smeagol who brings nice food. 

'And we’ll save the Precious, as we promised. O yes. 

'And when we’ve got it safe, then She’ll know it, O yes, then we’ll pay Her back, my precious. 

'Then we’ll pay everyone back!’

Then we'll pay her back... Then we'll pay everyone back!

These sentences from Gollum/ Smeagol chill me, deeply, whenever I read or hear them. 

Here we have encapsulated the power of that most evil of motivations: spiteful resentment. 

The self-righteous, insatiable, lust for revenge.

The will to hurt, to destroy every-one, every-thing... all of divine creation. 

Was this JRR Tolkien's holiday home in Newcastle upon Tyne?

9 St George's Terrace, Jesmond, Newcastle upon Tyne - photographed in 2024; 

this is where JRR Tolkien's Aunt Grace and Uncle William lived.  

John Benjamin and Mary Jane Tolkien had eight children. The oldest was Arthur Reuel, who was JRR Tolkien's father. The third born was a daughter Grace Bindley Tolkien (1861–1947). 

Grace married William Charles Mountain, and they lived in the Newcastle upon Tyne area at 9 St George’s Terrace, Jesmond; South Street, Hexham; Sheriff Hill, Gateshead; and in Sydenham Terrace, Newcastle.

According to Alan Myers; Tolkien visited Newcastle upon Tyne in each of the years from 1910–1912. 

If so, then he would have stayed either at the above house in St George's terrace, or else in Sydenham Terrace, a parade of spacious properties, now demolished, which stood south of Exhibition Park. 

Part of Sydenham Terrace, Newcastle upon Tyne photographed in 1909.

These houses were evidently considerably larger (and more expensive) than that which the Mountain family had earlier inhabited in St George's Terrace - as would be expected from the increasing status and prosperity of Uncle William Mountain. 

Which of these places is most likely for the young Tolkien to have visited? It seems that the relevant part of St George's Terrace was previously called Moor View and had been built 1882-5; and Syndenham Terrace(above) was photographed in 1909 - so both houses had been built before the time of Tolkien's presumed visits in 1910-12. 

Aunt Grace apparently died in 1947 while living in Sydenham Terrace. So the question is whether she had been living there for some forty years or if in 1910 she was resident in St George's Terrace. 

Perhaps she was in Jesmond in 1910. There was still still plenty of time to move to living the other two listed houses - in Hexham and Gateshead - before finally returning to Sydenham Terrace in Newcastle. 

"Anxiety of Influence" can be powerful and harmful - Alan Garner and JRR Tolkien

It is some decades since I read Harold Bloom's 1973 book "The Anxiety of Influence". The idea I retain from it is that a "strong" (and would-be "major") writer will sometimes (I recall that Bloom says always, which isn't true - but let's say "sometimes") have his work shaped by the "anxiety" of his major precursor. 

So that the Roman poet Virgil's work was shaped by his own sense of debt to the Greek poet Homer. 

Bloom's idea is that the earlier major poet casts a shadow and exerts such an influence that the later poet must either engage-with and transcend the earlier poet - or else be resigned to being a derivative and second-rate version of the earlier poet. 

If this goes well; the later writer will be the equal of, but qualitatively different from, the earlier poet. 

But if this fails - if the later author fails positively to transcend the earlier writer, yet is compelled by "anxiety" to make his own work as different as possible; then the result will merely be that the later author negatively reacts-against the earlier. 

I see this latter negative, reacting-against, version of the anxiety of influence; in the relationship between Alan Garner and JRR Tolkien.

Garner's earliest works were The Weirdstone of Brisingamen and The Moon of Gomrath. I like these both very much, especially Gomrath; and have re-read them multiple times. 

But they were clearly deeply indebted to Tolkien, and in his shadow. 

These books were indeed significantly different in form; being set in modern times, with a parallel occult magical world breaking-into the protagonist's lives. The magical world is also of a much more folkloric nature than Tolkien's autonomous world-building.

Nonetheless, the Tolkien influence is undeniable. 

 

Garner continued on this line with his next two books, Elidor and The Owl Service. 

Elidor does not work for me; but The Owl Service (1967) is both powerful and original in its use of a Mabinogion atmosphere and theme - probably Garner's "best book", qua book. 

These two later books introduce themes very different from Tolkien - an increasingly psychologically-tormented male protagonist, and socialist-type elements of class-conflict and -resentment. These are both autobiographical themes for Alan Garner*; as evident in his book of essays The Voice that Thunders.

Elidor and Owl Service also eschew the "eucatastrophic" (Tolkien's word) happy endings of classic fairytale; although OS has a satisfying sense of closure.

But Elidor, in particular, ends very abruptly with an atmosphere of pessimism and disgust, almost despair. 

 

Garner has often spoken either slightingly, or in a definitely hostile way, about JRR Tolkien and his work; and about both of the first two - and most obviously Tolkien-esque - books. 

Tolkien and garner indeed shared several strikingly similar characteristics, personal experiences, and professional interests.  

Tolkien's background was lower middle class. His childhood and young adult sufferings were (I think) much greater than Garner's, since Tolkien's childhood was distinctly impoverished. He was orphaned age twelve, and served in the First World War on the frontlines. Many close friends were killed. 

By contrast, Garner had a loving family background among the upper working classes of rural Cheshire. He did a short period of compulsory Army National Service during peacetime. His main unusual sufferings were three prolonged and severe, life-threatening, childhood illnesses. 

Both Tolkien and Garner were scholarship boys at famous and academically-rigorous old Grammar Schools in their nearby cities. Both joined the Army after school; and both went on to Oxford University to study Classics (Literae Humaniores) - with ambitions to become an academic; and both had an academically-undistinguished first couple of years. 

However, here their biographies diverge. 

Tolkien changed to an English degree, discovered his true academic interest, became a philologist, a full-time academic, and eventually a Professor. His major writings were done part-time, in his meagre spare time; for his own personal motivations, and without regard to making-a-living. 

Garner dropped-out of Oxford without taking a degree in 1956, shortly after Tolkien had published The Lord of the Rings. From then onwards, Garner was a full-time professional author; and either needed to accept state or personal subsidies, or make a living from his writing to support his family.

Garner was an excellent writer; but from age 22 his whole life became focused on writing, publishing, selling books etc. 

And in terms of making a living from writing, it became evident that the more Tolkienian were Garner's books, the more popular they were and the money they made. 

Weirdstone is still, by some distance, Garner's best-selling book on Amazon. 

It is my inference, but it seems evident that Garner's anxiety of influence therefore got worse with time. The less Tolkien-esque he was, the less successful were his books...

He desired to be a major writer, and had great talent in that direction - but, as with many other full-time professional writers - I get a sense of running-out of things to say; and a change to focusing on form rather than content.

A sense of focusing on how the book is written, more than what the book is "about".  

This is, I believe, one of the reasons for literary "modernism" and the stylistically and structurally "experimental writings" of the 1920s and 30s; such as Joyce's Ulysses, Eliot's The Waste Land, and the like. 

So, rather belatedly, Garner made a decisive break with the earlier Tolkien-esque stories; and wrote Red Shift (1973) - which is extremely difficult to follow, and very experimental and stylized in its structure and prose. 

Yet which is underneath (as with Ulysses) somewhat banal and stereotyped, melodramatic, in its action and emotions. 

RS also ends extremely negatively; in disgust, extreme pessimism, and despair; with the tormented male protagonist descending into psychosis - and a coded intention of suicide. 

Since Red Shift; Garner has continued to write in a broadly similar deliberately obscure and experimental style - and typically aimed at adults, rather than children or adolescents. 

His books are critically acclaimed in the high-brow media, and have "garnered" and sustained a dedicated - almost fanatical - cult following. 

Yet they are not popular because they are not enjoyable, and don't sell well. 

This outcome seems, from what he says, to have hardened and intensified Garner's negative reaction-against Tolkien and his earlier Tolkien-indebted fictions. 

He has doubled-down on his modernistic experimentations; obscurity, the puzzle-like decoding required of the reader.  

But, in terms of quality, there has been a price to pay - and this includes a pervasive atmosphere of horror, misery, resentment, bitterness - and hopelessness.  

The recurrence of suicide as a theme, or resolution, is especially telling - and dismaying. 

Such have been, by my judgment, the extremities of the phenomenon of anxiety of influence for a very talented writer. 

I am sympathetic about Garner's dilemma, and the problem is genuine. 

But I believe he made wrong choices, fell into endorsing wrong attitudes; and has chronically refused to repent his errors. 

*This relatively late arrival of autobiographical themes, strikes me as retrogressive. Autobiographical concerns ought, I feel, to be worked-through at an early stage (a classic "first novel" concern!) - and something a writer transcends as his work proceeds. But in the case of professional authors, with their writing-focused lives; it seems they feel compelled to dredge their own lives - often of their pre-writing lives - over and again; for lack of any other personally-motivating theme. Either that or they start writing-about-writing!

 

Gimli the Dwarf is the only non-Hobbit point-of-view character in The Lord of the Rings

I was only in the past few years that I noticed that the Dwarf Gimli is (I think) the only point-of view character in The Lord of the Rings who is not a Hobbit. 

For all the rest of the book, when there is direct report of the consciousness of a character, it is always Frodo, Sam, Merry or Pippin. 

But for just a couple of pages it is Gimli. No other character is given such a distinction.  

The Gimili perspective passage is near the end of the chapter "The Passing of the Grey Company", and describes the Dwarf's inner reactions, especially his almost paralysing fear, as he walks the Paths of the Dead inside the Dwimorberg - the Haunted Mountain.   

I think the Gimli POV passage is easily missed, because it is short and seamlessly bracketed by the normal third person narrative. It begins just after :

And there stood Gimli the Dwarf left all alone. His knees shook, and he was wroth with himself.  

The report of Gimli's inner narrative starts with: "it seemed to him that he dragged his feet like lead over the threshold; and at once a blindness came upon him...". 

And we continue revisiting Gimli's inner reactions until: "the Dwarf saw before his face the glitter in the Elf's bright eyes."

After which we hear no more of Gimli's stream of consciousness. 

I find this a fascinating exception to Tolkien's self-imposed rule throughout LotR to "see" the events of Middle Earth and the story through the mediating consciousness of a Hobbit. 

Indeed, it seems that Gimli is here taking the role of a "surrogate Hobbit" - presumably because there are no Hobbits present, and perhaps Gimli's mind is in some ways the most suitable for the job. 

But why is Gimli most suitable? 

Well the alternatives among characters of the Fellowship present at this time; are Legolas and Aragorn. 

Legolas is perhaps regarded as too strange, too much a part of the "high" and enchanted phenomena of Middle Earth to be a suitable mediator. As an Elf, Legolas is not scared by the atmosphere of the Paths of the Dead, nor by the presence of the ghosts of Men. 

And much the same applies to Aragorn, at this point and in this context. Aragorn a Numenorean, partly elish; and has chosen to take the Paths and is leader of the Company; and he does so by ancient right and prophecy. 

Therefore the reader cannot readily identify with Aragorn's point of view - at least not at this particular point of the narrative.

Gimli is chosen, I believe; because, although of a different race than Men, we can in this situation easily identify with him. 

He is terrified by the experience, as we also would be if we found ourselves in the same situation. 

And probably also because Gimli is established by this point as a likeable and realistically-flawed character - a "rough diamond" whose emotions run close to the surface, and are less tightly disciplined than those of Aragorn and Legolas.  

Anyway; it seems that the Gimli-focused passage works well enough to do the job of putting the reader emotionally into the situation in the absence of any Hobbit; and without drawing attention to itself as breaking Tolkien's own rules about a Hobbit-centric story. 

Sauron versus Saruman - why two names read too-nearly the same

While Tolkien's discernment as a creative writer enabled him to dodge nearly-all the potentially most embarrassing examples of character naming; there remains the rather glaring problem that the names of the two main villains Sauron and Saruman - are too similar; so similar as to be confusing - and especially to the first time reader. 

They certainly confused by 13 year old self, when I sometimes got them mixed-up - probably from my habit of inwardly pronouncing Sauron as "Sore-on", and Saruman as "Sore-mun". 

So why did Tolkien make this error; why did he his two main "baddies" end-up with such superficially-similar names? 

I don't know of any definitive evidence from Tolkien on this question; but I think we can infer a plausible, and probable, answer to this question. 

If we can assume that Sauron's name arose first and had become fixed and non-negotiable during the writing of Lord of the Rings...

Then it is the naming of the later-arriving Saruman that needs to be explained.

Saruman is attributed to the the Anglo-Saxon/ Old English language which Tolkien ascribes to the Riders of Rohan as his feigned translation of the in-universe speech. 

And in Anglo-Saxon "man" means man as in modern English - while the "Saru" element of the name refers to the word "searu".

I infer that it was the multi-faceted meanings and implications of searu that must surely have struck Tolkien as being so exactly right for the character of Saruman, that I suppose he "must have" been absolutely determined to keep this name, once he had thought of it.

...Even though it lead to a problem of similarity to "Sauron". 

In Unfinished Tales, Christopher Tolkien gives the translation of searu as "skill, cunning, cunning device" - which perfectly captures the chief wizard's character: 

"Skill": He was the most skilled of wizards; but also he was "cunning": tending to seeks his ends by dubious means - such as trickery, deceit, evasion; and "cunning device" references that Saruman was a clever maker of tools, contraptions, machines, artefacts...

An online Anglo-Saxon dictionary provides a longer list of alterative possible meanings and synonyms for searu: 

1. war-gear, weapon; 

2. armour; coat of mail; 

3. device, contrivance; equipment; 

4. 1) skill, art; ability; 2) stratagem, craft, artifice; trick.

Meanings 1 and 2 link-up with the later, corrupted, Saruman's building and equipping of a formidable army, intended to wage war upon Rohan. 

My conclusion is that searu-man so perfectly captured the nature of the chief wizard, that the Anglo-Saxon Professor Tolkien simply could not resist sticking to the name Saruman! 

Despite the problem that the word read too nearly the same as Sauron.

In this instance; Tolkien the philologist overcame Tolkien the creative writer. 

  

The History of The Hobbit by John D Rateliff (2007) - a review

John D Rateliff. The History of The Hobbit - Two volumes: Part One: Mr Baggins; Part 2: Return to Bag End. HarperCollins: London, 2007. pp. xxxix; 905.

It is long overdue that I said something about how much I have enjoyed and learned from John D Rateliff's two volume A History of the Hobbit - which is The Hobbit equivalent of Christopher Tolkien's History of Middle Earth series. 

So here it is!

I have owned this book for a long time, since shortly after its publication; and have frequently referred to it. 

But until recently I never sat-down and went-through the two volumes from beginning to end; although, even now, I have not read the whole thing - there is a lot in it. 

In explaining the delay; I can only suppose that I must have been (unconsciously) holding-back from expressing an overview due to the partial, rather random and scattered, nature of my acquaintance. 

The book is structured around the earliest known and developing drafts of The Hobbit; the later (1947) modifications of (especially) the Gollum scene, to bring it into line with the plot of The Lord of the Rings; the 1960 partial and (I am pleased to say) abandoned attempt to rewrite The Hobbit in the style of Lord of the Rings - and various other relevant and interesting texts such as real and putative sources. 

Rateliff provides copious explanatory notes on Tolkien's drafts; but also - and these I liked best of all - a series of short essays; in which he provides many kinds of background information. 

These background essays range very widely; for instance relating the drafts to Tolkien's other works, Tolkien's languages (and other languages), to folklore and fairy tale, and to other (especially earlier) fantasy authors such as George Macdonald, and Lord Dunsany (on whom Rateliff is particularly an expert).   

I found many of these essays to be absolutely fascinating, and recommend them strongly even to those who are not especially interested in the process by which The Hobbit got written and modified. 

Some can be read pretty much in isolation; for instance in Part 1 there are essays on races such as dwarves, trolls, elves, giants, goblins, wolves and eagles. In Part 2 there are dragons (and dragon sickness), the thrush, the Arkenstone, ravens, and the nature of Bolg (the goblin king). 

And that is just a sample of the topics - there are a good deal more. 

What makes The History of the Hobbit a book I greatly appreciate owning, is the almost inexhaustible range and depth of Rateliff's scholarship - such that every re-read leads to a previously un-noticed discovery. 

Equally important is Rateliff's enthusiasm-for and enjoyment-of The Hobbit in all its unique quality - which shines throughout the whole production. 

Altogether, for me The History of the Hobbit is among the top-ten of books written about Tolkien's works - and is the best of all books about The Hobbit. 

Many bullets dodged, but he gets it right - in the end! Tolkien's character names

Reading The History of Middle Earth (edited by Christopher Tolkien) and The History of the Hobbit (edited by John D Rateliff); it becomes clear that Tolkien greatly improved his books during the course of revision; which also implies that the early drafts sometimes contained some rather, um, bad stuff. 

And this even applies to the area for which Tolkien is justly greatly renowned, indeed unsurpassed: the matter of names. 

The excellence of Tolkien's names (of places, as well as people, and other beings) is that they are derived from coherent etymology, which is rooted in particular languages (some historical, others invented) by Tolkien's philological expertise. 

But this could lead him astray - sometimes - when a character's "correct" name, according to the rules of the languages ascribed to his imaginary worlds, sounded in some way wrong for the modern reader. 

This began with The Hobbit, when the wizard's name was at first Bladorthin (instead of Gandalf).

Bladorthin probably derived from an early form of Tolkien's Elvish language Sindarin - and therefore satisfied Tolkien's demand for internal linguistic coherence of names. 

But it just doesn't sound right to the modern ear! - with its hard-not-to-think-about implications of "a thin bladder". 

The wizard was eventually given the name of Gandalf, which was originally given to the "Thorin" character - and was (like all the other dwarf names, except Balin) taken from a Norse name-list of dwarves from the Elder Edda.  

Then again - instead of what became the mellifluous "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror" - we might have had "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Fimbulfambi"! 

Fimbulfambi is another dwarf name from Old Norse - and so has impeccable philological credentials within The Hobbit's linguistic context; but it just sounds silly, indeed laughably so, to modern English speakers. 

It is a measure of Tolkien's excellence as a creative writer, rather than an applied philologist; that he was prepared to take this into account and allow it priority; then go back and provide a different and more sensible alternative name. 

Another "wrong" name from the earliest mythologies in Lost Tales; was calling the High Elves who became the Noldor by the name of Gnomes. 

Gnome was etymologically-related (in the "real world") to knowledge and wisdom (e.g. gnostic and gnosis) - but during the time Tolkien was working on the Silmarillion material and LotR; deliberately vulgar and kitsch "garden gnomes" became very popular. 

So, again reluctantly, Tolkien made the change.    

Even in The Lord of the Rings, there were problems with some of the names of major characters. 

Frodo was, for a long time, called Bingo - which certainly had the wrong connotations for a mid-twentieth century English reader. 

In this case, Bingo was probably less about philology, and perhaps more a matter of having the character named after a favourite teddy bear and family, belonging to his daughter ("the Bingos"). 

But, in the end - and despite having got used to Bingo - Tolkien bit the bullet and made the revision. 

Another too-silly name was Trotter as the name for the character who became Strider or Aragorn. 

I have already told the story behind this name, and how it led Tolkien towards what would have been his most cringe-inducing decision! 

But, as usual, eventually and before it was too-late, Tolkien dodged the bullet. 

As a final and notorious example; Galadriel's husband Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlorien - was to be called Teleporno.

Indeed, in some possibly canonical backstory versions, that may have remained one of his linguistically-valid names, when the Fellowship met with him in Lothlorien, and after. 

Fortunately, Teleporno did not get into The Lord of the Rings - or else goodness knows what the "Bored of the Rings" parodists would have made of it. 

Whether Tolkien recognized the danger of Teleporno is not recorded, so far as I know; certainly its suggestive qualities would not have been so apparent in the 1950s. But at any rate, his admirers were spared such embarrassment until after the History of Middle Earth appeared a couple of decades after the author's demise. 

My semi-serious point is that - as so often when dealing with a genius - Tolkien's great strengths were also a source of weakness; strengths and weakness usually being (as Nietzsche, coincidentally another eminent philologist, pointed-out) two sides of the same coin. 

(Because they are derived from strong inner motivations.) 

In other words; the same reason that Tolkien's names are unsurpassed - their deep and coherent derivation; also contained a tendency to ignore the superficial and obvious ways in which such names would strike the non-philologist who was ignorant of relevant history. 

Yet, because Tolkien was an even greater writer than he was philologist; he always seems to have reached the right decision - in the end. 

   

Frodo's first usage of the One Ring was frivolously motivated

Despite possessing it for many years; Frodo Baggins seems never to have put-on the One Ring - until he was staying in The House of Tom Bombadil. 

Bombadil had asked to look at The Ring, and had done a "conjuring trick" to make The Ring disappear for a few moments; before returning it to Frodo - who is uncertain that what has been returned to him, is the real Ring: 

...something prompted him to make sure. He was perhaps a trifle annoyed with Tom for seeming to make so light of what even Gandalf thought so perilously important. 

He waited for an opportunity, when the talk was going again, and Tom was telling an absurd story about badgers and their queer ways - then he slipped the Ring on. 

Merry turned towards him to say something and gave a start, and checked an exclamation. 

Frodo was delighted (in a way): it was his own ring all right, for Merry was staring blankly at his chair, and obviously could not see him. He got up and crept quietly away from the fireside towards the outer door.

This is significant, because Frodo is being dishonest with himself about why he wants to put-on The Ring - and doing this for the very first time. 

Frodo apparently tells himself the reason that he needs to to use The Ring is to "make sure" that it is the real one - which would be a serious reason. 

But this is immediately contradicted; because Frodo's subsequent behaviour is frivolous, and treats the One Ring as if it were merely a party trick. 

Frodo is therefore pleased at Merry's surprised reaction by Frodo's sudden disappearance; and Frodo starts to creep quietly away, in order (presumably) to continue the joke. 

(In the event, Tom Bombadil can still see Frodo, and calls him back). 

In terms of what Frodo knows of the identity and nature of the One Ring, this behaviour by Frodo is shockingly shallow, and trivializes the "perilous" importance of Ring - despite Frodo's self-deception that he is annoyed at Bombadil failing to take The Ring seriously. 

And, as would be expected by Frodo having knowingly misused The Ring, this action very soon has bad consequences. 

The very next evening, in the Prancing Pony Inn; the Ring is able to slip itself onto Frodo's finger while his attention is diverted, make him disappear in public view; and thereby the One Ring reveals itself to servants of Mordor who are watching Frodo, who immediately report this event to the Black Riders. 

By first using the One Ring frivolously, for trivial reasons; Frodo has made an act of consent that thereby gave The Ring enhanced power over him. 

There is significance in the fact that this happened in the safety of The House of Tom Bombadil - at a time when Frodo felt completely safe, and was off his guard. That Frodo felt safe, makes his use of The Ring gratuitous. 

And just after Bombadil has demonstrated that he was, apparently, the only being in Middle Earth over whom the One Ring has no power at all. 

A lesson of Numenor: Mortal life can only be partly enchanted, even in Faery

The sadness that underlies all the best accounts of the interactions of Men with elves, fairies and the like; is that the enchantment of Faery is only partly available to Men - either for a finite visit or by incomplete inklings.

Faery seems greatly desirable and greatly satisfying; in that its sense of beauty and pervasive life and consciousness is so powerful as to satisfy our cravings. 

Yet such satisfaction is always cut short, or diluted by a counter-current of self-consciousness and the ultimate inescapability of death. 

If Only, Men feel, we could live forever is such a situation of enchantment - that would be enough! Life might be complete. Our existential dissatisfaction would at last be stilled. 

It is this brevity and partiality that mislead; because Men never get to see the limitations of Faery life, the different intrinsic sadness of existence for even "immortal" elves or faeries dwelling in paradise. 

We clutch and cling to the hope of Faery enchantment - until the "if only" becomes an always increasing obsession. 

This is one significance of JRR Tolkien's story of Numenor; in which the more closely that Men attain to the enchanted life of elves, the more deluded they become concerning its ultimate sufficiency.  

The problem begins as a close friendship with the Eldar tinged by an envy of elves immortality - which was the only substantive difference between Numenorean men and the Eldar. 

But as the delusion gets a grip that elven immortality will complete Men's happiness; Numenorean Men become hostile to elves; thereby avoiding the kind of personal association that might disillusion them about the imagined "guaranteed bliss" of life as an elf. 

Tolkien was (it seems) strongly aware both of the impossibility of a wholly (or even mostly) enchanted life for mortal Men; and also aware that even if it were possible to live always in Faery, this would not provide a full answer to our existential yearning. 

This is because the happiness of immortal elves becomes overwhelmed by the nature and effects of continual living in a world where there is death and evil. This means that loss is both inevitable and cumulative; and the memory of times before loss is an increasing burden.  

To me, it seems that elven bliss could only be complete if elves lived in the here-and-now of a paradise but without memory - so that losses would be forgotten. This would mean that awareness, memory, intelligence would all need to be reduced to a bare minimum - if not deleted; and elves would decline to a lower, animal-like or plant-like, state of consciousness. 

For Tolkien; there were other possibilities for Men; and these included a escape of the spirit to a world without time or change; or else (or perhaps as well as) the life of spirits reborn into this earth but (somehow) purged of death and evil. 

(For me; the reason why mortal life is only partly enchanted is ultimately because mortal life is a transitional stage between life as pre-mortal spirits, and the possibility of a future of resurrected eternal life in the new creation that is Heaven.) 

Critiquing the "Myth becomes Fact" concept of Christianity, in Lewis and Tolkien

CS Lewis's conversion, as is pretty well known, had much to do with an idea he got (mostly) from JRR Tolkien that in Christianity Myth became Fact. In other words; that various of the myths of the ancient world came true in the incarnation, life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. 

This is one reason why Lewis regarded Christianity as the completion of paganism (as well as of Judaism) - because in essence it took much of paganism and transformed it by the addition of specifically Christian values - in particular "Faith, Hope, and Charity".

I was greatly influenced by this idea in my own conversion to Christianity; but have now come to regard the "Christian myth" as a misleading distortion of what Jesus actually did and taught. 

My interpretation nowadays is that Christianity is in its essence about the possibility of following Jesus to resurrected eternal life in Heaven - and that this was something new under the sun: an unique possibility; that was (at its core) neither foreshadowed nor foreseen among the ancient religions: neither among Jews nor among Pagans.  

I agree with Lewis that Christianity can be and actually was (especially in the earliest years of Jesus's ministry and the early period after his ascension) an add-on, easily adopted by Jews and Roman or Greek pagans alike...

But I think the reason for this was not because Christianity was aligned with Jewish expectations of the Messiah, nor that it was a completion of Greco-Roman Paganism - but simply because Christianity was a new idea about what happened after death. 

At least initially, therefore, a new Christian convert could (and apparently did) continue to practise his previous this-worldly religion; but with the additional expectation of resurrected eternal life after death...

Instead of (for instance) dying in expectation of the underworld ghost-life of Sheol or Hades, or returning by some version of reincarnation. 

Of course, Christianity as it became, developed and accreted very large and complex mythic elements - for example about Jesus's miraculous conception and early life, and expectation of his second coming. 

So Christianity-as-is has mythical aspects with all sorts of derivations and similarities to other mythic religions. 

But I believe that this was not the case originally, as Jesus lived and taught. 

And presumably this was a major reason why people found it so very difficult to understand what Jesus was actually telling then - i.e. they could not (or would not) discard their existing myths, such as The Messiah. 

And either rejected Jesus for failing to embody the prior myth, or adapted the prior myth to fit Jesus - or else adapted what Jesus did to fit the prior myth (as with the Second Coming, notion) 

I don't know if others agree; but in the IV Gospel I see Jesus trying to tell people something very simple and clear - which they repeatedly fail to comprehend; and this, in part, because they are caught-up in already-existing religious assumptions including myths. 

After Jesus's ascension, things could have (should have, perhaps) gone in the direction of the Christian after-death expectation being added-onto various existing religions - and then modifying their content in a kind of retrospective way (as the expectation of resurrected Heavenly life worked upon the pre-existing religion).

However, this did not happen; and instead Christianity became so elaborated by mythic elements that its clear and simple essence was swamped; but also the confident expectation of being able to choose resurrection was inverted - into the necessity to submit to the judgment of God/Christ-as-King to be-fearfully-hoping to be chosen as worthy of inclusion in Heaven. 

Only in recent generations has it become conceptually and consciously possible to understand that Christianity does not need to be regarded as a true myth; but instead Jesus's work can be recognized as a cosmic transformation, a new post-mortal possibility: a Second Creation -- accessible to those who commit to following Jesus, into and beyond the transformation of resurrection.

Initiation by participation in imaginative fiction

When we really participate in the process of reading a work of imaginative fiction, we undergo some of the steps of what is sometimes termed "initiation"

. 

A typical work of imaginative fictions starts out in the everyday and mundane world of ordinary people and perceptions; the business of survival, seeking comforts and pleasures, avoiding suffering, delaying death. 

Then (usually by identification with one or more protagonists) the fiction takes us through rising stages of expanded experience:

1. The strange and marvellous - things beyond everyday experience; perhaps experiences that induce exceptionally powerful emotions.   

2. Exceptional but normal living people - Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies, Heroes and Heroines...

3. Animals and plants, and nature - an awareness that there are more than people in the world... Befriending animals, maybe mutually communicating; and the same with trees, landscapes; and perhaps ancient buildings or monuments... 

4. Fairies and the like - An encounter with sentient beings that are not human: such as elves and dwarves; or threatening talking-beings like dragons and giants

5. Beings of higher consciousness and spiritual power - such as great holy men and women, seers, wizards, enchanters, magicians.

6. Experience of meaning and purpose in reality - being guided by contacts, synchronicities, the workings out of prophecy; at a higher level the workings of divine providence.  

7. Experience of contact with deity - angelic beings, gods, and God. 

Not many fictions have all of these stages of initiation - and perhaps not in this "ascending" order; and fewer will even attempt to evoke a sense of participation the highest levels of holiness, ultimate purpose or the divine.   

Low level stories will be contented with adventures among the strange and marvellous, and contact with ordinary humans but of special prestige - and if they do include higher beings, then these are treated reductively: just means to a materialistic end. 

At the highest levels of imaginative fiction, there will be indications of the higher levels - whether explicitly or by implication (i.e. enchantment - the opposite of reduction, when for example experience of identifying with strange places or talking animals points at the reality of higher levels of initiation). 

It is these high level imaginative works that provide, potentially, the most transformative initiations.

Where does the evil of Melkor come from, in The Silmarillion?

At the beginning of The Silmarillion (1977) there is the creation story Ainulindale - which describes, in musical terms, how the universe is created; starting from Eru, The One, prime creator God. 

JRR Tolkien regarded this myth as broadly compatible with his orthodox Roman Catholic Christianity - such that Eru has the attributes traditionally ascribed to the God of Catholic theology - being wholly-perfect in goodness; and one who creates everything from nothing; is omnipotent, omniscient etc. 

The first thing Eru does is to create the Ainur; the senior angels or "gods" who later become the Valar (the senior angels) and the Maia (the subordinate angels). 

It seems that the creation of the Ainur  involves Eru dividing his "elemental" attributes and distributing them among the angelic beings; so that Vala suuch as Melkor has a link to fire (including spiritual fire), Manwe the airs, Ulmo all the waters etc. 

More junior Maia have more specific powers and responsibilities - so that Osse represents just the coastal waters of Middle Earth.  

Thus far, we can envisage the Ainur as being subdivisions of some of Eru's all-including characteristics, and with made-into a divine being that each has "agency": autonomy and freedom. 

It is from the interactions of these separated Ainur that the actual universe is made; the process being described as a great music, a developing harmony; with each of the Ainur as-if an instrument/ composer with a distinctive tone and disposition. 

These combine to make a great "improvised" symphony - which is creation. 

The problem is Melkor - who later becomes called Morgoth; who is represented as the source of dissonance in the harmony of the great music; and thereby - when that music is revealed to be creation - the source of evil and the confusion and corruption of other beings: including Ainur, and the lower orders of beings such as dwarves, elves and Men. 

More exactly, the problem is: 

Considering that Eru is perfectly good, and all-that-is comes-from Eru - where does the evil in Melkor's nature originate? 

If Eru is perfectly good, then there can apparently be no evil from-which Melkor could derive it. 

The question of Melkor's agency is secondary, in that Melkor would neither have evil motivations (such as pride) nor would he make make evil choices (such as introducing discords) unless his nature was already evil.  

For Melkor to become evil; Melkor would have to contain evil in the first place...

And yet we are told that Melkor comes only and entirely from Eru. 

The only way I can make a sort-of sense from this is to assume that when Eru's perfectly-good nature is sub-divided to make the Ainur, then this process creates an imbalance or lop-sidenness due to the incompletion of each of the Ainur.

It is this incompletions and imbalance of nature which results in the evil of Melkor. 

If this is true; it would mean that evil is a matter of imbalance - and that anything less complete that the everything-fullness of Eru is therefore evil - to some extent. 

However, I don't think that this does much more than kick the can, if Eru's nature is said to be omnipotent and omniscient; because that would imply that the evil nature due to the particular incomplete imbalance of Melkor was foreknown to Eru. 

Yet Eru chose to make Melkor the most powerful of the Ainur...

So that all the evil of the world, past present and future, was implicit from the start, in the way that Eru chose to create. 

The consequence is that the perfect goodness of Eru somehow contains all the actual evil of creation - past, present and future. Yet Eru (if compatible with the Roman Catholic understanding of God) must be one and indivisible - Eru must have no internal structure. 

(...Except in the mystical word spell of Trinitarianism, whereby the indivisible unity of God simultaneously and without contradiction is stated to contain the three persons of Father, Son and Holy Ghost. But that paradoxical mystery is not an explanation.) 

An "imbalance" theory of evil is quite common, indeed it is almost mainstream. 

One ancient manifestation of this theory was the Ancient Greek proverb of "moderation in all things" - a more recent manifestation is Jung's idea that individual's need to know and embrace their shadow self and its impulses, in order to attain the highest individuation. 

Another version of the idea is that the ideal situation is a balance between Law and Chaos: too much of either is evil, and the best is some kind of middle path that includes a bit of both. 

However, such ideas are not Christian; which faith is based on conceptualization of positive goodness - the more the better; and that (while God can make the best of the inevitable evils of this mortal life) - the ideal situation (Heaven) is one where there is only good, and no evil. 

Indeed, while there is always some good in any overall-evil being, even Melkor; since to exist as a being is to be part of divine creation. 

Good is therefore mixed-into evil in all actual beings - even when a being is eternally committed to opposing God and divine creation...

But Christianity insists that there can and should be pure good, not some balanced mixture of good with evil; and good is what Christians aspire to. 

Therefore, I do not think the imbalance theory of evil can be used to explain the nature of Melkor; nor would it (I suspect) have been acceptable to JRRT. 

Given Tolkien's assumptions; the situation regarding the creation of Melkor is incoherent: it does not make sense.  

"Something has to give" among the assumptions that lead to this incoherence. 

Given that Christians cannot (or perhaps should not) give-up on the pure-goodness of God; what must therefore give way is the idea that God created everything (including Melkor) from nothing - which means from-Himself-only.

If instead we assumed that Melkor was eternally existent as a being; that existence preceding Eru's creation; then the evil of Melkor's nature need not have been created by Eru.

We can assume that the roots of Melkor's evil nature and choices were always there - they were not aspects of Eru. 

Then the perfect goodness of Eru can be asserted and explained simply and coherently. 

Charles Williams's Time Loop and other temporal paradoxes in Many Dimensions

I am currently reading Charles Williams's 1931 novel, in which there is a very early discussion of the notion of "temporal paradoxes" - in particular a "time loop": 

Supposing you willed to return a year, and to be again in those exact conditions, interior and exterior, in which you had been a year ago—why then, either you would have the Stone with you or you would not. If you had, you were not the same: if you had not, then how did you return, short of living through the intervening period all over again? Lord Arglay shuddered at the possibility. It would be delightful, he thought, to know again the thrill which had gone through him when he had heard of his appointment to the office he held. But to have to go again through all those years of painful appeals, difficult judgements, distressing decisions, which so often meant unhappiness to the innocent—no. Besides—supposing you did. When you reached again this moment you would again return by virtue of the Stone—and so for ever. An infinite series of repetitions of those same few years, a being compelled to grow no older, a consciousness forbidden to expand or to die.

In his biography of Charles Williams, Grevel Lindop suggests that this was the first clear discussion of temporal  paradoxes/ a time loop in any fiction - and before the much better known examples from classic SciFi authors - since the subject was first broached by HG Wells in The Time Machine (1895). 

If correct, this is indeed remarkable; in the sense that Charles Williams is very far from being the kind of author that I would have expected to consider and write-about such matters!

The most likely reason is that - like so many creative writers of that and later eras, including some of his later friends among The Inkling - CW had read and pondered the non-fictional work of JW Dunne; whose An Experiment with Time was published in 1927.  

As someone brought up on Doctor Who, I have certainly had plenty of enjoyment from the fictional possibilities of imagining temporal paradoxes. But my understanding of the apparent fact that these paradoxes were not noticed or discussed until less than 150 years ago, is evidence that they are an artefact of particular modern scientific models of time - especially the idea that time is a "dimension" (as in the title of Williams's novel) that can be separated from space and mapped like a vector. 

By my metaphysical understanding, this is just a model, not reality; and time cannot in principle be separated out in this fashion - without causing paradoxes, i.e. incoherence, i.e. self-contradictions. In other words, the contradictions and incoherence are reductio ad absurdum evidence that our assumptions are wrong. 

My understanding is that the fundamental description of reality is of Beings, which are alive, purposive, conscious, self-sustaining etc; and that "time" is just a way of conceptualizing the linear continuity of Beings - that Beings exist dynamically. 

So, I enjoy the mental exercise of temporal paradoxes, and these have often provided good plots for stories (albeit with a great deal of "hand-waving" in their explanations) - but these do not trouble me; any more than I am troubled by trying to predict what happens when an irresistible force meets an immoveable object. Or by such verbal tricks as: "suppose that I am not really me! 

Such paradox is a product of abstract and artificially-discrete inbuilt assumptions, and these assumptions are arbitrary, abstract, and untrue. 

The prospect of An infinite series of repetitions of those same few years, a being compelled to grow no older, a consciousness forbidden to expand or to die; is superficially spooky. But we are frightening ourselves with our own false conceptualizations. 

It may be fun, but it isn't serious. 

What is the best way to subvert Tolkien?

I make a suggestion over at my BC's Notions blog. 

Re-reading The Place of the Lion, by Charles Williams - the domination of abstraction over the personal

I have read Charles' Williams's The Place of the Lion many times over a span of several decades; and almost accidentally found myself doing so again last week (actually, re-listening to the audiobook version). 

I thoroughly recommend trying PlotL; if you are at all interested in grappling with Charles Williams; or if you want to understand the mature and best fictions of JRR Tolkien or CS Lewis - it really is time well spent. 

 

The book strikes me differently almost every time I read it. It has some great aspects that have proved lastingly memorable, and also dull and/or irritating parts - but these are not necessarily the same on each time of reading!

This time; I found the first half of the book (the set-up, the basic idea) much the best - indeed even better than I remembered. And the later parts less interesting and satisfying. 

What I continually found myself pushing against was an aspect of Charles Williams's basic metaphysical assumptions, and indeed those of a very large majority of intellectual Christians throughout history! - which is that he regards the abstract as the ultimate reality; and the personal as secondary - merely and expression of such abstractions as principles, ideas, archetypes, energies, pattern, hierarchy and functional subdivision. 

In short: Williams's conceptualisation of ultimate reality is in terms of physics, mathematics, geometry. 

I have come to regard this as a besetting sin of theologians and philosophers; and in the context of this book it leads to a fundamental incoherence in the plot, that makes the main action seem arbitrary and indeed wilful. 

The set-up is that the Platonic ideas or ultimate archetypes are invading and absorbing the modern mundane world; and reducing individual animals, persons, objects to their dominating principle. Among those who realize what is happening, some welcome this as a restoration of primal reality. 

Some of these welcomers try to use the archetypes to gratify their immediate personal desires; but others surrender to their archetype and die in an apparent state of bliss - as their personalities are reabsorbed into the relevant part of the primal pattern of reality - which pattern is (apparently) later to be reabsorbed into a state of undifferentiated and perfect oneness. 

The plot concerns Anthony, who opposes this reabsorption - but on what seem the feeblest, most short termist and superficial grounds! 

Such as; that a takeover of earth by the Platonic Archetypes will interfere with the completion and award of his girlfriend's doctoral thesis! This is stated; along with other similarly unconvincing and almost silly reasons for preserving individuality of human and other beings. 

Anthony prevails, by a process of connecting-with and "channeling" the archetype of Adam; and thereby Naming, hence re-differentiating, the key specific principles of this world, in the forms of their animal images.

What I perceive here is that Charles Williams's metaphysical assumptions contradict his intuitions. I sense that CW's intuitions are clear and strong that it is good that the world has many people of many kinds, and distinct animals, plants and artefacts; and that these many deserve to exist. 

He believes that the many deserve to be - and ought not to have their individuality dissolved away into categories (or into unity). 

Such is Williams's intuition, and that is why the climax of the book is the defeat of the Archetypes and restoration of multiplicity. 

But Williams cannot properly explain this intuition, and the argument in favour of Anthony is reduced to rather silly explanations: seemingly arbitrary explanations, that appear simply to reflect... whatever happens currently to please Anthony (such as his love of, or initially his one-sided obsession-with, his girlfriend*). 

This seems like a very poor reason for one man taking it upon himself to reshape the universe!

*Much would, I feel, be explained here; if we assume that girlfriend Damaris is very good looking!

Review of The Major and the Missionary by Diana Pavlac Glyer (2023)

Diana Pavlac Glyer (edited). The Major and the Missionary: The letters of Warren Hamilton Lewis and Blanch Biggs. Rabbit Room Press: Nashville, TN, USA. 2023. pp: xxxiii, 309. 

Anyone who becomes interested by The Inklings, that legendary Oxford group of CS Lewis's friends - which functioned as a writers club to hear and critique work-in-progress, rapidly comes across the genial and hospitable persona that was CS Lewis's beloved older brother Warren: the regular Army officer Major WH Lewis (1895-1973). 

Those who are intrigued by Warren, or "Warnie" as he was called by intimates, then typically (and I recommend this) move-on to read the selection from his diaries edited by CS Kilby and M Lamp Mead - Brothers and Friends (1982). 

If, like me, you are then charmed and beguiled by Warnie's good nature and warmth of personality, and his distinctive personal perspective on books and things; then The Major and the Missionary would be rewarding next-step.

The editor is Diana Pavlac Glyer, a scholar who has done more than anyone to establish that the Inklings was primarily, and at its core, a writers group - and not "just" a group of Christian friends meeting for conversation. (See The Company They Keep, 2007) 

The Major and the Missionary comprises eighty-seven letters and an editorial apparatus (including a foreword, introduction, afterword and index). It describes and depicts Warnie Lewis's pen-friendship with Blanche Biggs (1909-2008), an Australian-born medical missionary in Papua, New Guinea; which was conducted entirely by letters over the last five years of Warnie's life. 

Blanche was born some fourteen years after Warnie, and outlived him by thirty-five years - nearly reaching her century. 

Blanche got in touch in 1968, having read his edition of letters by CS Lewis; and asking  Warnie for advice on how to deal with her own collection of memorabilia. The early letters are business-like, focused on matters of organization and suggestions about agents, publishers and the like. 

The main common interest for Warnie and Blanche was Christianity. Both were Anglicans, but with different emphases and priorities, and many letters were concerned with debating these differences. Indeed, there are many "bones of contention" between the two of them and many matters! 

Blanche comes across as both an unusual and a strong character; whose missionary commitment led her to endure (voluntarily, and for minimal reward) extreme hardship and periods of prolonged isolation. She had her own views derived from her experiences, and expounded them without apology - yet she was also a careful "listener", and thoughtfully responded to Warnie's statements and comments.  

Yet it was clearly affection and interest that predominated, and grew; and maintained the epistolary interchange. 

Gradually the correspondence becomes more personal, and then affectionate - as life details were shared, serious matters (often to do with church and theology) were discussed, and personal advice sought and given. 

This is reflected in the mode of address which evolved from the formal "Major Lewis", "Doctor Biggs" to first names and mild endearments. 

By the end it is clear there was a genuine affection between the two; including a wisful desire to meeet - if not in this world, then the next. 

The friendship was abruptly brought to an end by Warnie's terminal illness; during which his side of the correspondence was taken over by Len Miller. Len, with his wife Mollie, were employed to look-after Warnie in his later years: providing meals, household maintenance, daily companionship, and accompanying Warnie on holidays. 

Having read about the Millers in various biographies and memoirs of the Lewis brothers, I was pleased at last to hear Len "speak for himself". 

Despite that this is a scholarly and specialized book, I found it easy and enjoyable to read; much as if I was reading a novel. 

Both correspondents were good writers with clearly expressed opinions, there was an arc to the "story" provided by their deepening friendship; and I found their discussions of contemporary news items to be enlightening - jogging various childhood memories, and providing the special insight of a contemporary perspective (recorded without the distortions of hindsight). 

The paperback edition is nicely produced, well designed, and pleasant to handle and read. (I usually find that US publishers are superior to those in the UK in such respects - and this was no exception.) 

I would personally have appreciated biographies of the two correspondents at the very start of the volume, including photographs of Warnie and Blanche from the approximate time of their letter writing; to set the context for my reading. As it is, photos are few, and biographical information rather scattered through the editorial elements.  

In sum, I was delighted by The Major and the Missionary; which comes on top of a biography by Don W King published the previous year. A decade ago, I had hardly dared to expect any such riches of new information on Warnie! 

There are, it seems, quite a few of us Warnie Lewis fans around the place - a burgeoning cult perhaps (for this least-cultic of imaginable people)? 

And I have not given up hope of a new and larger edition of the WH Lewis diaries - which have been out for print for over forty years. 

Charles Williams Did influence JRR Tolkien's writing - The Place of the Lion and The Notion Club Papers

For the past fifty years it has been normal to assume that JRR Tolkien disliked (probably because he was jealous of) Charles Williams; and that Williams did not influence Tolkien's writing.

Despite that Tolkien personally claimed such things in writing; none of these are strictly correct. 

Tolkien was good friends with Williams, during Williams's life - it was only some years after Williams died, when Tolkien became aware of some aspects of CW's biography, that Tolkien turned against Williams and began to make misleading statements to play-down their friendship. 

The denial of Williams's influence on Tolkien is more complex. As a generalization, it is true to say that the two men had different minds, aims, and literary styles - and there is no striking influence of Williams noticeable in the works Tolkien published during his lifetime - especially not The Lord of the Rings. 

But more can be said. 

One major influence of Williams is not in The Lord of the Rings, but in the fact that it was attempted at all, and soon became a more ambitious book than The Hobbit, and directed at adults. 

This was - I believe - a consequence of the powerful effect - on CS Lewis as well as JRR Tolkien - of encountering Williams's novel The Place of the Lion in 1936. This led Lewis and Tolkien making a "deal" to embark on attempting to write "adult" fantasy or science fiction novels of a kind they especially liked reading. 

Lewis produced the Space Trilogy, and Tolkien produced two unpublished (in his lifetime) attempts at a time travel story: The Lost Road (attempted immediately), and The Notion Club Papers (attempted about a decade after Tolkien and Lewis's deal). 

And it is in an un-published  (and un-finished) work by Tolkien, The Notion Club Papers, that the influence of Charles Williams can be seen. 

Therefore, Williams did influence Tolkien's writing - and in a direct fashion - but the piece of writing Williams influenced was neither completed nor published by Tolkien.

Indeed, edited drafts of the Notion Club Papers did not appear in print until 1992, embedded in the Middle of the Sauron Defeated volume of Christopher Tolkien's The History of Middle Earth - nearly fifty years after Williams's death, and nearly twenty years since JRR Tolkien's death.   

In the event; Williams's influence was invisibly absorbed-into The Lord of the Rings, but only via the secondary effects of the NCPs, which were mainly on Numenor and its use as a "backstory" for the Dunedain; and the Numenorean language of Adunaic (which evolved into the Common Speech of Middle Earth). 

It seems to me very likely that Tolkien's writing of The Notion Club Papers was a direct consequence of the death of Charles Williams. 

The Williams derivation is seen firstly in the origins of the NCPs as a playful "alter-ego" discussion group, explicitly referencing The Inklings, read to The Inklings as work-in-progress in instalments, and with characters loosely-based on the post-Williams membership. 

In this respect I regard it as significant that there is no Notion Club member who is described as based-on the just-deceased Charles. It is as if the NCPs was a tribute to Charles's memory, and as such to include CW among the somewhat facetious caricatures the NCP membership would have been disrespectful and altogether inappropriate. 

Yet, if I am right, The Notion Club Papers were developed as a creative celebration of Tolkien's friend and fellow Inkling Charles Williams, conceived in remembrance of the catalytic and transformative effects of The Place of the Lion, back in 1936. 

According to Christopher Tolkien's dating; The Notion Club Papers was written during a period from late 1944, a few months before the death of Charles Williams up to the summer of 1946 after which work on The Lord of the Rings was re-commenced, and the NCPs were set aside finally and irrevocably. 

These dates set a bound to work on the Notion Club Papers - they were written between late 1944 and mid 1946; but there is (I think) no reference to the NCPs until August 1946 (in Warren Lewis's diary), and my prediction would be that the Notion Club Papers was begun in mid 1945, some time after Charles Williams's death on 15th May.   

During this period when work of LotR was suspended; it is likely that the Notion Club Papers was Tolkien's major writing project - alongside preparing his essay On Fairy Stories for publication in a memorial Festschrift volume for Charles Williams. It seems that Tolkien's thoughts, and those of the Inklings as a group, were almost certain to be much occupied with Williams.  

Among Charles William's novels, The Place of the Lion is the only one that we know for sure was highly-rated and valued by Tolkien. 

And, among CW's novels, The Place of the Lion is distinctive in its structure. A group of modern people have formed a kind of spiritual research society, and these inadvertently open-up a "channel" to the ancient and primal world of Platonic Ideas or Archetypes. This channel to another world operates through the minds of group members.

The various Platonic Archetypes then flood-through the minds of particular people; enter into the modern world, and begin to wreak havoc. 

In broad terms; this is an exact analogy to the basic plot of the Notion Club Papers. A group of writers become deeply interested in viewing other times and places, making various attempts to attune their minds with the past and remote parts of the universe; and thereby the NC inadvertently establish a channel of contact with the persons and era of the downfall and drowning of Numenor.  

Once this channel has been opened among NC members, then the winds and tidal waves that had destroyed Numenor flood-through into the modern world, and wreak havoc. 

Therefore, in a general sense, The Place of the Lion offered Tolkien a model for building a relationship between the modern everyday world, and some other world with more profound and transcendent aspects; a model that involved the deliberate attunement of minds happening among members of a particular group. 

Or, to put it differently (and as explicitly stated within the NCP), The Place of the Lion provided for Tolkien a way of linking mundane history to mythic reality, on the assumption that the remote past was actually mythic in its reality. 

On such a basis; at one point, Tolkien considered using The Notion Club Papers as the framing for the Hobbit/ Lord of the Rings/ Silmarillion; as a way of explaining how knowledge of Numenor/ Middle Earth/ Arda, came to be transmitted to modern times.

In the end, Tolkien framed his stories with the fiction that ancient manuscripts (such as The Red Book of Westmarch) had survived through the millennia, and somehow come into his hands as their "editor"; but while writing the NCPs, he was exploring the idea that there was a direct, mind-to-mind, transmission of such knowledge via the Notion Club.   

In sum; a specific focus on The Place of the Lion among all of Charles William's work, and a consideration of the chronology and form of Tolkien's writing, and the inclusion of Tolkien's unpublished and unfinished works; leads to a recognition of a strong, and indeed decisive, influence of Charles Williams on JRR Tolkien.  

**

Note: As can be seen in the links above, I (as well as others) have fairly often commented that The Notion Club Papers was Tolkien's "Charles Williams novel" - in a general sense, and in an "atmospheric" way. 

I am now saying more than this, and in a much more specific sense: that the NCPs was not just "a" Charles Williams novel, but related to one particular novel: The Place of the Lion. 

And furthermore that this was purposively so: that Tolkien wrote The Notion Club Papers with Charles Williams and The Place of the Lion in-mind.