Themes of Your Own: The Legitimacy of (Sub)Creating in The Silmarillion
The Ainulindalë: Part One
My favourite quote from The Silmarillion comes from the very first chapter. After the clash between the songs of Melkor and that of the other Ainur, Eru Ilúvatar raises his hand and the Music stops. Ilúvatar then says:
Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor; but that he may know, and all the Ainur, that I am Ilúvatar, those things that ye have sung, I will show them forth, that ye may see what ye have done. And thou, Melkor, shalt see 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 prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.
“The Silmarillion”, J. R. R. Tolkien
This quote fascinates me for a couple of reasons. It establishes the foundational themes of the entire legendarium. All things begin in Ilúvatar, so all things begin good. Evil may appear to be an equal and opposite force to Good; but in fact, Evil is only powerful in the measure it is downstream from Good, mockingly imitating it. Evil is like Good, not as a left shoe is like a right shoe, but as a footprint is like a foot.1
Not only do all things have their source in Ilúvatar, but their ends are also determined by Him. In the very act of acting against Good, Evil becomes its instrument to an even greater and better work. If Eru is the author of a great story, then He is one for whom the distinction between plotter and pantser is meaningless. This means that no matter how dark the story seems, it is a story with a happy ending.
That’s all well and good (and movingly beautiful), but I must admit it is not the main reason I like the passage. What really gets my attention is something seemingly trivial: tone of voice.
Thought the Ainur are not corporeal beings, and therefore logically cannot speak in the proper sense2, I doubt one can read the passage without imagining an intonation for Ilúvatar’s words. And the meaning of the quote changes depending on how one hears it.
It could be dry and matter-of-factly, as if Eru is above all the strife. Mighty are the Ainur: fact. The mightiest of them is Melkor: fact. Nevertheless, not even Melkor can create against the will of the One: fact.
It could also be a stern teacher reprimanding a brilliant but lazy student — or a father reprimanding his firstborn. It could be a light but worried tone: “I know what you are trying to do. In a way it is natural, for I made you with the desire to create. But if you continue this path, there might be no return.” It could be that Melkor is not the center of it at all, and the focus is on showing the other Ainur why the rebellion is both misguided and useless.
Or it could be what Melkor probably heard it as: mocking. “Look, people, what the loser tried to do! The dumbass tried to create against my will! What a joke!”
Then the Ainur were afraid, and they did not yet comprehend the words that were said to them; and Melkor was filled with shame, of which came secret anger
This is one of many subtle passages on the Ainundale. It is perhaps the most important chapter of The Silmarillion, for — much like Ilúvatar defines the theme of the Song — it defines the themes of the book. On the (un)nature of Evil and on happy ending we already touched. But the most important theme, I would argue, is the love of one’s own creation.
Theme and Adornment
The very first line introduces Ilúvatar as the Creator — the only creator, properly, since he is the one who can create ex nihilo3:
There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made.
The first thing the Ainur are said to do is to be with Ilúvatar “before aught else was made” — that is, they were filling the Void. But immediately after:
And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of music; and they sang before him, and he was glad. But for a long while they sang only each alone, or but few together, while the rest hearkened; for each comprehended only that part of the mind of Ilúvatar from which he came, and in the understanding of their brethren they grew but slowly. Yet ever as they listened they came to deeper understanding, and increased in unison and harmony.
Ilúvatar tells them to sing. That is, to be instruments in making actual what was only potential in Eru’s mind. The Ainur are close to Subcreation — but not quite there. Another thing of notice is that their songs are imperfect. Not (yet) in the sense of being corrupted, but in the sense that each of their works lacks some perfection which belongs to the others.
Therefore, in order to make an even mightier song, Ilúvatar calls them:
And it came to pass that Ilúvatar called together all the Ainur and declared to them a mighty theme, unfolding to them things greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed; and the glory of its beginning and the splendour of its end amazed the Ainur, so that they bowed before Ilúvatar and were silent. Then Ilúvatar said to them: ‘Of the theme that I have declared to you, I will now that ye make in harmony together a Great Music. And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable, ye shall show forth your powers in adorning this theme, each with his own thoughts and devices, if he will. But I will sit and hearken, and be glad that through you great beauty has been wakened into song.’
[My emphasis]
We finally arrive at Subcreation properly. To the Ainur is given both the power and the authority to (sub)create a Music, following a Theme, but adorning it each with his own thoughts and devices. Before, they were only playing the music sheet Ilúvatar had handed them. Now they are given permission to jazz it up. And this makes Ilúvatar glad.
This is important because it means that subcreation is, in its heart, good. The love for one’s creation is a theme that runs through the entire Silmarillion: the love for the silmarils is the ruin of Fëanor’s kin; the love for the Nauglamír brings the ruin of Doriath; the love for Gondolin causes its Fall. And the love for creating, simply, is the driver of Melkor’s rebellion.
With so much pain and darkness brought by the desire of subcreation, one could reasonably assume we are better off without it. And so Ilúvatar’s words come in like a light to remind us that he told his Blessed Ones to create, and that brought him joy. The small maker makes in the law of the Great One.
But now Ilúvatar sat and hearkened, and for a great while it seemed good to him, for in the music there were no flaws.
It is a quote from Lewis, not from Tolkien, but it applies here:
If Dualism is true, then the bad Power must be a being who likes badness for its own sake. But in reality we have no experience of anyone liking badness just because it is bad. […] It follows that this Bad Power, who is supposed to be on an equal footing with the Good Power, and to love badness in the same way as the Good Power loves goodness, is a mere bogy. In order to be bad he must have good things to want and then to pursue in the wrong way: he must have impulses which were originally good in order to be able to pervert them. But if he is bad he cannot supply himself either with good things to desire or with good impulses to pervert. He must be getting both from the Good Power. And if so, then he is not independent. He is part of the Good Power's world: he was made either by the Good Power or by some power above them both.
“Mere Christianity”, Book II: What Christians Believe
If we believe The Nature of the Middle-earth, composed mostly of late texts from Tolkien, speech was a divine gift from Ilúvatar for his two children, Elves and Men. The Valar thus only learn to speak after meeting the quendi at Cuiviénen. (“The Nature of Middle-earth”, Part One: Time and Ageing, Chapter Six: “The Awaking of the Quendi”.)
One could argue — I will not try to — that Ilúvatar is not creating the Ainur ex nihilo, “from nothing”, since the second sentence says that he “made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought” (my emphasis). The distinction between created and begotten — as one begets offspring — is important in Christian theology, and Tolkien doubtless was familiar with it. So it would seem that the Ainur did not come to be from nothing, but from Ilúvatar himself, which would mean that Arda exists in a sort of complicated pantheistic world.
This theory, of course, clashes against the beliefs Tolkien held in the real world, and that he was somewhat concerned in maintaining in his Secondary World. Even if we discard the possibility of the term “offspring” being used without much reflection by the author — unlikely considering how many times Tolkien re-wrote the Ainulindalë, but possible — there is the simple explanation that the Ainur are the offspring of Ilúvatar’s thought since they must have existed in potentiality in the mind of Eru even before being created in actuality.