Tolkien's Imaginary Time and Our Real World

Tolkien, it seems quite clear from multiple statements he made in his letters, thought of his tales as taking place in our world, but in an imaginary, mythical, or mythological time period. These are the words he uses repeatedly across the decades. He first refers to "this imagined world" in a letter to Sir Stanley Unwin on 15 October 1937 (Letters no. 17 p. 30). He first mentions the idea of an imaginary time period in another letter to Sir Stanley Unwin from 24 February 1950, where he calls the Silmarillion "a long legendary* of imaginary times in a ‘high style’" (Letters no. 124 p. 193). The final reference comes in Letter no. 316 to R. W. Burchfield, then editor of the Oxford English Dictionary, on 11 September 1970. There he offers a definition of the word Hobbit for inclusion in the forthcoming supplement to the dictionary:

One of an imaginary people, a small variety of the human race, that gave themselves this name (meaning ‘hole-dweller’) but were called by others halflings, since they were half the height of normal Men. (p. 569)

The present entry in the OED reads: "a member of an imaginary race of small people." It would be quite reasonable at this point to object that "imaginary people" don't necessarily inhabit an imaginary place or time period. True enough. But the others mentioned, those who call Hobbits "halflings," are also imaginary. You could say it's imaginary people all the way down, but it's more pertinent and less impertinent to show further clear evidence that these imaginary people live in an imaginary time period.

In Letter 211 on p. 404 (14 October 1958) Tolkien wrote to Rhona Beare, mentioning among many other things how far in the past the Fall of Barad-dûr was supposed to be, and expanding on the subject in a note at the bottom of the page:

May I say that all this is ‘mythical’, and not any kind of new religion or vision. As far as I know it is merely an imaginative invention, to express, in the only way I can, some of my (dim) apprehensions of the world. All I can say is that, if it were ‘history’, it would be difficult to fit the lands and events (or ‘cultures’) into such evidence as we possess, archaeological or geological, concerning the nearer or remoter part of what is now called Europe.... I hope the, evidently long but undefined, gap* in time between the Fall of Barad-dûr and our Days is sufficient for ‘literary credibility’, even for readers acquainted with what is known or surmised of ‘pre-history’.

* --I imagine the gap to be about 6000 years: that is we are now at the end of the Fifth Age, if the Ages were of about the same length as S.A. and T.A. But they have, I think, quickened; and I imagine we are actually at the end of the Sixth Age, or in the Seventh.

The bold italics are mine. Earlier in this same letter Tolkien had mentioned his "mythical pre-history," a phrase he uses again in the very next letter (no. 211 p. 398; no. 212 p. 406). Let's look at a few more passages, which I think can speak for themselves. At the bottom of the page, I shall attach a list of all the letters in which Tolkien refers to this world as imaginary, mythical, or mythological. 

There is of course a clash between ‘literary’ technique, and the fascination of elaborating in detail an imaginary mythical Age (mythical, not allegorical: my mind does not work allegorically). As a story, I think it is good that there should be a lot of things unexplained (especially if an explanation actually exists); and I have perhaps from this point of view erred in trying to explain too much, and give too much past history. Many readers have, for instance, rather stuck at the Council of Elrond. And even in a mythical Age there must be some enigmas, as there always are. Tom Bombadil is one (intentionally). (Letters no. 144 p. 263)

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The particular ‘myth’ which lies behind this tale, and the mood both of Men and Elves at this time, is the Downfall of Númenor: a special variety of the Atlantis tradition. That seems to me so fundamental to ‘mythical history’ – whether it has any kind of basis in real history... is not relevant – that some version of it would have to come in. (Letters no. 154 p. 293)

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I am historically minded. Middle-earth is not an imaginary world. The name is the modern form (appearing in the 13th century and still in use) of midden-erd > middel-erd, an ancient name for the oikoumenē, the abiding place of Men, the objectively real world, in use specifically opposed to imaginary worlds (as Fairyland) or unseen worlds (as Heaven or Hell). The theatre of my tale is this earth, the one in which we now live, but the historical period is imaginary. The essentials of that abiding place are all there (at any rate for inhabitants of N.W. Europe), so naturally it feels familiar, even if a little glorified by the enchantment of distance in time. (Letters no. 183 p. 345)

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Mine is not an ‘imaginary’ world, but an imaginary historical moment on ‘Middle-earth’ – which is our habitation. (Letters no. 183 p. 351)

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I have, I suppose, constructed an imaginary time, but kept my feet on my own mother-earth for place. (Letters no. 211 p. 404)

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In your paragraph there is a missing link, more important (I think) for the purpose than what I said, or should have said, about ‘invention’. Namely: how did linguistic invention lead to imaginary history? So that I think the passage would be more intelligible if it ran more or less so: ‘The imaginary histories grew out of Tolkien’s predilection for inventing languages. He discovered, as others have who carry out such inventions to any degree of completion, that a language requires a suitable habitation, and a history in which it can develop.’ (Letters no. 294 p. 527)

So what Tolkien presents to us is an imaginary time period in our world, a time period in which many aspects of our world were quite different. Without even getting into the metaphysical differences arising from the mythical aspects of this period, like the immortality and reincarnation of the Elves or the marring of Arda before its creation, the physical differences alone, like a flat earth that becomes a globe with a secret straight path only Elves can find that exists tangentially to the now round earth, complicate fitting this mythical time into the past of our world. Yet if Tolkien's imagination was of such power and generosity of soul that he could convincingly inspire a secondary belief his readers cherish, how can ours be so poor that many of us find the suggestion of a non-white Elf, Dwarf, or Hobbit intolerable?

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Letters no. 124, p. 193; no. 131, p. 202 (twice); no. 142, p. 257; no. 144, p. 263 (twice); no. 153, p. 282, 284; no 163, p. 311, 313; no. 183, p. 345 (three times), 351 (twice); no. 190, p. 359, 360 (twice), 361; no. 211, p. 404; no 247, p. 469; no. 294, p. 527 (twice); no. 297, p. 541; no. 316, p. 569.

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*The noun "legendary" refers here "a collection of stories or legends" (OED). Tolkien more commonly uses the Latin form of the word, legendarium: "A body or system of myths, legends, stories, etc., concerning or relating to a particular fictional world; a work containing this" (OED).

Dominus Litis: Smear, smear, whoever you may be. I am the Lord of the Smear said he.

 I ran across the Latin legal phrase dominus lītis the other day, which means "the master of the suit." According to The Law Dictionary, it designates "the person who was really and directly interested in the suit as a party, as distinguished from his attorney or advocate." 

Not the most interesting phrase on its own, I suppose, but it caught my eye for two reasons: first, it was misspelled, and second, it was in a decision by a federal judge in an important case here in the States. The incorrect spelling was dominus litus. That would be an entirely different matter. It's a common enough mistake to make, assimilating first the sound and then the spelling of one word to another which it qualifies. Dominus litis too easily becomes dominus litus. 

The word lītis is the genitive singular of the noun līs, and means "of the suit."

So what would dominus litus mean? There are several possibilities, some of them amusing. 

Keep your eye on the length of the vowels. A short ĭ is pronounced as in English "fit," a long ī as in "feet." A short u is as in "but," a long ū as in "boot."

There are three possible words: 1) lītŭs, lītoris; 2) lĭtus, lĭtūs; and 3) lĭtus, lĭtī.

1) Lītŭs, a noun, means "beach" or "shore." In this form, dominus lītŭs would have to be taken to mean something like "master beach." But you can't just put nouns together like that in Latin, or even in Legal Latin. Perhaps in Harry Potter Latin. You would have to say something like dominus lītoris, "master of the beach."

2) A different noun lĭtŭs means "smearing, besmearing, anointing." As it happens, the genitive singular of this noun is lĭtūs, which yields up "the master of smearing." Given the identity of the dominus litis in the case I was reading about, that would be an apt description, but legally irrelevant. The suit isn't even about defamation.

3) Lĭtŭs can also be the perfect passive participle of the verb lĭno, which means "smear, besmear, anoint." If dominus lĭtŭs is taken this way, "the besmeared master" or "the anointed master" would be the translation. Again, this would be apt depending on what you think of this person in question.

Turning back to the correct noun, līs lītĭs, it is also true that before it came to have the technical meaning of "suit at law," it meant simply "strife" or "accusation." So "master of strife" or "master of accusation" also works.

Treebeard on Tom Bombadil

In view of the recent news that Tolkien once said in a letter previously unpublished that Treebeard knew more about what was going on in The Shire than seems to be the case in The Lord of the Rings -- thus leading everyone to point at the screen and shout "AHA!" in vindication of Sam's cousin, Hal -- I thought a passage from The Treason of Isengard might be interesting. Not only does it lend a degree of support to the general idea that Treebeard knew more than he let on, but it comments on the elusive Bombadil in ways relevant to what Old Tom says about himself and to what Tolkien said about him in various letters. I don't have the time right now to discuss what we might learn about Bombadil from Treebeard, but I do love how impressed Treebeard is by the length of Tom's name. It must be long indeed.  

In his first conversation with Merry and Pippin Treebeard explains to them about "real names" and Old Entish:

'I am not going to tell you my name, not yet at any rate.’ A queer half-knowing, half-humorous look came with a green flicker into his eyes. ‘For one thing it would take a long while: my name is growing all the time, and I’ve lived a very long, long time; so my name is like a story. Real names tell you the story of the things they belong to in my language, in the Old Entish as you might say. It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time to say anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to.'

(TT 3.iv.465, italics added)

In a draft of this conversation, Treebeard points out that the trees [in the Old Forest] have no one to care for them.

'What about Tom Bombadil, though?’ asked Pippin. ‘He lives on the Downs close by. He seems to understand trees.’

‘What about whom?’ said Treebeard. ‘Tombombadil? Tombombadil? So that is what you call him. Oh, he has got a very long name. He understands trees, right enough; but he is not an Ent. He is no herdsman. He laughs and does not interfere. He never made anything go wrong, but he never cured anything, either. Why, why, it is all the difference between walking in the fields and trying to keep a garden; between, between passing the time of a day to a sheep on the hillside, or even maybe sitting down and studying sheep till you know what they feel about grass, and being a shepherd. Sheep get like shepherd, and shepherd like sheep, it is said, very slowly.'

(The Treason of Isengard 415-416, italics original)

Of this passage Christopher Tolkien writes:

It would be interesting to know why Treebeard’s knowledge of and estimate of Tom Bombadil was removed. Conceivably, my father felt that the contrast between Bombadil and the Ents developed here confused the conflict between the Ents and the Entwives; or, it may be, it was precisely this passage that gave rise to the idea of that conflict.

(Treason of Isengard 419 note 4) 

"Galadriel," he murmured.

At the bottom of the Emyn Muil, Sam and Frodo realize that they would have to leave the Elven rope behind which they had used to descend the cliffs. Frodo wryly suggests that Sam climb back up, untie the knot, and bring the rope back down with him.

Sam scratched his head. ‘No, I can’t think how, begging your pardon,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like leaving it, and that’s a fact.’ He stroked the rope’s end and shook it gently. ‘It goes hard parting with anything I brought out of the Elf-country. Made by Galadriel herself, too, maybe. Galadriel,’ he murmured, nodding his head mournfully. He looked up and gave one last pull to the rope as if in farewell. 

To the complete surprise of both the hobbits it came loose. Sam fell over, and the long grey coils slithered silently down on top of him.

(TT 4.i.611)

The last thing Sam says before giving the rope a last tug is “Galadriel,” and down the rope comes.

Tolkien and Clarke's Third Law: a Corollary

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

Arthur C. Clarke's Third Law, as just quoted, is extraordinarily well known. It has reached that hallowed stage of auctoritas (gravitas is reserved for Newton) wherein, given any triad of physical or mathematical laws, no more than one of the three will be remembered at any given time by non-specialists.

Not all magic is the same, however. It can be used to dominate or control nature or other people. It can be used to create transcendent wonder and beauty, to heal and to preserve. Motives and intentions are the key, even though they are not even clear to ourselves. While Clarke is not thinking in terms of morality or intent in his formulation, Tolkien is. He regards magic which seeks to rule others as evil, and technology or "the machine" is usually the means to this end (Letters # 131 p. 205; # 155 p. 295-96; Rev.). The One Ring is a perfect example of this in his legendarium. On the other hand, a palantir would not be. It is really only a device for communicating over great distances. Tolkien, however, would certainly regard a palantir created to surveil others and strip them of their privacy as evil.

The other kind of magic, the kind that aims at beauty, healing, and preservation, I'll call enchantment. And the means to achieve it, usually through music or song, I'll call Art (as Tolkien does). This leads me to propose Tolkien's Corollary to Clarke's Third Law:

"Any sufficiently advanced Art is indistinguishable from Enchantment."