The Silmarillion Discussion at The Hall of Fire

[Andreth]

I think Eärendil got a raw deal. All he did was try to get the Valar to live up to their responsiblites as caretakers of Arda.

I also feel sorry for Maedros and Maglor driven to complete the Oath and knowing it was wrong. You get this sense of self-loathing and despair from that sequence.

I know have more to say but I just got my first Pride post up so I need some time to switch gears.

[Sassafras]

Ah.

Well. Here I am:

Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again.



I think that this time I may have really raised the bar on procrastination. Even for me. But if I may join the conversation once again ....

I've been stuck in a time warp, so I do apologise for posting out of sequence but there are a couple, or more, of things I want to say about Melian, Thingol, the Silmaril(s) and The Ruin of Doriath.

A quick caveat: I haven't read any posts in this, or any other, thread for at least two months (Don't ask I've got my reasons ) If I repeat what's already been said or trudge through familiar country, I hope you will all forgive me.

That said:

Without further ado

< Oh Lor! I hope this is worth saying>



The ruin of Doriath hinges upon those jewels again, doesn’t it? It all always comes back to Fëanor and his inspiration in crafting the Silmarils. Maybe his intentions were pure. Maybe the thought that came unbidden into his mind came from Eru (as I believe it did). Maybe he thought it was necessary to capture the Light of Laurelin and Telperion. Maybe he had the eleven foresight and sensed that Melkor intended harm and the disruption of Valinor‘s bliss. Maybe all or some or none of these suppositions are valid ......... but what does appear to be true is the fact that as soon as the blended Light of the Two were imprisoned and bound within that crystal like diamonds, more strong than adament, the forging of the jewels will produce a markedly opposite effect than the free, clear, Light of the Trees.

Where the Light of the Trees produced harmony, the Silmarils exact discord. Where the pure Light exalts, the Silmarils debase. Where once there was peace there is now war and disharmony between the Elves. There is ruin. There is exile. There is that awful oath and there is the doom of Mandos. What was done cannot be undone until all the elven world has come unraveled and all their paths lead to the Long Defeat.

For me, the Elves are wreathed in tragedy and I cannot believe otherwise than that their collective fates were written within the Music. To say different (free will if you like) requires a massive suspension of (dis)belief and far too many co incidentals to make it palatable.

Or perhaps that’s just me and my half-empty glass.



Anyway:


The comparison seems inevitable but as with the Ring, here there are very few immune to the siren song. Both Ring and Silmaril will tell the truth about the inner man, or elf, or dwarf. They both (Ring and Jewel alike) seem to magnify any blemish or darkness within any heart; those who harbour an inner greed or lust no matter how slight or how well buried will find it fully fledged under the influence of the jewels. And yet, even within the splintering and the dark which accompanies both the Silmarils and the Ring and they who languish in torment under the spell ..... there are bright deeds and pure hearts, like Finrod for one and Faramir for another, both blessed with a pure and lofty heart necessary to resist. Yet they are few, so few they can be counted on one hand. Melian. Lúthien. Beren, he who lost his hand and his life (more or less) for love. Countless more were ensnared one way or the other...... beginning with Fëanor whose coveted ness grew apace with his pride ..... and we all know where those emotions led: exile from Valinor and the fall of the Elves. All of which wends its convoluted way to the necklace of the Dwarves, this Nauglamír made for Finrod; the sole treasure brought out of Nargothrand by Húrin.

It gives one pause, does it not, to consider that perhaps the finger of Eru might once again have something to do with the fact that Húrin decides to bring a most perilous thing to Thingol in Doriath?

< One can almost hear and see the painter’s brush putting the finishing touches upon the canvas ........ the sound of the loom weaving the final threads is loud indeed ....... the tragic saga of the great jewels is near completion and waits only for Eärendil to be thrust into the sky as the great Music plays itself out >

So.

<off of my pet soapbox and>

Returning with Húrin to Doriath; the necklace laid across Thingol‘s knees and it comes into his mind that it should be remade and in it should be set the Silmaril.

For as the years passed Thingol‘s thought turned unceasingly to the jewel of Fëanor, and became bound to it, and he liked not to let it rest even behind the doors of his innermost treasury; and he was minded now to bear it with him always, waking and sleeping.


And Thingol, like Fëanor before him, is possessed by that which he possesses. It will kill him. It was always going to kill him. In the moment he turned away from Light and even from Melian and peered into the dusk of his own soul, in that instant the bride-price was set for Lúthien, and Thingol’s death became inevitable. And still yet there is light to be had out of the dark, for by the forced consent of Lúthien’s marriage to Beren there came Dior and the enrichment of the Atani by being the forefather of the race of Half-Elven.

What I find so unutterably sad in this particular chapter is Melian:

Melian sat long in silence beside Thingol the King, and her thought passed back into the starlit years and to their first meeting among the nightingales of Nan Elmoth in ages past, and she knew that her parting from Thingol was the forerunner of a greater parting, and that the doom of Doriath was drawing nigh



And I wonder if the enchantment is broken now she has fulfilled her purpose:

But now Thingol lay dead, and his spirit had passed to the halls of Mandos; and with his death a change came also upon Melian. Thus it came to pass that her power was withdrawn in that time from the forests of Neldoreth and Region, and Esgalduin the enchanted river spoke with a different voice, and Doriath lay open to its enemies.

I cannot quite make up my mind if she, forlorn and grief-stricken returns to Valinor or if, her work done, she is recalled.

Either way equals pain and loss.

[Andreth]

I think she was grief stricken and returned to Valinor because of it.

Some of your thoughts echo what Verlyn Flieger talks about in "Splintered Light". Excellent book if you haven't read it. The big difference between the Silmarils and the Ring, of course, is that the Silmarils aren't inherently evil. It may amplify evil intentions but they in of themselves are not evil. Whereas the Ring was created by an evil being and is tainted with evil.

The tension Tolkien created between free will and fate is interesting. And not something, I think, that can ever be completely resolved to the satisfaction of all.

[N.E. Brigand]

The big difference between the Silmarils and the Ring, of course, is that the Silmarils aren't inherently evil.

Yet the Silmarils apparently have to be unmade for that final eucatastrophe.

[Sassafras]

I think she was grief stricken and returned to Valinor because of it.

Some of your thoughts echo what Verlyn Flieger talks about in "Splintered Light". Excellent book if you haven't read it. The big difference between the Silmarils and the Ring, of course, is that the Silmarils aren't inherently evil. It may amplify evil intentions but they in of themselves are not evil. Whereas the Ring was created by an evil being and is tainted with evil.

The tension Tolkien created between free will and fate is interesting. And not something, I think, that can ever be completely resolved to the satisfaction of all.

Indeed.

I have read "Splintered Light". Flieger expresses many of my own thoughts and feelings far more eloquently than I ever could ...... but long before I read one single word of this most excellent book, one of my contentions has always been that capturing the blended light of the Trees, while not inherently evil, has distorted the Light and somehow sullied its brilliance so that its effect is modified, dependant upon the character of each individual inner heart.

Imo, the Silmarils are a double-edged sword. They are not a perfect representation of the Two Trees absolute good. There was something in the act of capture that rendered them capable of magnifying inner flaws.

Which is precisely why Fëanor was chosen to make them.

[yovargas]

(stops by to hug the bejebus outta Sassy)

[Voronwë the Faithful]

It's wonderful to see you here again, Sassy! I think your observation about the Silmarils is right on the money. I'll have more to say later, but I couldn't pass by with saying how happy I was to see a post by you.

[Athrabeth]

Well, at last I’ve been able to return to the discussion after what seems like some pretty dicey navigating through the “shadows and enchantment” of the real world! As usual, I haven't been able to put into words all my thoughts about this final chapter, but as usual, it has seemed to take an awful lot of words to express those rather limited thoughts.

. . . and the winds that before he had striven with might not now bear him back as swift as his desire.

Is that not such a typical Tolkien line? It either makes you say or

I think we all know which camp I am in.

<Athrabeth pitches her tent beside Voronwë’s >

My first margin scribbles for this chapter are beside the second paragraph, which tells of Eärendil forging his friendship with Círdan the Shipwright, who lends him aid in building Vingilot, “fairest of the ships of song”: a ship of white and silver and gold, like the light of the Two Trees, like the light contained within the Silmarils.

Círdan. What a role he plays in the legendarium, from the great journey of the Firstborn to the sailing of the White Ship from the Havens. Even Galadriel seems like a youngster in comparison. It’s odd to think that Círdan is always there, on the edges of Middle-earth and on the edges of the greater tale, and yet we know virtually nothing about his inner workings. Counselor, guardian, messenger, warrior, builder, - he is a unique constant within the story, supporting its most pivotal characters and events, but never taking center stage. For me, he seems almost beyond category, unlike any other of the greatest of the Eldar (and I think that he is indeed, one of the very greatest in influence and actions, which is interesting, considering that he is one of the Moriquendi). There’s something distinctly reassuring about Círdan’s presence throughout all the ages of Arda; like he, himself, is a haven from all the treachery and fear and weariness and self-importance that plagues Middle-earth’s inhabitants. A truer heart, a sharper mind, a more skilled pair of hands could not have been found to design and build Vingilot, the ship destined to sail the heavens holding the most powerful symbol of steadfast hope and high beauty within Arda. What a guy!

But, of course, Ulmo did not allow the jewel to be lost, bearing Elwing out of the waves and giving her the likeness of a great white bird. It is easy to forgive Tolkien for this flight of fancy, for the image of Elwing appearing to Eärendil "as a white cloud exceeding swift beneath the moon, as a star over the sea moving in strange course, a pale flame on wings of storm" falling from the air unto the timber of Eärendil's ship Vingelot is one of great power.

I guess I don’t see the image of Elwing as a white bird as a “flight of fancy” within the context of the story. It is “magic”, yes, but it is magic consistent with the structure of Arda and the powers of the Valar. It seems to expressly hearken back to the role of swans as the servants and messengers of Ulmo, as well as portending Elwing’s future ability to transform herself so that she could fly, “shining, rose-stained in the sunset…to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven.” This, after all, is the grand-daughter of Lúthien, whose line is descended from Melian and whose skills in the art of transformation helped win back the Silmaril.

In her post, Sassy muses on the negative, dysfunctional influence of the Silmaril(s) over Fëanor and Thingol. But Elwing suffers no such prideful possessiveness. Her gift of the Silmaril to Eärendil is far more than an act of trust and love for her spouse, it is a gift to all the Children of Ilúvatar. Here is the balance, at last, to the covetous withholding of the Blessed Light by both Fëanor and Morgoth and the delusional self-importance of Thingol. Eärendil may be the one to bear the Silmaril to the Powers of Valinor, but it is Elwing’s freely chosen and selfless act of love that secures the release of Elves and Men from Morgoth’s grip.

There are countless passages in Tolkien’s works that evoke memorable images for me, and I count Eärendil’s ascent into Tirion as one of my favourites, with the glistening “dust of diamonds” clinging to him and the Silmaril shining upon his brow as he walks through the White City. And like Voronwë, the words that herald his arrival are among the most stirring for me. They are such joyous words of wonder and awe, and surely we, as readers of the Sil, feel them profoundly after this long tale of dashed hopes and twisted betrayals and sorrowful misadventures.

I find it interesting that Eärendil defers to Elwing in making the choice given to them by Manwë, and that Elwing chooses to be judged among the Firstborn “because of Lúthien”, hinting at the magnitude of that loss for the Eldar, and reminding us of the staggering importance of Arwen’s choice six thousand years later. Unlike Andreth, I don’t feel that Eärendil gets “a raw deal”. Like Lúthien and Arwen, he makes his choice out of love, and in Tolkien’s universe, the bonds of these three great loves between Mortal and Immortal must supercede the bonds of Time and the Circles of the World. I must admit that I quite like the turn-about of a man giving up the doom of his kindred for the love of a woman.

But Elwing did not go on these journeys “for she might not endure the cold and the pathless voids” but she learned the tongue of birds, and learned from them the craft of flight, with wings of white and silver-grey. And she would fly to meet her lord and master as he returned again to Arda.

I suppose I don’t see this as a diminishment of Elwing at all, or a sign of her subservience to “her lord and master”. I’ve long assumed that when the Valar hallow Vingilot and appoint Eärendil to sit at its helm, bearing the Silmaril, a kind of change comes over him that sets him apart even from the Firstborn, whose doom he has embraced. In “The Ambarkanta”, Tolkien writes of the three levels of the skies and heavens that surround Arda: Vista, the first level, is the realm of the clouds and birds and sustains both Elves and Men; Ilmen, the second level, is the realm of the stars and Sun and Moon, and “is breathed by the Gods”; Vaiya is the third level, “The Encircling Ocean” that is bordered by the Walls of the World that separate Eä from the Timeless Void. Now, from what I understand, Eärendil’s voyages take him at the very least into the most remote regions of Vaiya (“the oceans of heaven”), so that he can guard the Door of Night through which Morgoth was cast (the line that Vingilot “passed through the Door of Night” remains odd to me, as this would seem to suggest that Eärendil left the space-time continuum of Eä, but I do seem to remember that Tolkien was a little vague or changeable about “the Door”). Tolkien did write, however: “From Vista there is no escape save for the servants of Manwë, or for such as he gives powers like to those of his people, that can sustain themselves in Ilmen or even in the upper Vaiya, which is very thin and cold.” So it seems that Eärendil is indeed given special powers in order to survive the regions where none other than the Valar could normally go. It also seems to me that one could interpret the words, “for she might not endure the cold and the pathless voids, and she loved rather the earth and sweet winds that blow on sea and hill” that it is Elwing’s own choice to dwell within the earthly region of Vista that she holds so dear, content in her independence and the pursuits of her own heart while her lover is away.

Meanwhile, Elrond and Elros are not slain as their parents fear, but instead are cherished by Maglor, though his "heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath." This is in direct contrast with the fate of Dior's sons Eluréd and Elurín, who were left to starve in the forest by the cruel servants of Celegorm, after the last kin-slaying. Does anyone want to suggest what the significance of the contrasting parallel structure might be?

I think that its significance is two-fold. Firstly it’s important to establish that the last remaining sons of Fëaner still have hearts capable of mercy and love, and that they both carry the oath of their father as a burden that is comparable in many ways, I think, to the terrible weight of the Ring. And, much like the pity of Frodo, Maglor’s choice of action will produce effects that will reach far, far beyond a particular moment in Time, ensuring that the line of Lúthien will continue within Middle-earth, helping shape the destinies of the two kindreds through the long ages of Arda.

“…and he cherished them…” I find these words incredibly poignant. Poor, poor Maglor – separate, with his brother, from all his kin; unable to follow his own heart, unable to find rest or sanctuary, unable to disentangle himself from his father’s web of treacherous pride and empty vengeance. How he must yearn for love and peace and healing.

I think the final tale of Maedhros and Maglor must be one of the saddest there is in the Sil. Imagine being fully cognizant of the fact that you are trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place for as long as you live. Imagine being so weary and bent under the weight of an oath that you cannot cast off. The liberating state of estel is not for them, as can be seen in their last council together that Voronwë has already cited:

“But how shall our voices reach to Ilúvatar beyond the Circles of the World? And by Ilúvatar we swore in our madness, and called the Everlasting Darkness upon us, if we kept not our word. Who shall release us?”

I said long ago in this discussion how much I disliked Fëanor, who, with the foresight of imminent death, saw no hope for the recovery of the Silmarils and yet still demanded that his sons “hold to their oath, and avenge their father.” What an arrogant, self-absorbed, wicked thing to do; to lock his children in such a terrible doom, to think of their lives as nothing more than an extension of his own, to condemn them to live in hopelessness and despair. Never more acute is my contempt for Fëanor than when I read,

Then Eonwë as herald of the Elder King summoned the Elves of Beleriand to depart from Middle-earth. But Maedhros and Maglor would not hearken, and they prepared, though now with weariness and loathing, to attempt in despair the fulfillment of their oath; for they would have given battle for the Silmarils, were they withheld, even against the victorious host of Valinor, even though they stood alone against all the world.



And once again, I find myself thinking how important and fitting it seems to the greater tale that there be the possibility (at least) of Fëanor freely giving back the Silmarils to the world so that it may be healed (and he and his sons along with it).

But my question, of course, is who really compelled Fëanor and his sons to swear by Ilúvatar himself? Did not even this ‘dreadful Oath’ have its uttermost source in Him?

I don’t think Ilúvatar compels any of his Children to do anything. To do so, I believe, would go against the “prime directive” of the purpose of sub-creation.

To my mind, it was Fëanor’s own blind anger and grief, along with his delusional self-importance and pride that compelled him to swear by Ilúvatar; and it was the unquestioning love of, and loyalty to, their father that compelled his sons. This I can understand. This I can relate to. How can I begin to fathom the infinite thought of an omniscient god?

At its core, this is our story. We should, I think, recognize ourselves in its unfolding tales of love and betrayal, of hope and bitterness, of selflessness and self-indulgence, of pride and pity. Has the “real world” been burdened by the workings of grief and anger and arrogance and vengeance? Have legacies of hatred and mistrust been passed from one generation to the next? Can “real folk” become trapped by rash promises and oaths of revenge? Can the whole world be put into peril because of the choices and actions of a few? There are some terrible truths about the human condition in this myth. I suppose I choose to look inward rather than outward to find their source.

[axordil]

I count Eärendil’s ascent into Tirion as one of my favourites, with the glistening “dust of diamonds” clinging to him and the Silmaril shining upon his brow as he walks through the White City

One of mine as well. For some reason, it recalls the silence in heaven after the opening of the seventh seal in the Apocalypse of St. John--the empty streets, the unnatural quiet, broken by the voice of Eönwë (and what a voice that must have been!).

I said long ago in this discussion how much I disliked Fëanor, who, with the foresight of imminent death, saw no hope for the recovery of the Silmarils and yet still demanded that his sons “hold to their oath, and avenge their father.” What an arrogant, self-absorbed, wicked thing to do; to lock his children in such a terrible doom, to think of their lives as nothing more than an extension of his own, to condemn them to live in hopelessness and despair.

He viewed them as he viewed all his "creations:" as extensions of his mind and will, not as a parent but as a craftsman. The greatest craftsman of all time, perhaps, but that's still not fatherhood.

[Voronwë the Faithful]

Well, at last I’ve been able to return to the discussion after what seems like some pretty dicey navigating through the “shadows and enchantment” of the real world! As usual, I haven't been able to put into words all my thoughts about this final chapter, but as usual, it has seemed to take an awful lot of words to express those rather limited thoughts.

And, as usual, your words are wonderfully expressive, my dear Ath. As always, I send you positive thoughts and hopes for navigating the "shadows and enchantment" of the real world.

In her post, Sassy muses on the negative, dysfunctional influence of the Silmaril(s) over Fëanor and Thingol. But Elwing suffers no such prideful possessiveness. Her gift of the Silmaril to Eärendil is far more than an act of trust and love for her spouse, it is a gift to all the Children of Ilúvatar. Here is the balance, at last, to the covetous withholding of the Blessed Light by both Fëanor and Morgoth and the delusional self-importance of Thingol. Eärendil may be the one to bear the Silmaril to the Powers of Valinor, but it is Elwing’s freely chosen and selfless act of love that secures the release of Elves and Men from Morgoth’s grip

.

I've been thinking about this, as well, and the fact that it was believed to be the power of the Silmaril that brought blessing and healing onto the little community by the mouths of Sirion, until it was shattered by the attack of the sons of Fëanor. I do not believe that the negative, dysfunctional influence that Sassy described so well was actually attributable to the Silmaril itself. I'm not sure if I can express this idea adequately, but in essence, I believe the pure Light preserved in the Silmarils (and only in the Silmarils, after the destruction of the Trees) tended to reflect, or even better, expose its opposite -- the negative energy -- rather than generate it.

On the other hand, it is very interesting to note that at some point after the Lord of the Rings was written, Tolkien proposed replacing this healing influence of the Silmaril on the community by the mouths of Sirion with the influence of the Elessar, according to the text printed in Unfinished Tales. I wonder what, if anything that would have meant in terms the subsequent development of the story had Tolkien ever actually returned to this portion of the Tale (remember, this was never updated by Tolkien after the original Quenta Noldorinwa was written in around 1930!). I can not help but speculate that perhaps Tolkien was no longer comfortable with having the Silmaril play such a positive role.

I find it interesting that Eärendil defers to Elwing in making the choice given to them by Manwë, and that Elwing chooses to be judged among the Firstborn “because of Lúthien”, hinting at the magnitude of that loss for the Eldar, and reminding us of the staggering importance of Arwen’s choice six thousand years later. Unlike Andreth, I don’t feel that Eärendil gets “a raw deal”. Like Lúthien and Arwen, he makes his choice out of love, and in Tolkien’s universe, the bonds of these three great loves between Mortal and Immortal must supercede the bonds of Time and the Circles of the World. I must admit that I quite like the turn-about of a man giving up the doom of his kindred for the love of a woman.

[axordil]

I believe the pure Light preserved in the Silmarils (and only in the Silmarils, after the destruction of the Trees) tended to reflect, or even better, expose its opposite -- the negative energy -- rather than generate it.

Good point. It could only bring out what was already there, for good or ill.

On the other hand, it is very interesting to note that at some point after the Lord of the Rings was written, Tolkien proposed replacing this healing influence of the Silmaril on the community by the mouths of Sirion with the influence of the Elessar, according to the text printed in Unfinished Tales.

I hate it when people try to make myths line up neatly. They never do in RL, after all. There are always contradictions and inconsistencies. I'm glad he never did it and CJRT didn't pick up on it.

[Voronwë the Faithful]

[and in a perfect parallel to Eöl`s execution long before, the dark son of the Dark Elf is cast out from the city walls to be dashed upon the rocks below.

I wanted to turn back to this for a second to note that the single detail incorporated into the published Silmarillion from the original tale The Fall of Gondolin -- the only full account of that critical element of his legendarium that Tolkien ever wrote -- is the description of how as he fell to his death, Maeglin's body "smote the rocky slopes of Amon Gwareth thrice ere it pitched into the flames below."

Of all the wealth of description in the original tale, why did Christopher choose to incorporate this one detail -- and only this one detail -- into the published text? It is quite a mystery.

[Andreth]

Dramatic effect maybe?

After re-reading the Fall in BoLTs, I am disappointed that CT didn't include more of this in the published Sil.

[Voronwë the Faithful]

What an exciting, stimulating discussion this was!

[Siberian]

I finished rereading Silm a few days ago (first in many years) and I couldn't help noticing how dense the narrative is. There's enough material for at least a few medium sized volumes (especially looking at UT and HOME). I know that Tolkien wanted Silm to be as large as LOTR, but I think it could have been even longer. Of course, they would also be so dark and tragic they would put authors like George Martin to shame Does anyone else wish that JRRT had a lifespan of a Númenórean to complete his stories in its intended greatness?

[Voronwë the Faithful]

Definitely. Although I doubt that he would have finished them to his satisfaction even if he had lived as long as Elros himself!

[Siberian]

LOL
Let's see... 20 years for each major story... he could have pulled it off

[yovargas]

Does anyone else wish that JRRT had a lifespan of a Númenórean to complete his stories in its intended greatness?

Compared to many folks around here I'm a relatively casual fan but - HELL YES!!

[Siberian]

Does anyone else wish that JRRT had a lifespan of a Númenórean to complete his stories in its intended greatness?

Compared to many folks around here I'm a relatively casual fan but - HELL YES!!

No hobbits though

[Primula Baggins]

I've learned not to imagine that a Silmarillion as Tolkien envisioned it, as long or longer than LotR, would necessarily have been as approachable for people like me—people who are most easily moved by stories told "close to the action," with characters, emotion, even dialogue.

Still, if he had had more time, and included some of the elements that he might have included if it had been his choice, I would have relished that.