Concerning “Túrin Turambar”, Chapter 21 of The Silmarillion…
Hey there fellow travelers! Welcome to The Tolkien Road, a long walk through the works and philosophy of J.R.R. Tolkien. On this episode, we begin discussing chapter 21 of The Silmarillion, “Of Túrin Turambar”. The tale of Túrin is a long one, so it’s definitely going to take more than one episode to cover. It’s also quite tragic and sad, so make sure you’ve got a box of tissues nearby. By the way, if you haven’t already, please leave The Tolkien Road a rating and feedback on iTunes. We’d love to know what you think of the podcast. Enjoy the show!
The incarnate mind, the tongue, and the tale are in our world coeval.
– Tolkien, ‘On Fairy Stories’, lecture delivered in 1939
On the surface, the meaning of the above quotation appears straightforward: humans have always used language to tell stories to one another. But why, in the expression of this idea, do we find the noun ‘mind’ modified by the unexpected adjective ‘incarnate’? My attempt to answer this question generated the following reflections on the foundations of Middle-earth.
First, the adjective itself. The Oxford English Dictionary gives two definitions of incarnate: (1) a god or a spirit in human form, and (2) a quality in physical form. The OED also provides general and particular definitions of the corresponding noun: the lower case incarnation: the living embodiment of a god, spirit, or quality; and the upper case Incarnation: the Christian belief that God the Son was embodied in human flesh as Jesus.
As a devout Catholic, the Incarnation (upper case) was for Tolkien an article of faith, a profound historical fact of the primary world. This provides an initial answer: Tolkien’s reference to the human mind as ‘incarnate’ invokes the idea that humans, as embodied souls, are made in the image of the Incarnate Divinity. As such, Tolkien can be seen pointing to the bold conclusion arrived at by the end of the passage in which our quotation appears, namely, that in making-up fairy stories humans imitate the creative activity of God:
But how powerful… was the invention of the adjective: no spell or incantation in Faërie is more potent… When we can take green from grass, blue from heaven, and red from blood, we have already an enchanter’s power… in such ‘fantasy’, as it is called, new form is made; Faërie begins; Man becomes a sub-creator.
Such imitation, it is important to note, occurs in means as well as ends: language is the instrument of both (divine) creation and (human) sub-creation.
And God said: ‘Let there be light’. And there was light… And God called the light Day, and the darkness He called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, one day. (Genesis 3, 5).
Yet the role of language in sub-creation as explained by Tolkien does not exactly mirror the linguistic dimension of God’s creative work as described in Genesis. In creating first light and then time, God employs no adjectives. In emphasizing the adjective as the key to sub-creation, Tolkien’s ‘On Fairy Stories’ reveals what we might call an ‘incarnationalist theory of language’.
The human mind, endowed with the powers of generalisation and abstraction, sees not only green-grass, discriminating it from other things… but sees that it is green as well as being grass… The mind that thought of light, heavy, grey, yellow, still, swift, also conceived of magic that would make heavy things light and able to fly, turn grey lead into yellow gold, and the still rock into swift water. (‘OFS’ 41)
For sure, abstracting and remixing adjectival qualities is not an exercise in incarnation. The projecting of a novel quality (say, blue) onto a noun (say, the moon) to form an image (of a blue moon) occurs on a purely mental and linguistic level – a “new form is made”, as Tolkien puts it, not a new thing, let alone the embodiment of spirit in living flesh.
Nevertheless, the making of imaginary form is structurally similar to the Divine act of incarnation. This is because the objects given to us by language possess the same dual nature as the incarnate spirit: a concrete object (noun) possesses abstract qualities (adjectives). The speakers of human language engage in fantasy by putting novel qualities into different linguistic objects. Put another way, the ‘incarnate mind’ is an actual instance in the world of the same dual form – the fusion of concrete and abstract – that is given to us generally in language. Indeed, it is tempting to see the incarnate mind as the anchor in reality of our linguistic practice.
We can now answer our original question. Invoking the ‘incarnate mind’ at the start of his explanation of fantasy, Tolkien points not only to the maker of fantasy but also to its very nature: a linguistic process whereby an embodied soul creates a secondary world by embodying unexpected qualities in imaginary objects.
* * *
A careful reading of the quotations from this single passage in ‘On Fairy Stories’ suggests a further, complementary train of reflection. Our initial sentence identified stories and language as coeval. But Tolkien goes on to speak of the invention of the adjective, suggesting that such modifiers were a later discovery of the human mind. Could it be that this invention was of more than linguistic significance? Did the discovery of the dual nature of linguistic objects also provide illumination into the mysterious nature of reality?
In his famous letter to Milton Waldman (circa 1951), Tolkien wrote:
I believe that legends and myths are largely made of ‘truth,’ and indeed present aspects of it that can only be received in this mode; and long ago certain truths and modes of this kind were discovered and must always reappear (Letters, letter 131).
The Christian doctrine of the Incarnation is generally absent from Arda (although it is clearly alluded to as an ‘Old Hope’ of mortal men in Tolkien’s late dialogue, the ‘Athrabeth’). Yet the general idea of the embodiment of spiritual power in material objects is a recurring theme in Tolkien’s mythology.
In the very first pages of The Silmarillion we are told how the world was first made by music, then appeared as a vision, and then came into being with the speaking of a word. Yet this created world only “came alive” when some of the Ainur descend into it: “so that they are its life and it is theirs. And therefore they are named the Valar, the Powers of the World”.
This incarnation of the Valar in the world is not some incidental detail of Tolkien’s creation story. It is the reason why Arda – in contrast to the mechanistic world envisaged by Newtonian science – is alive, enchanting, and purposeful.
Incidentally, I suspect that we here discern the reason why Saruman’s ambitions are bound to fail. Of this treacherous wizard, Treebeard tells Merry and Pippin:
He is plotting to become a Power. He has a mind of metal and wheels…
In our modern world, machines are purely physical means of generating and utilizing power. But a true Power in Middle-earth draws on a spiritual force that Saruman loses even as he builds in Isengard the superficial appearance of industrial and military power.
Further acts of incarnation – or, at least, the embodiment of the spiritual within a material object – provide the defining moments of Tolkien’s mythology. Fëanor embodies the spiritual light of the Valar in physical form – the Silmarils. And long ages later, Galadriel places the light from one of these Silmarils in a phial that she gives to Frodo, who, together with Sam, carries it all the way to Mordor.
Again, Sauron puts much of his own power into the Ring – a seemingly inanimate object with a will of its own. Here is a useful reminder that not all incarnations in Arda are good. Morgoth was one of the Valar incarnated in the world, which is why more than one power strives to shape the fate of Middle-earth.
There was more than one power at work, Frodo. The Ring was trying to get back to its master… I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker…
* * *
Our reflections upon Tolkien’s reference to the ‘incarnate mind’ in his 1939 lecture on ‘Fairy Stories’ have led us to the following tentative conclusions concerning the foundations of Middle-earth.
The central fact of Tolkien’s worldview was, undoubtedly, the Incarnation: the Christian doctrine that the Word was made flesh. This fact has no direct bearing on either the form or the content of Tolkien’s mythology, which concerns a world that has not received the Gospels.
Indirectly, however, it is of cardinal importance.
Arda is a mythological world that does not know the Incarnation, but which is largely made of the discovered ‘truth’ of incarnation.
* * *
Simon J. Cook is an independent scholar. His essay on Tolkien’s lost English mythology is published by Rounded Globe and may be downloaded from the Rounded Globe website. Links to his other publications may be found on his personal website, Ye Machine.
Concerning “Of the Return of the Noldor”, Chapter 13 of The Silmarillion…
Hey there fellow travelers! Welcome to The Tolkien Road, a long walk through the works and philosophy of J.R.R. Tolkien. On this episode, we continue our discussion of The Silmarillion with Chapter 13, “Of the Return of the Noldor”. In this chapter, the Noldor arrive in the north of Beleriand after their mass exodus from Valinor, only to be greeted by the armies of Morgoth. A lot happens in this chapter, and that means there’s a ton to discuss. By the way, if you haven’t already, please leave The Tolkien Road a rating and feedback on iTunes. We’d love to know what you think of the podcast. Enjoy the show!
Concerning “Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor”, Chapter 11 of The Silmarillion…
Hey there fellow travelers! Welcome to The Tolkien Road, a long walk through the works and philosophy of J.R.R. Tolkien. On this episode, we continue our discussion of The Silmarillion with Chapter 11, Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor, wherein we learn of the origin of the Sun and the Moon and how it all fits in to the Valars’ plan. By the way, if you haven’t already, please leave The Tolkien Road a rating and feedback on iTunes. We’d love to know what you think of the podcast. Enjoy the show!
Concerning “Of the Sindar”, Chapter 10 of The Silmarillion, wherein we find out what’s been happening back in Beleriand…
Hey there fellow travelers! Welcome to The Tolkien Road, a long walk through the works and philosophy of J.R.R. Tolkien. On this episode, we resume our discussion of The Silmarillion with Chapter 10, “Of the Sindar”, wherein we learn what’s been going on with Thingol, Melian, and the rest of the folks that missed the boat to the Blessed Realm. By the way, if you haven’t already, please leave The Tolkien Road a rating and feedback on iTunes. We’d love to know what you think of the podcast. Enjoy the show!
Concerning “Flight to the Ford,” Book 1, Chapter 12 of The Lord of the Rings, wherein Strider and the hobbits deal with the aftermath of the Black Riders’ attack…
Hey there fellow travelers! Welcome to The Tolkien Road, a long walk through the works and philosophy of J.R.R. Tolkien. On this episode, we continue our discussion of The Lord of the Rings with Book 1, Chapter 12 of Fellowship, “Flight to the Ford”, wherein Strider and the hobbits make a last desperate dash for Rivendell. By the way, if you haven’t already, please leave The Tolkien Road a rating and feedback on iTunes. We’d love to know what you think of the podcast. Enjoy the show!
Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament. – Tolkien, Letters
Well before I was Catholic, I felt an allure to Catholicism via Tolkien. To this day, I attribute a substantial part of my conversion to his influence. I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what it was, but I believe it to have been something like the strange attraction of the Eucharist, an intuition of great profundities, of a never-ending realm of latent joy beyond all sorrow.
Like Catholicism itself, the heart of Tolkien’s faith was the Eucharist, what he calls here the Blessed Sacrament. The quote above, taken from a letter to his son Michael, serves as a final word on fatherly romantic wisdom. Simply put, Michael had asked his father for advice on women. What is particularly surprising about this quote then is how Tolkien does not make the Eucharist simply a matter of “happiness fulfilled,” a fairy-tale ending (as it were), but instead a way of seeing all realities finally fulfilled, even the harsh ones. After all, as soon as he claims that one will find noble and virtuous things such as “romance, glory, honour, and fidelity” in the Eucharist, he makes a great deal of the fact that in the Eucharist one will find “Death” as well. How can this be, and furthermore, how can this lead to happiness?
The Catechism of the Catholic Church calls the Eucharist “the source and summit of the Christian life.” Indeed, in most cases, to walk into a Catholic sanctuary is to walk into the presence of the Eucharist. [1] Furthermore, to live as a Catholic is to center one’s life around the ritual way founded in it. The Catholic faith as a way of being begins and ends in the perpetual presence of Jesus Christ, the one who is “with us always.” The Church exists to serve the Eucharist, and she exists to receive it all the same. The Eucharist is a whole universe, a hidden new reality, in and of itself, drawing all things to itself.
What is the Eucharist? The simplest way to describe it is as the Real Presence of Jesus Christ. To the naked eye, it appears as simple bread and wine. To the eye of faith, it is beloved as the glorified body, blood, soul, and divinity of the Second Person of the Godhead, Jesus Christ himself. And this point is important, for though the Catholic admits the Eucharist to be a sacrifice, it is an unbloody sacrifice, a sacrifice made freely and out of love. It is the sacrifice that transcends and conquers death, yet passes through it all the same. It is divine food, that which is capable of elevating the human soul to the greatest heights of heaven. It is the humble food capable of transforming sinner to saint from the inside out.
A Happy Death
Thus, when Tolkien admits that “Death” is to be found in the Blessed Sacrament, he is not being morbid, but expounding upon the deep hope to be found therein: death leading to abundant life. Like the grain which must be ground down and the grape which must be trodden upon, so Christ must die in order to show forth His life-giving potential in the Resurrection. Like the bread and wine on a natural level, the Blessed Sacrament, the very presence of Christ, is the supernatural food that rises from destruction in order to give divine life to humanity.
It is also, as Tolkien identifies, the willing “surrender of all” that nonetheless leads to total fulfillment “of every man’s heart’s desires.” Why is this? Because though we must lose everything in order to gain Christ, in gaining Christ we gain the eternal, and the source of all things. To possess Christ is to possess the entirety of every good, even if now that possession seems hidden from our eyes, as Christ himself seems hidden in the Eucharist.
Middle-earth’s Modus Operandi
It should come as no surprise then that Tolkien could speak of The Lord of the Rings as a “fundamentally religious and Catholic work,” for in it we see time and again the same law in operation, that to die to oneself for the greater good is not really to lose one’s life but to gain it more fully (though perhaps not exactly as we would have imagined it). We find the ancient tale of Lúthien on the lips of Aragorn, the She-elf who gave her own immortality for the sake of her beloved, gaining for them both a greater glory yet unknown. We see the resurrection of Gandalf after his fall into the depths of Moria, no longer the Gray Pilgrim, but now the true White Wizard replacing the treacherous Saruman. And we see, of course, Frodo himself, the little hobbit with the weight of the world placed on his shoulders, losing the Shire but gaining the Blessed Realm.
For Tolkien, the Eucharist is the principle always in operation, the very “secret life in creation” drawing all things to their end. Indeed, throughout Tolkien, we find that wonderful, alluring, and strangely comforting paradox, that in order to gain and possess our life in full, we must be willing to lose it.
Where else do you see the “eucharistic principle” in Tolkien’s works? Please feel free to comment below.
FOOTNOTES
1 – Just look for the soft glow of a little red candle. Christ is somewhere close by.
What is a Barrow-wight? Who are the men of Carn-Dûm? Is there any connection between them and the Black Riders? What’s up with Frodo’s latest mysterious dream? On this episode of The Tolkien Road, we discuss all this and more as we continue our discussion of The Lord of the Rings with Book 1, Chapter 8 of Fellowship, “Fog on the Barrow Downs.” By the way, if you haven’t already, please leave The Tolkien Road a rating and feedback on iTunes. We’d love to know what you think of the podcast. Enjoy the show!
Topics of discussion include:
What is a barrow?
What is a barrow-wight?
Who are the men of Carn-dûm?
Saying goodbye to Goldberry.
How this chapter shows the vast ancient history of Middle-earth.
Frodo’s dream.
And much more!
By the way, to see the Tolkien haiku(s) that didn’t make it onto the podcast, scroll down.
[powerpress]
[powerpress_subscribe]
Haiku submitted but not read on air…
Josh Sosa:
Númenórean
Steel of the West reclaimed
to combat Shadow.
Mary Grace:
A Barrow-wight strikes
The hobbits who became lost
Evil gold has found
Carn Dûm in Angmar
Felled Men of Westernesse
They forged blades Tom found
John:
Bombadil haven
Behind. Cold barrow downs can’t
Swallow Frodo’s heart.
Arcane and ancient
Evil has only to drag
All under with it.
Feel free to add your own haiku for this chapter in the comments below. Keep ’em coming everyone!
“The canons of narrative art in any medium cannot be wholly different; and the failure of poor films is often precisely in exaggeration, and in the intrusion of unwarranted matter owing to not perceiving where the core of the original lies.”– Tolkien
Let’s be 100% clear on one thing: any attempt to squeeze the entirety of The Silmarillion into 1 film would be a disaster. (1) Fortunately, cinematic universes are all the rage amongst Hollywood executives these days, and so the question really becomes what is the appropriate number of films?
Jokes about a 72-part film series (2) aside, could you cover all of the stories over the course of 3 films? Perhaps, but if Tolkienites were upset by the exclusion of the Old Forest from Jackson’s Fellowship, how much more will they resent a film that squeezes the Coming of the Elves into 15 minutes? One aspect to which any Silmarillion films must be true if they are to succeed is in the effect of conveying the transition of long ages, and to that end, I believe a trilogy of trilogies would be the most effective cinematic way to communicate the entire story of the Quenta Silmarillion.(3)
Now some may scoff at the thought of a single novel-length book being expanded into 9 films. Haven’t we been down this road before with The Hobbit, which really should have been at most two films? Do we really need that much bloat? Doesn’t Tolkien himself decry the “exaggeration” of such film-making? This is all true – to a point. After all, The Hobbit and The Silmarillion are quite different books. The former is one very linear story with one hero, the latter a compilation of inter-connected stories featuring various heroes. While I think Tolkien would have viewed three Hobbit films as overkill, I think he might have doubted the notion of being true to The Silmarillion in even 9. Yet, all things considered, I believe nine films, a trilogy of trilogies, strikes the right balance between rushing it and bloating it.
Previous posts in this series:
The Long Defeat: Why Christopher Tolkien must act to secure the best visual treatment for The Silmarillion.
A Majestic Whole: Is cinema the best visual medium for The Silmarillion?
The Core of The Silmarillion
While The Silmarillion cannot be considered a novel in the common sense, it is nevertheless at its core one story. Therefore, before we can even talk about how we’d execute the film series, we must identify 3 things common to any story:
Who is the chief protagonist of The Silmarillion?
What is the problem faced by this protagonist?
What is the “meta-problem” faced by this protagonist?
At a high-level, the answers to these 3 questions are pretty straight-forward.
The chief protagonist of The Silmarillion is a group, the Children of Ilúvatar, i.e. mostly Elves and a few Men.
The problem these protagonists face is that Melkor wants to make them miserable, kill or enslave them, and steal the holy Silmarils.
The “meta-problem” these protagonists face is that they are prideful, easily manipulated, and have some deep-seated need of the holy and beautiful light of Valinor.
Now, this may seem over-simplified, but if we peel back as many layers as possible, I do believe it’s the core. Some might take issue with the fact that I don’t include the Valar amongst the chief protagonists. That’s because they aren’t. The Children of Ilúvatar are Luke Skywalker. The Valar are Obi-Wan Kenobi (and to some extent the Force itself). The Valar play a hugely important role, but not the chief role.
So if we give ourselves a “center” for this 9-film series, it will be this: the Children of Ilúvatar must overcome the evil of Melkor and their own envy and pride in order to re-gain the holy Silmarils from the Dark Lord.
Telling the Tales
While 9 films certainly seems like a lot, for a book as dense as The Silmarillion it’s really not. In addition to the core story of the Silmarils, there are dozens of sub-plots spanning several hundred years that must be considered. (4) How does one keep the storytelling consistent throughout all 9 films while still allowing for the incorporation of things that may not work for the main action in a film?
One of the triumphs of Jackson’s films was his adept use of prologue. Fellowship won over audiences from the beginning because of Galadriel’s narration of the history of the Ring, something Jackson must have picked up from Tolkien’s own storytelling methods in The Lord of the Rings. (5) Through well-narrated flashbacks, major events that are important as background could be incorporated in order to add to the epic feel of the films without getting in the way of the core story. There’s just no other way to handle something like “Ainulindalë” (and it must be handled rightly).
Tolkien himself struggled with a “frame narrative” for The Silmarillion before apparently giving up. Yet what if it was Galadriel herself who provided the frame for the series? After all, she was in Valinor, she was a witness to and survivor of all of the major events of The Silmarillion, and in her time in Valinor she most likely would have heard directly from the Valar of the Music of the Ainur and the history leading up to Bliss of Valinor. And she is of course already well known to audiences of Jackson’s films. She seems the perfect candidate for relating the events of the ancient past.
The other great example of an introduction is the beginning of The Return of the King, essentially a blow-by-blow account of Gollum’s story as told by Gandalf in “The Shadow of the Past.” This was used to reintroduce Gollum to us in order to deepen our empathy with his character, to remind us that he was once one of the cute and funny hobbits as he transitioned over the course of the trilogy from a supporting role to one of the central figures. This could work well as new entries in the series have to reintroduce us to characters that were once in the background. Thingol, for example, will be off screen for a long time, but becomes highly important late in The Silmarillion. How does one suddenly reintroduce such an important character?
The Three Trilogies
In my next post, I’m going to actually outline all 9 films as I could see them playing out. As a teaser, here’s what I’d name the 3 trilogies (subject to change of course):
The Dawn of Middle-earth
The War of the Jewels
The Fall of Beleriand
Naming films is a tough thing. I’d actually prefer “The Light of Valinor” over “The Dawn of Middle-earth” but…marketing. No one outside of hardcore Tolkienites knows what “Silmarillion” or “Valinor” are, but they do know that “Middle-earth” means Tolkien and the world of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. Once you are done with the first trilogy though, it will be enough to refer to The Silmarillion: The War of the Jewels because people will know what you are talking about.
It’s fun to think about this stuff, and I’m looking forward to sharing my outlines in the next post. After that, I’ll take a look at what I think is the best possible outcome: a multi-season TV series.
Do you agree with my assessment of The Silmarillion‘s core? Do you think a film series could work? I’d love to hear from you in the comments below.
Footnotes
1 – Let’s call this the “hobbit-in-reverse” mentality. Fortunately it’s the least likely of all scenarios (I think).
2 – EOTT’s reckoning neglects “Ainulindalë”, “Valaquenta”, and “Akallabêth.” I’ll give them a pass on “Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age”, but while they’re at it, couldn’t we get a 3-part film series out of the Waldman letter as well? Those indices are pretty epic too. Surely there’s a whole trilogy possible for each chart? See? Just a little creative massaging Hollywood executive-style and you are at a whopping 100 films, enough to keep Tolkien fans happy for multiple lifetimes. Yay!
3 – This excludes “Akallabêth” which would need to be done as its own thing anyway. Also, just in case you didn’t get the memo, “Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age” already got the film treatment, though I could see more being done with the story of the Rings of Power and the Last Alliance of Men and Elves.
4 – And that’s just including the First Age in that count. There are probably thousands of years that transpire before the First Age even begins.
5 – The introduction to the first Hobbit film is also outstanding, probably the best thing about the whole trilogy. Unfortunately it was slowly downhill from there.
Do J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and Pope Francis’s Laudato Si’ have similar messages? Currents correspondent Katie Breidenbach speaks with a Catholic writer who believes so.
True Myths Archive 