The Sons of the Valar, the Valfǫður, and Túrin Turambar, Part One

Two sections at the end of the 1937 "Quenta Silmarillion" record a prophecy which is familiar to many as The Second Prophecy of Mandos. It speaks of Túrin Turambar, who shall return from death to defeat and kill Melkor in the Last Battle, the Dagor Dagorath, thus exacting vengeance for himself, his family, and all Mankind. The "Quenta Silmarillion" then mentions Túrin one last time right after the prophecy ends:

But of Men in that day the prophecy of Mandos doth not speak, and no Man it names, save Túrin only, and to him a place is given among the sons of the Valar.

(Lost Road 333) 

The phrase "sons of the Valar" at first glance seems to reflect Tolkien's early view that the Valar could have children. Who would the "sons of the Valar" be, if not their children? But if their children, what is Túrin doing among them? Tolkien had a number of similar phrases that could easily be lumped together and confused, as if all these terms have precisely the same meaning. This will prove not to be the case. We'll take each one in turn, which will give us a better understanding of them all as well as an answer to the presence of Túrin. 

Only a few offspring of the Valar are ever mentioned, mainly in The Book of Lost Tales, and for so short a list it contains nearly as many surprises as names. 

• Fionwë is the son of Manwë and Varda, though he is once called the son of Tulkas, perhaps in a slip of the pen (LT I.58; Shaping 57, 68).
• Manwë and Varda also have a daughter, Erinti (LT I.58). 
• Aulë and Yavanna are the parents of Oromë and Nessa (LT I.66-67, 264). 
• Oromë and Vána are the parents of Nielíqui (LT I.93). 
• Tulkas and Nessa are the parents of Telimektar (LT I.75,101). 
• Even Melkor has a son, Gothmog, whose mother is an ogress Ulbandi or Fluithlin (LT II.216).

In time, Tolkien abandoned the whole idea of children being born to the Valar. 

• Fionwë became Ëonwë and Erinti became Ilmarë, neither any longer Children of the Valar, but Maiar, that is, less powerful Ainur who accompanied the Valar to Arda. 
• Oromë and Nessa are recast as Valar in their own right, and 
• Nielíqui, their daughter vanishes. 
• Gothmog remains, though he is no longer Melkor's child and 
• his ogress mother is heard of no more. 
• Telimektar is a constellation, set in the heavens to remind Melkor that his day will come. 
  

There are five terms we need to consider:

• The Children of the Gods
• The Children of the Valar
• The Valarindi
• The Sons of the Gods
• The Sons of the Valar

The Children of the Gods

This phrase appears six times, five of these in the two volumes of The Book of Lost Tales. It is an oddly vague and fluid term. It appears four times in the first volume, and seems always to include both the Valar and Maiar (LT I.145, twice on 184, 189). Yet, it is hard to see the Valar themselves described as "Children of the Gods" along with those said to be their children. Two of these four uses come in direct address, once by Manwë and once by Yavanna, and both times there are Elves present, too. If the Elves are excluded, the text gives no clue that this is so. If the Elves are included, then we have both Valar and Elves called "Children of the Gods." 

In the second volume of The Book of Lost Tales the phrase describes Thingol and Melian (LT II.8). Melian is one of the lesser Ainur who entered Arda with the Valar, and who will become known as the Maiar. With Thingol we again see "Children of the Gods" counting Elves. In The Lost Road Fionwë and Erinti are also "Children of the Gods" (Lost Road 162). For the two of them it is literally true. 

Since The Book of Lost Tales employs no phrase but this one, and since it is used only once more in the course of the legendarium, the permeable boundaries of its definition are possibly indicative of its being the first such phrase. Yet, it is also possible that "Children of the Gods" applies to all those who have seen the light of the Two Trees. If so, it could work as the suffix-ing/ingas does in Eorlingas, the People of Eorl.

The Children of the Valar

Occurring only twice, this phrase first appears in the 1937 "Quenta Silmarillion," recording their presence at the overthrow of Melkor at the end of the First Age (Lost Road 329); and the second is in "Ainulindalë" in Morgoth's Ring, where it describes Fionwë and Ilmarë as the eldest of these (Morgoth 20).

Valarindi

Another, similar term that appears six times is Valarindi. The word literally means Children or Offspring of the Valar, but it also includes the Maiar: "With [the Valar] came many lesser spirits, their children, or beings of their own kind but of less might; these are the Valarindi" (Shaping 263). It is a word found only in "The Annals of Valinor" and "The Annals of Aman" (Shaping 263, 264, 285-286; Lost Road 110; Morgoth 49). So it has a distinctly Valinorean flavor. The word occurs only in connection with the entry of the Ainur into Arda.

The Sons of the Gods

Tolkien speaks eight times about "the sons of the gods." Four of the eight occur in different versions of "The Annals of Beleriand" (Shaping 309 twice; Lost Road 143, 144). We find it once in the "Quenta Noldorinwa," and twice in the 1937 "Quenta Silmarillion" (Shaping 165n9; Lost Road 328, 330). Once it appears in the "Lhammas" (Shaping 176). In every one of these passages, the context is battle and war. 

In seven of the eight the battle is The War of Wrath:

• "The sons of the Gods under Fionwë son of Manwë prepare for war" (Shaping 309).
• "The sons of the Gods wrestled with Morgoth in his dungeons...." (Shaping 309).
• "Here the sons of the Gods prepared for war, and Fionwë son of Manwë was their leader" (Lost Road 143).
• "The sons of the Gods wrestled with Morgoth in his dungeons...." (Lost Road 144).
• "...the overthrow of Morgoth by the sons of the Gods" (Lost Road 176).
• "Beleriand was ablaze with the glory of [Fionwë's] arms, for the sons of the Gods were young and fair and terrible, and the mountains rang beneath their feet (Lost Road 328).
• "...the victorious host of Valinor and the might and splendour of the sons of the Gods...." (Lost Road 330).

The eighth refers to the Dagor Dagorath on the Last Day. It is the final line of the narrative of the "Quenta Noldorinwa":

• "But of Men in that day the prophecy speaks not, save of Túrin only, and him it names among the Gods" (Shaping 165n9).

This passage Tolkien emended, changing "among the Gods" to "among the sons of the Gods." So, just as the terms "Children of the Gods" and "Children of the Valar" seem to apply to those who have seen the light of the Two Trees, and Valarindi describes those Ainur, both Valar and Maiar, in the context of their entry into Arda, "sons of the Gods" places those so called in an exclusively martial context while also admitting Túrin to their company. 

The Sons of the Valar

"Sons of the Valar" is by far the most common of all these phrases, used fifteen times. Tolkien's deployment of it indicates that it is synonymous with "sons of the Gods." For in fourteen of these instances the context is again strictly martial, specifically the War of Wrath (Shaping 37, 39, 149, 154, 157, 158, 160, 163, 164; Lost Road 326, 332; Peoples 242), the guarding of the Calacirya (Morgoth 133), and the Dagor Dagorath (Lost Road 333). Again Túrin appears at the Dagor Dagorath "among the sons of the Valar" (as quoted at the start of this post). The only exception is a statement in "The Grey Annals" that compares Thingol to the "sons of the Valar," but does not say that he was one of them: "In Beleriand King Thingol on his throne was as the sons of the Valar" (Jewels 14). As we have seen above, Thingol seems set apart, as one of the first of the Elves to awaken, as the husband of Melian, and as one who has seen the light of the Two Trees.

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This post has grown so long that I have split it into two parts. I hope to post the second part soon. I will add a link when I have done so.

I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude for the amazing usefulness of The Digital Tolkien Project in this and all my posts on Tolkien. Indispensable.

'So that they are its life and it is theirs' (Silm. 20)

Many readers will no doubt recall this fascinating passage in The Silmarillion (20) which draws an equivalency between the life of the Valar and the life of Arda. I have always wanted more of an explanation than we find here.

Thus it came to pass that of the Ainur some abode still with Ilúvatar beyond the confines of the World; but others, and among them many of the greatest and most fair, took the leave of Ilúvatar and descended into it. But this condition Ilúvatar made, or it is the necessity of their love, that their power should thenceforward be contained and bounded in the World, to be within it for ever, until it is complete, so that they are its life and it is theirs. And therefore they are named the Valar, the Powers of the World.

A comment in the recently published The Nature of Middle-earth (2021: 14) presents an even more interesting comment along similar lines, suggesting a likeness (parallel? analogy?) between the spirits and bodies of Incarnates and between the Valar and Arda itself:

The Valar having entered Arda, and being therein confined within its life, must also suffer (while therein and being as it were its spirit, as the fëa is to the hröa of the Incarnate) its slow ageing.

I am sure there's more to think about and say here, and I want to take a look at the other versions of the Ainulindalë. For now, though, I just wanted to toss the two passages into the cauldron and let them simmer. 

Guest Post -- Luke Baugher on Tulkas and "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight"

Tulkas, a question of the influence of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

     On Tuesday of this week, I began a read-through of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. My text is that found in Medieval English Literature edited by Thomas Garbáty. This is an enchanting read and all the more enjoyable in its original language. I was working my way through the description of Arthur's Christmas feast when I came across the word tulkes in line 41:

Þer tournayed tulkes bi-tymez ful mony,
Justed ful iolilé þise gentyle kniȝtes,
Syþen kayred to þe court, caroles to make.[1]

Tulkas © Steamey

     In this edition, the definition ascribed to tulkes is "knights." As I have always been an avid Tolkien fan, this immediately struck me as very phonetically similar to Tolkien's character Tulkas. So I decided to do a little digging. What follows is some of the interesting information that I have found, with the helpful suggestions of several much respected Tolkien scholars.

    Initially, an etymological approach might shed some light on the association as, most Tolkien fan know, this field is intimately connected with The Professor's creativity.  The Oxford English Dictionary indicates that tulkes is "Generally identified with Old Norse túlkr interpreter, spokesman,"[2] which is related to the rarely attested Old Norse túlk, a verb meaning "to utter sound, to sound."[3] Although it also notes that "nothing has been found to connect the Middle English sense, common in alliterative verse, with these."[4] In order for us to find a connection, let's follow the advice of Carl F. Hostetter and look at how Tolkien himself has defined tulkes. Hostetter notes that:

In the Middle English glossaries prepared by Tolkien that bear on this matter (that for SGGK and that for Sisam's Fourteenth Century Verse and Prose), he glosses tulk(e) (tolke) as 'man, knight' (SGGK), or just 'man' (Sisam), and refers it to the Old Norse cognate túlk-r 'spokesman'. [5]

     So, to follow Hostetter's logic, the sense in which Middle English tulke means "man" "is a secondary development." He goes on to elaborate "its further sense "knight" being then a tertiary development."[6] So the sense in which tulke means "man" is more prevalent, while the sense in which it means "knight" is a derivative thereof, perhaps caused by context. While this etymological trace is very interesting, it does not actually solve whether or not this word could have inspired Tolkien.

          

     Perhaps looking more in-depth at Tolkien's name Tulkas will help illuminate a connection. Tulkas’s characterization certainly conforms to many of the traits laid out by tulke in that he is a male, and he does partake in youthful shows of strength and competition like one would expect of knights. Tolkien's descriptions of Tulkas certainly highlight these attributes:

Greatest in strength and deeds of prowess is Tulkas, who is surnamed Astaldo, the Valiant. He came last to Arda, to aid the Valar in the first battles with Melkor. He delights in wrestling and in contests of strength; and he rides no steed, for he can outrun all things that go on feet, and he is tireless. His hair and beard are golden, and his flesh ruddy; his weapons are his hands. He has little heed for either the past or the future, and is of no avail as a counsellor, but is a hardy friend.[7]

     For an even closer connection, Tolkien defined tulkas. In his reflection on the subject, Jason Fisher also notes the connection between tulkes and tulkr, but extends his observation by noting that "within the legendarium, Tulkas is Quenya meaning 'strong, steadfast.'"[8] In the Appendix to The Book of Lost Tales 1, the context of Tolkien’s name is given contest:

QL gives the name under root TULUK, with tulunka ‘steady, firm’, tulka- ‘fix, set up, establish’. The Gnomish form is Tulcus (-os), with related words tulug ‘steady, firm’, tulga- ‘make firm, settle, steady, comfort’.[9]

     So now we are starting to form a bridge between two disparate words and finding a common ground. Fisher contends an additional definition of tulkr as "fighting man."[10] This background leads Patrick Wynne to observe:

There seems to be a clear logical connection between 'fighting man' and 'strong' (the former habitually having the latter attribute). The sort of game that Tolkien played with such allusions...would suggest that in later days, dim memories of the vala Tulkas 'Strong' as a skilled fighter resulted in the Quenya name influencing (or being the direct source of) words such as ON tulkr and ME tulkes.[11]

     So we have finally arrived at a tentative link etymologically, to compound with the phonetic similarity that started these observations. Although these links are possible, I cannot overstate the caution that we should use when ascribing motivation to Tolkien's creative process.

            

     When directly talking about whether or not this word could have served as an inspiration for Tolkien, caveats abound. Nelson Goering cautions that "It certainly seems possible, though obviously it's hard to know for sure."[12] He observes that

"If Tolkien traced the etymology of the word back, as is not unlikely, he would have arrived at Lithuanian tul̃kas... As an old Baltic word that found its way into various Germanic languages... it's the sort of thing that might have lodged somewhere in the back of his mind (maybe)."[13]

     So the jury is out on whether or not this word could be the inspiration behind Tolkien's creation of the grappling Vala, but the similarities are tantalizing regardless. Who knows, "he may well have found the sound/sense correspondence suggested by ME tulk(e) pleasing, regardless of ultimate etymology."[14]

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[1] “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” Medieval English Literature. Ed. Thomas Garbáty. Long Grove: Waveland, 1997. 255-332. Print. (257, emphasis mine).

[2] "† tulk | tolk, n." OED Online. Oxford University Press, December 2015. Web. 16 December 2015.

[3] "† tulk, v." OED Online. Oxford University Press, December 2015. Web. 16 December 2015.

[4] "† tulk | tolk, n." OED Online. Oxford University Press, December 2015. Web. 16 December 2015.

[5] Hostetter, Carl F. " In the Middle English glossaries prepared by Tolkien that bear on this matter (that for SGGK and that for Sisam's Fourteenth Century Verse and Prose), he glosses _tulk(e)_(_tolke_) as 'man, knight' (SGGK), or just 'man' (Sisam), and refers it to the Old Norse cognate _túlk-r_ 'spokesman'." Facebook. 15 Dec. 2015. [16 Dec. 2015 < https://www.facebook.com/groups/61115826282/permalink/10153187834231283/>]

[6] Ibid.

[7] Tolkien, J.R.R. The Silmarillion. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977. Print. (28).

[8] Fisher, Jason. " Yes, probably. The Old Norse form of the same word is tulkr "fighting man", which is even closer to the form Tolkien used. Though within the legendarium, Tulkas is Quenya meaning "strong, steadfast"." Facebook. 15 Dec. 2015. [16 Dec. 2015. <https://www.facebook.com/groups/61115826282/permalink/10153187834231283/comment_id=10153189216071283&notif_t=group_comment>]

[9] Tolkien, J.R.R. The Book of Lost Tales 1. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. New York: Ballantine, 1983. Print. (313).

[10] Ibid.

[11] Wynne, Patrick. " Yeah, there seems to be a clear logical connection between 'fighting man' and 'strong' (the former habitually having the latter attribute). The sort of game that Tolkien played with such allusions (as Carl F. Hostetter and I used to discuss in our column "Words and Devices" in VT) would suggest that in later days, dim memories of the vala Tulkas 'Strong' as a skilled fighter resulted in the Quenya name influencing (or being the direct source of) words such as ON _tulkr_ and ME _tulkes_." Facebook. 15 Dec. 2015. [16 Dec. 2015. < https://www. facebook.com/groups/61115826282/permalink/10153187834231283/?comment_id=10153189216071283&notif_t=group_comment>]

[12] Goering, Nelson. "It certainly seems possible, though obviously it's hard to know for sure. If Tolkien traced the etymology of the word back, as is not unlikely, he would have arrived at Lithuanian tul̃kas (yes, the circumflex is meant to be above the 'l' - that's Lithuanian for you...). As an old Baltic word that found its way into various Germanic languages (northern German into Norse into English), it's the sort of thing that might have lodged somewhere in the back of his mind (maybe)." Facebook. 15 Dec. 2015. [16 Dec. 2015. <https://www.facebook.com/ groups/61115826282/permalink/10153187834231283/?comment_id=10153189216071283&notif_t=group_comment>]

[13] Ibid.

[14] Hostetter, Carl F. "Which is NOT to say that ME _tulk(e)_ 'man, knight' DIDN'T inspire Tolkien's "Tulkas" — he may well have found the sound/sense correspondence suggested by ME _tulk(e)_ pleasing, regardless of ultimate etymology. Because after all, etymology is NOT determinative of meaning (if it were, then languages would never change, and we would almost all be speaking Proto-Indo-European...). It's just to say that the meaning of _tulk(e)_ as exhibited in SGGK isn't in fact primary." Facebook. 15 Dec. 2015. [16 Dec. 2015. <https://www.facebook.com/ groups/61115826282/permalink/10153187834231283/>]

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Thanks so much, Luke, for an interesting note on another possible connection between Tolkien's scholarly and mythological worlds. While we must be cautious, as Nelson Goering rightly emphasizes, so little in Tolkien seems to have happened by chance. As I read your note I was struck by the 'tulkes' jousting 'ful iolilé' and the 'delight' which Tulkas took 'in wrestling and contests of strength.' And of course Tulkas also 'laughs ever, in sport or in war, and even in the face of Melkor he laughed in battles before the Elves were born' (Silmarillion, 29).  Nicely done. 

The Dream of Manwë in 'Of Aulë and Yavanna'

After Ilúvatar has sanctioned Aulë's making of the Dwarves because of his humility, Yavanna turns to Manwë, fearful of what the coming dominion of the Children of Ilúvatar will mean for the other life of Arda.

'If thou hadst thy will what wouldst thou reserve?' said Manwë. 'Of all thy realm what dost thou hold dearest?'  

'All have their worth,' said Yavanna, 'and each contributes to the worth of the others. But the kelvar can flee or defend themselves, whereas the olvar that grow cannot. And among these I hold trees dear. Long in the growing, swift shall they be in the felling, and unless they pay toll with fruit upon bough little mourned in their passing. So I see in my thought. Would that the trees might speak on behalf of all things that have roots, and punish those that wrong them!'  

'This is a strange thought,' said Manwë.  

'Yet it was in the Song,' said Yavanna. 'For while thou wert in the heavens and with Ulmo built the clouds and poured out the rains, I lifted up the branches of great trees to receive them, and some sang to Ilúvatar amid the wind and the rain.'  

Then Manwë sat silent, and the thought of Yavanna that she had put into his heart grew and unfolded; and it was beheld by Ilúvatar. Then it seemed to Manwë that the Song rose once more about him, and he heeded now many things therein that though he had heard them he had not heeded before. And at last the Vision was renewed, but it was not now remote, for he was himself within it, and yet he saw that all was upheld by the hand of Ilúvatar; and the hand entered in, and from it came forth many wonders that had until then been hidden from him in the hearts of the Ainur.  

Then Manwë awoke, and he went down to Yavanna upon Ezellohar, and he sat beside her beneath the Two Trees. And Manwë said: 'O Kementári, Eru hath spoken, saying: "Do then any of the Valar suppose that I did not hear all the Song, even the least sound of the least voice? Behold! When the Children awake, then the thought of Yavanna will awake also, and it will summon spirits from afar, and they will go among the kelvar and the olvar, and some will dwell therein, and be held in reverence, and their just anger shall be feared. For a time: while the Firstborn are in their power, and while the Secondborn are young." But dost thou not now remember, Kementári, that thy thought sang not always alone? Did not thy thought and mine meet also, so that we took wing together like great birds that soar above the clouds? That also shall come to be by the heed of Ilúvatar, and before the Children awake there shall go forth with wings like the wind the Eagles of the Lords of the West.'

(Silmarillion, 45-46)

As the postponed 'Then Manwë awoke' clearly indicates, Manwë has just been experiencing a dream of some kind.  He recognizes the Song and the Vision at once, but something new is at hand. His perspective is simultaneously wider, in that he sees for the first time the fundamental and ongoing role of the hand of Eru, and more intimate because, having entered into Arda, he is now an active participant in a present reality and not simply a witness to a vision of what may yet be, as he was when Ilúvatar showed the Ainur what they had sung (Silmarillion, 17). 

What Manwë sees here I find interesting for a couple of reasons. First, the revelation that there is more going on than meets the eye reminds me strongly of a passage in the second book of Vergil's Aeneid, where Venus, seeking to persuade her son, Aeneas, not to kill or even blame Helen but to save himself from the ruin of Troy while he still has a chance, grants him a wider perspective on reality than he normally possesses:

“‘Think: it’s not that beauty, Helen, you should hate,
not even Paris, the man that you should blame, no,
it’s the gods, the ruthless gods who are tearing down
the wealth of Troy, her toppling crown of towers.
Look around. I’ll sweep it all away, the mist
so murky, dark, and swirling around you now,
it clouds your vision, dulls your mortal sight.	750
You are my son. Never fear my orders.
Never refuse to bow to my commands.
“‘There,
yes, where you see the massive ramparts shattered,
blocks wrenched from blocks, the billowing smoke and ash
— it’s Neptune himself, prising loose with his giant trident
the foundation-stones of Troy, he’s making the walls quake,
ripping up the entire city by her roots.
“‘There’s Juno,
cruelest in fury, first to commandeer the Scaean Gates,
sword at her hip and mustering comrades, shock troops
streaming out of the ships.
“‘Already up on the heights	760
— turn around and look—there’s Pallas holding the fortress,
flaming out of the clouds, her savage Gorgon glaring.
Even Father himself, he’s filling the Greek hearts
with courage, stamina—Jove in person spurring the gods
to fight the Trojan armies!
“‘Run for your life, my son.
Put an end to your labors. I will never leave you,
I will set you safe at your father’s door.’
“Parting words. She vanished into the dense night.
And now they all come looming up before me,
terrible shapes, the deadly foes of Troy,	770
the gods gigantic in power.
“Then at last
I saw it all, all Ilium settling into her embers,
Neptune’s Troy, toppling over now from her roots
like a proud, veteran ash on its mountain summit,
chopped by stroke after stroke of the iron axe as
woodsmen fight to bring it down, and
over and over it threatens to fall, its boughs shudder,
its leafy crown quakes and back and forth it sways
till overwhelmed by its wounds, with a long last groan
it goes—torn up from its heights it crashes down	780
in ruins from its ridge . . .
Venus leading, down from the roof I climb
and win my way through fires and massing foes.
The spears recede, the flames roll back before me."
	(transl. Fagles)

Now clearly the perspectives of Manwë and Aeneas differ greatly. Aeneas's vision is of a single moment in time and space; Manwë's appears far more cosmic in scope. Yet the difference between them is not as great as we might expect, which is in a way precisely my point here. Aeneas is a mortal; his vision of reality is necessarily and unsurprisingly limited.  In its limitation Aeneas' vision is like the one Ulmo grants Tuor when he says that his 'heart yearneth rather to the Sea' (Unfinished Tales, 30). Ulmo allows him to see all the breadth and depth of the sea 'with the swift sight of the Valar,' but no more. The vision ends as Tuor catches the merest glimpse of Valinor.

Manwë, however, is the Elder King, the chief of the Valar, the peer of Melkor, an immortal who existed before the world was made and played a central role in its imagining and making. Yet even his sight is limited, as is that of Aulë and Yavanna, the two other Valar in this chapter which bears their names and explores the perils and mysteries of sub-creation both before and after the ongoing creation of Arda. Aulë's dwarves were not in the Song, yet the Eagles of Manwë and the Ents of Yavanna evidently were. The hand of Ilúvatar, unseen by Manwë until this moment, continues to produce wonders from what lay 'hidden ... in the hearts of the Ainur.' The things the individual Valar did not know or had not attended to (since, as Manwë admits, there were things in the Song that he heard, but did not heed) are as much a part of the reality of Arda as all they knew and saw 'with the swift sight of the Valar.'  Much 'lies still in the freedom of Ilúvatar' (Silmarillion, 28; cf. 17-18).  The Valar are of course still quite far from the point alluded to in The Ainulindalë, when total mutual comprehension between Ilúvatar and all his children will accompany -- and perhaps even cause -- the realization of the themes as they sing them:

Never since have the Ainur made any music like to this music, though it has been said that a greater still shall be made before Ilúvatar by the choirs of the Ainur and the Children of Ilúvatar after the end of days. Then the themes of Ilúvatar shall be played aright, and take Being in the moment of their utterance, for all shall then understand fully his intent in their part, and each shall know the comprehension of each, and Ilúvatar shall give to their thoughts the secret fire, being well pleased. 

(Silmarillion, 15-16)

One could well quote the New Testament here, and wonder how much specific inspiration Tolkien might have drawn from it in The Ainulindalë: 'For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known' (1Cor. 13:12 KJV). This most famous chapter of First Corinthians speaks powerfully of knowledge and understanding, both perfect and imperfect, of prophecy of what is to come, and of the critical role of love (charity); it states categorically that 'without charity' 'the tongues of men and angels' can produce only cacophony and discord -- just as happens in the Music thanks to Melkor (Silmarillion, 16-17), from whose heart, it is later said, 'all love had departed forever' (Silmarillion, 66). Given this, it quite easy to suspect that the similarity we see here is no coincidence.

The second interesting connection which Manwë's dream calls to mind is to a passage in On Fairy-Stories:

Now “Faërian Drama”—those plays which according to abundant records the elves have often presented to men—can produce Fantasy with a realism and immediacy beyond the compass of any human mechanism. As a result their usual effect (upon a man) is to go beyond Secondary Belief. If you are present at a Faërian drama you yourself are, or think that you are, bodily inside its Secondary World. The experience may be very similar to Dreaming and has (it would seem) sometimes (by men) been confounded with it. But in Faërian drama you are in a dream that some other mind is weaving, and the knowledge of that alarming fact may slip from your grasp. To experience directly a Secondary World: the potion is too strong, and you give to it Primary Belief, however marvellous the events. You are deluded—whether that is the intention of the elves (always or at any time) is another question. They at any rate are not themselves deluded. This is for them a form of Art, and distinct from Wizardry or Magic, properly so called. They do not live in it, though they can, perhaps, afford to spend more time at it than human artists can. The Primary World, Reality, of elves and men is the same, if differently valued and perceived. 

(OFS para. 74)

What is Manwë experiencing but 'a dream that some other mind is weaving'? Except that he is neither 'deluded' nor forgetful of this 'alarming fact'.  And if it were not already apparent from the description of the dream that Ilúvatar is the weaver of this dream, Manwë's words to Yavanna afterwards -- 'O Kementári, Eru hath spoken....' -- make it absolutely clear. But rather than introduce him to a Faërian Drama or a Secondary World, this dream enlarges his knowledge and understanding of the Primary World and its supernatural underpinnings. Like Aeneas, Manwë sees the hand of God at work. Like Tuor, he sees a deeper, wider world. As elsewhere in Tolkien, we see that dreams are a link to things about the world that are not normally perceived. For men or hobbits this is no surprise. What is unexpected is that the same appears true of the Valar, only on a different scale. 

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1) Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. 2) And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. 3) And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. 

4) Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, 5) Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; 6) Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; 7) Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. 

8) Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. 9) For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. 10) But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. 11) When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 12) For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 13) And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. 

(1Cor 13:1-13 KJV)

Hellehinca, or Morgoth the Lame

Fingolfin's Challenge, © John Howe

Readers of The Silmarillion will recall Fingolfin's hopeless challenge of Morgoth to single combat in Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin (153-54), and how, beaten down at last, Fingolfin struck one final blow:

.... Therefore Morgoth came, climbing slowly from his subterranean throne, and the rumour of his feet was like thunder underground. And he issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the King like a tower, ironcrowned, and his vast shield, sable on-blazoned, cast a shadow over him like a stormcloud. But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice. 

Then Morgoth hurled aloft Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld, and swung it down like a bolt of thunder. But Fingolfin sprang aside, and Grond rent a mighty pit in the earth, whence smoke and fire darted. Many times Morgoth essayed to smite him, and each time Fingolfin leaped away, as a lightning shoots from under a dark cloud; and he wounded Morgoth with seven wounds, and seven times Morgoth gave a cry of anguish, whereat the hosts of Angband fell upon their faces in dismay, and the cries echoed in the Northlands.  

But at the last the King grew weary, and Morgoth bore down his shield upon him. Thrice he was crushed to his knees, and thrice arose again and bore up his broken shield and stricken helm. But the earth was all rent and pitted about him, and he stumbled and fell backward before the feet of Morgoth; and Morgoth set his left foot upon his neck, and the weight of it was like a fallen hill. Yet with his last and desperate stroke Fingolfin hewed the foot with Ringil, and the blood gashed forth black and smoking and filled the pits of Grond. 

Thus died Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, most proud and valiant of the Elven-kings of old .... Morgoth went ever halt of one foot after that day, and the pain of his wounds could not be healed.... 

(Silmarillion 153-54)

Now the first time I ever read this I was reminded of the Greek God, Hephaestus, who was lame because Zeus had hurled him down from Olympus. But, though Hephaestus also had a hammer, he was in no way evil. Of course the Vala he most closely resembles is Aulë, who was like him a smith. And yet the image of Hephaestus cast down from heaven still made me think of the fall of Lucifer as in Milton, or Isaiah 14:12:

'How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!'

Then this morning I was looking up something else in Bosworth-Toller and spied an entry for hellehinca, which it defines as 'the hell-limper, -hobbler, the devil lamed by his fall from heaven.' Which made me think of Morgoth once more. So I looked up the passage cited for the word, and found more interesting words:

Þa for þære dugoðe     deoful ætywde,
wann ond wliteleas,     hæfde weriges hiw.
Ongan þa meldigan     morþres brytta,
hellehinca,     þone halgan wer
wiðerhycgende,     ond þæt word gecwæð

Andreas 1168-72

Then before that band the devil appeared,
Black and unlovely, he had the look of a monster.
He then began, the prince of murder,
The hell-lame, to accuse this holy man,
With evil intent, and said these words...

The word weriges in line 1169, which I have translated 'monster,' comes, not from werig -- 'weary' -- as I thought at first glance, but from wearg/h -- 'a monster, a malignant being, an evil spirit.' In line 1170 I have rendered morþres as 'murder,' but it comes from morþor, which can also be more abstract -- 'mortal sin, great wickedness, torment' etc.

Morþor is of course the source of Mordor, and wearg of warg, which is nothing new to say. What is intriguing, however, is that hellehinca is quite a rare word (only one citation in Bosworth-Toller), and it records an equally unusual attribute of the devil, both of these in close proximity to words of significance for Tolkien. So it may be that this is the origin of Morgoth's limp,

Why Does the Roaring of the Sea Disquiet the Valar?

The Sea -- Copyright © Ted Nasmith. All rights reserved.

A well known theme that runs throughout Tolkien's legendarium is that longing or unquiet which the Sea causes in Elves and Men.  Many will recall Legolas speaking of it in The Last Debate:

'Look!' he cried. 'Gulls! They are flying far inland. A wonder they are to me and a trouble to my heart. Never in all my life had I met them, until we came to Pelargir, and there I heard them crying in the air as we rode to the battle of the ships. Then I stood still, forgetting war in Middle-earth; for their wailing voices spoke to me of the Sea. The Sea! Alas! I have not yet beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing, which it is perilous to stir. Alas! for the gulls. No peace shall I have again under beech or under elm.'  

(RK 5.ix.873)

This passage clarifies the 'dark words' which Galadriel had sent to Legolas through Gandalf:

Legolas Greenleaf long under tree
In joy hast thou lived. Beware of the Sea!
If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,
Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.

(TT 3.v.503)

But Legolas is not the first character on whom the sound of the Sea has a disquieting effect. For even before the hobbits have left The Shire Frodo had a dream:

Then he heard a noise in the distance. At first he thought it was a great wind coming over the leaves of the forest. Then he knew that it was not leaves, but the sound of the Sea far-off; a sound he had never heard in waking life, though it had often troubled his dreams. Suddenly he found he was out in the open. There were no trees after all. He was on a dark heath, and there was a strange salt smell in the air. Looking up he saw before him a tall white tower, standing alone on a high ridge. A great desire came over him to climb the tower and see the Sea. He started to struggle up the ridge towards the tower: but suddenly a light came in the sky, and there was a noise of thunder.

(FR 1.v.108)

We can trace this troublous longing, this Sehnsucht, all the way back to the beginning of Tolkien's works, to the longing of Eriol and Ælfwine for the Sea and to the earliest version of The Music of the Ainur in The Book of Lost Tales. It is particularly prominent in Tuor from his beginning in The Fall of Gondolin and the bones of The Tale of Eärendel within The Book of Lost Tales, through the earliest versions of The Quenta Silmarillion and Annals of Beleriand, to Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin in Unfinished Tales, and in the end to The  Grey Annals, to The Tale of Years, and to the published Silmarillion.¹ And while the term 'The Unquiet of Ulmo' seems coined almost especially for him, it would apply equally well to Aldarion in The Tale of Aldarion and Erendis (UT 175-76, 178, 185).  There is even the hint that it may have affected Hobbits, including one and perhaps two Took uncles of Bilbo (FR Pr. 7; RK App. C 1103 [Isengar and Hildifons]; The Hobbit 11, 13-14).

As we can easily see, the sea-longing is not something particular to Elves.  Mortal and Immortal alike feel it.  If we turn next to a passage from The Ainulindalë, we shall see that the longing and disquiet caused by the Sea is fundamental in the profoundest sense. Ilúvatar grants the Ainur a vision of the Music they have just sung:

But the other Ainur looked upon this habitation set within the vast spaces of the World, which the Elves call Arda, the Earth; and their hearts rejoiced in light, and their eyes beholding many colours were filled with gladness; but because of the roaring of the sea they felt a great unquiet. And they observed the winds and the air, and the matters of which Arda was made, of iron and stone and silver and gold and many substances: but of all these water they most greatly praised. And it is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance else that is in this Earth; and many of the Children of Ilúvatar hearken still unsated to the voices of the

Sea, and yet know not for what they listen.

(The Silmarillion, 19)

What's most curious here is the reaction of the Ainur to the sound of the Sea, which causes them 'a great unquiet.'  We are used to thinking of Elves and Men, the Children of Ilúvatar, as beset by such disquiet and longing, but not the Valar themselves. Since the Valar have not yet entered Arda, which so far exists only in thought (20), the sea's effect extends beyond 'the circles of the world' and suggests that all sentient beings, whether of flesh or of spirit, are within its reach. That this is so even in a vision attests the power of what they have seen, or, to be more precise, what they have heard, because that is clearly the avenue through which the unquiet and longing come to them.

But why? What is it about the 'voices of the Sea' that is so poignant? '[T]hat in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur' is not a sufficient answer in itself, since it does not explain why the Valar find this reminder of their own music disquieting.  Two clues may help us here.  The first is that Elves and Men do not recognize what they hear, but presumably the Valar do. The second is that Ulmo -- 'of all [the Valar] most deeply was he instructed by Ilúvatar in music' (19) -- has a conversation with Ilúvatar even as the music was being envisioned before them, in which Ilúvatar demonstrates to him that the worst efforts of Melkor have but made water and the world more beautiful than Ulmo had imagined in his music. This harks back to Ilúvatar's statement to Melkor that 'no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall but prove mine instrument in devising things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined' (17).

If the themes which the Ainur elaborated in making their music come from Ilúvatar, then it is the voice of Ilúvatar that Valar, Elves, and Men all hear in the 'voices of the sea.' The Valar recognize this. Elves and Men, who have not seen Ilúvatar face to face, as it were, do not.  But all who hearken long for the creator from whom the world divides them, or, in the case of the Valar who are about to enter into Arda and be bound there until the end, will divide them.²

What would the echo of God's voice evoke if not longing?

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¹ Eriol and Ælfwine (BoLT 1.46; 2.6, 314); The Music of the Ainur (BoLT 1.56); Tuor (BoLT 2.151-52, 156, 196, 254); The Quenta Silmarillion and The Annals of Beleriand  (HoME IV.37, 142-43, 145, 149, 151-52, 214, 308); Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin (UT 24-25, 34); The Grey Annals and The Tale of Years (HoME XI.90-91, 348, 352);  Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin (The Silmarillion 238, 244-45; cf. 246).

² To be strictly accurate the Valar are a subset of the Ainur who entered the world after the Music:

Thus it came to pass that of the Ainur some abode still with Ilúvatar beyond the confines of the World; but others, and among them many of the greatest and most fair, took the leave of Ilúvatar and descended into it. But this condition Ilúvatar made, or it is the necessity of their love, that their power should thenceforward be contained and bounded in the World, to be within it for ever, until it is complete, so that they are its life and it is theirs. And therefore they are named the Valar, the Powers of the World. 

(Silmarillion 20)