Biblical and Theological Commentary on The Book of Lost Tales 1, Part 1

(avg. read time: 11–22 mins.)

As I have previously commented on The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, and Unfinished Tales, it is only appropriate that I commence a series on Tolkien’s series that is collectively known as TheHistory of Middle-earth. Some of this series will be revisiting points we have already observed, since some ideas in these drafts made it into The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings. Other parts will represent earlier phases of Tolkien’s thinking and approach that did not appear in later drafts, but they will still be interesting to explore. And other parts that constitute “soft canon” will be worth exploring for what they add to the world of the story beyond the other volumes.

The first entries in this series address the two volumes dubbed The Book of Lost Tales. These volumes reflect Tolkien’s earliest work on the mythos of Arda from the years of 1914 to 1920, when he was in his twenties. This was when he first wrote poetry about Éarendel, composed his first prose narrative of the Fall of Gondolin, first drafted the stories of Beren and Lúthien and the Children of Húrin, first conceived his story of the world’s creation, and so on. Many details would change, including names, and his ideas about language in his mythos would develop from where he set them down in the “Qenya Lexicon.” But as with the lexicon, we can see some fascinating theological elements of his work from these earliest stages.

The Book of Lost Tales is presented as the recounting of ancient stories to one Eriol the mariner after he arrives on Tol Eressëa. At the Cottage of Lost Play he learns of the history of the island and the purpose of this cottage for gathering and telling the old stories. Christopher Tolkien has arranged them in the narrative order they are presented in The Silmarillion, and so they begin with the Music of the Ainur and extend to the end of the First Age of the Sun.

God and the Gods

As I have addressed most extensively here, Tolkien often referred to the Valar as “gods.” This began in his earliest phase of writing, as we see here with Eriol’s question and Lindo’s response:

‘Indeed I would fain to know who be these Valar; are they the Gods?’

‘So be they,’ said Lindo, ‘though concerning them Men tell many strange things and garbled tales that are far from the truth, and many strange names they call them that you will not hear here’ (41)¹

Indeed, in this early stage of his writing, Tolkien presents the Valar as more akin to pagan gods as he knew them from mythology, albeit presented in a different theological framework. At this point in the development of the mythos, the Valar are able to have children, and they do. But even from the beginning, we see the notion reflected here, although with different emphasis, of how old myths reflected reality in skewed fashion (see here and here). This is yet another signal among many others that Tolkien did not intend for his stories to take place in any other world but this one, albeit in an imaginary time of the past. For Lindo is referring to tales of our own world about gods using different names than one will see in these stories. This is also the first hint that the gods will be presented in a different framework concordant with Tolkien’s Primary World theology.

Rather, the truth is that the gods, though preexisting the world and having a role in its formation, are in service to another one:

‘Yet,’ said Eriol, ‘tell me, Rúmil, I beg, some of what you know even of the first beginnings, that I may begin to understand those things that are told me in this isle.’

But Rúmil said: ‘Ilúvatar was the first beginning, and beyond that no wisdom of the Valar or of Eldar or of Men can go.’

‘Who was Ilúvatar?’ said Eriol. ‘Was he of the Gods?’

‘Nay,’ said Rúmil, ‘that he was not, for he made them. Ilúvatar is the Lord of Always who dwells beyond the world; who made it and is not of it or in it, but loves it.’ (44–45)

We have also gone over various statements about Ilúvatar previously. And we see here, as in the “Qenya Lexicon,” that from this earliest stage he is a mythic presentation of the one God. The other gods are more like the figures of Ps 82 who are like God in some respects but are on the other side of the Creator-creature distinction. Only Ilúvatar is above the “gods,” and only he was before them. The reference to him as “Lord of Always” is similar to descriptions we have seen in Revelation of God and Jesus as “the one who is, the one who was, and the one who is coming” (on which see here, here, here, here, and here), as well as other declarations of God’s eternity. It is also a way of declaring his transcendence of and sovereignty over time (as, for example, I have highlighted in Hebrews here and here). Just as he is beyond time, he is beyond space, since he is the Creator of space and time. And as observed in the series here, his being Lord is linked with his being Creator.² It is also emphasized from the beginning that Ilúvatar loves his creation, a foundational declaration in Judeo-Christian theology—as, indeed, God himself is love (1 John 4:7–10)—that does not fit in a pagan theological framework.

The Music of the Ainur

What follows in the story is “The Music of the Ainur,” an earlier version of the Ainulindalë along with what would become parts of the “Valaquenta” and ch. 1 in the “Quenta Silmarillion,” each of which we have commented on previously. As such, we need not revisit everything here. Many of the details remain the same, and it is interesting that they were already in place this early in Tolkien’s conception. These include the Music being an outline of the story to come, the progression of the Music being divided into three themes broken up by the discord of Melko (as he is named here) and his fellows, the involvement of the Secret Fire in making alive (50, 53), Ilúvatar’s speech in rebuke of Melko to let him know this his discord will only redound to his glory, the sundering of fates between Elves and Men, and so on.

At the same time, there are interesting differences of detail to note. First, while The Silmarillion simply says that Ilúvatar made the Ainur, this version says Ilúvatar “sang into being the Ainur” (49). By this presentation, when Ilúvatar composed the Music for the Ainur to sing, he was not only thereby inviting them to participate in his act of creation, but he was also inviting them to imitate how he created them in the first place. Only Ilúvatar can create from nothing and sing into being that which did not exist (cf. Rom 4:17), but by composing music for others to sing and teaching them music, he invites them to be part of his work. After all, as he propounds the Music to them, he says that “through you I have made much beauty to come to Song” (50).

Second, the first description of Melko’s discord has an interesting addition of detail: “In this way the mischief of Melko spread darkening the music, for those thoughts of his came from the outer blackness whither Ilúvatar had not yet turned the light of his face; and because his secret thoughts had no kinship with the beauty of Ilúvatar’s design its harmonies were broken and destroyed” (51). This conveys Ilúvatar’s holiness, and just as the earlier description fit what we see in the Bible that God is love, this imagery fits what we see in the Bible that God is light (Isa 60:19; Jas 1:17; 1 John 1:5; Rev 22:5; cf. here, here, here, and here). James 1:17 and 1 John 1:5 in particular link God being light with his holiness in saying there is no shadow of change or darkness in him.

Third, another note here signifies both Ilúvatar’s aseity and the orthodox Christian ontology we have observed in Tolkien’s work elsewhere (including here and here): “those things that ye have sung and played, lo! I have caused to be – not in the musics that ye make in the heavenly regions, as a joy to me and a play unto yourselves, alone, but rather to have shape and reality even as have ye Ainur, whom I have made to share in the reality of Ilúvatar myself” (52). That is, all that is is good in that respect, whatever else betides, as evil is not a thing in itself, being parasitic of the good. All that exists derives from the creative action of the one who is Absolute Good. Unlike in dualistic ways of thinking like Manichaeism, there is no evil counterpart to Ilúvatar. At worst, there are only rebels who will ultimately serve his will in their despite before their own destruction.

Fourth, there is a further extension of Ilúvatar’s rebuke of Melko’s discord. We have noted the more condensed statement in the commentary on The Silmarillion as being foundational to the presentation of history and divine providence therein. This simply adds to it:

Through him has pain and misery been made in the clash of overwhelming musics; and with confusion of sound have cruelty, and ravening, and darkness, loathly mire and all putrescence of thought or thing, foul mists and violent flame, cold without mercy, been born, and death without hope. Yet is this through him and not by him; and he shall see, and ye all likewise, and even shall those beings, who must now dwell among his evil and endure through Melko misery and sorrow, terror and wickedness, declare in the end that it redoundeth only to my great glory, and doth but make the theme more worth the hearing, Life more worth the living, and the World so much the more wonderful and marvelous, that of all the deeds of Ilúvatar it shall be called his mightiest and his loveliest. (52)

This is along the same line as the shorter version of that speech that we analyzed in depth in commentary on The Silmarillion, including in how this shows how catastrophe is taken up to make eucatastrophe. The particular expression in this draft resembles a notion of felix culpa, which has been applied to the Fall (as in, e.g., Paradise Lost) as a reflection on the incomprehensible good that God brought to bear—and will yet bring to bear—out of that sin that otherwise brought ruin to everything. It was described as a “fortunate” sin because of how it was linked by the many complex weavings of God’s work in history to the Incarnation. But perhaps this was removed from the speech for the ambiguity of its expression and emphasis,³ if it was not simply removed for economy of expression compared to what made it into The Silmarillion.

Fifth, this is more of a slight difference, but a certain statement by Ulmo is noteworthy here. When Ilúvatar calls Ulmo’s attention to how Melko seeks to overthrow the beauty of his dominion of the waters and how he has only contributed to the beauty of ice, frost, snow, clouds, mist, and vapors in his despite, Ulmo responds in recognition that Ilúvatar wants him to bond with Manwë in his dominion. And so he says, “‘Lo! I will go seek Súlimo of the air and winds, that he and I play melodies for ever and ever to they glory and rejoicing,’” which the narrator follows with, “Now Ulmo and Manwë have been great friends and allies in almost all matters since then” (54). The version in The Silmarillion reads “‘I will seek Manwë, that he and I may make melodies for ever to thy delight!’ And Manwë and Ulmo have from the beginning been allied, and in all things have served most faithfully the purpose of Ilúvatar.” (“Ainulindalë”). The language differs in particulars, but the fundamental point remains the same about these leaders of the Valar serving Ilúvatar’s purpose and thereby glorifying him. This shows how from the beginning those called “gods” serve the one they themselves worship as God.

Sixth, there is another comment on Ilúvatar that is related to Men. In The Silmarillion, in the process of commenting on Men’s freedom, the narrator tells us that the Elves believe “Men are often a grief to Manwë, who knows most of the mind of Ilúvatar” (1). Here, the comment is different: “Yet the Ainur say that the thought of Men is at times a grief even to Ilúvatar; wherefore if the giving of that gift of freedom was their envy and amazement, the patience of Ilúvatar at its misuse is a matter of the greatest marveling to both Gods and Fairies” (57). Yet again, this comports with Tolkien’s Primary World theology about God’s patience. It is something he cultivated awareness of through confession and the recognition of his own sinfulness (see Letter #250). His own awe of God’s patience probably grew with age as he was all too aware of his deficiency in patience (Letter #289d).

It also comports with what he has said about God’s upholding of human freedom. Only the transcendent God is “the one wholly free Will and Agent” (Letter #156). But for volition/free will to exist for his creatures at all, Tolkien insists, “it is necessary that the Author should guarantee it, whatever betides: sc. when it is ‘against His Will’, as we say, at any rate as it appears on a finite view. He does not stop or make ‘unreal’ sinful acts and their consequences” (Letter #153).

Seventh, we also see in this earliest phase the notion that Elves reincarnate. Some elements will remain consistent in Tolkien’s conception. But a remarkable element of this early phase appears when we are told that “dying they are reborn in their children, so that their number minishes not, nor grows” (57; cf. 78). This differs from the equivalent statement in The Silmarillion: “and dying they are gathered to the halls of Mandos in Valinor, whence they may in time return” (1). The notion of Elvish spirits being reborn in their children has dropped out. This exemplifies how Tolkien refined his presentation of Elvish reincarnation in later years. Again, I will not revisit the theological significance of this idea here, as I have done so elsewhere (here, here, and here).

Judgment After Death

Other aspects of post-mortem fate in The Book of Lost Tales show Tolkien drawing inspiration from his Catholic theology. At this point in his conception in which Nienna is named Fui and is wife to Mandos (or Vê at this point), it is said that Men come to her to hear their doom. Some are kept in the halls of Mandos. Some are sent beyond the hills of her realm, where Melko seizes them and takes them to Angamandi, the Hells of Iron. Many others are sent to dwell on the wide plains of Arvalin, “There do they wander in dusk, camping as they may, yet they are not utterly without song, and they can see the stars, and wait in patience till the Great End come” (78). A few others are summoned to Valinor and feast in Valmar, “dwelling in the houses of the Gods until the Great End come” (79).

On the one hand, this corresponds to Tolkien’s Primary World beliefs about Purgatory. Christopher unpacks this in exposition on the shifting names of Arvalin, one of which is explicitly identified with Purgatory in the “Qenya Lexicon” (95–97). Christopher also includes a poem about “Habbanan beneath the Stars,” which ends with the speaker realizing that those he saw were “His wandering happy sons / Encamped upon those aëry leas / Where God’s unsullied garment runs / In glory down His mighty knees” (97). As Christopher says, “This poem, and this entry in the word-list, offer a rare and very suggestive glimpse of the mythic conception in its earliest phase; for here ideas that are drawn from Christian theology are explicitly present…. Taken with the poem and the evidence of the early ‘dictionaries’, can this be other than a reflection of Purgatory, Hell, and Heaven?” (97). This placing of Purgatory within the bounds of the world was problematic for how it contradicted Tolkien’s thoughts about the souls of Men departing the world, which is tied to their greater degree of freedom in the world compared to Elves. It also could be that Tolkien ultimately found this problematic for his evolving notions of how the Secondary World should be related to the Primary World, and this purgatorial conception was too close to the forms of the Primary World (albeit with the differentiation of Purgatory being located within the material world, which was problematic for its own reason). Moreover, this would undermine the sense of the fate of Men being mysterious to the Elves.

On the other hand, this is another reminder that there was a sense of eschatology for this story from the beginning (as in the note expecting the greater music of the new creation [50]). Their abiding in this purgatorial place only lasts for as long as the present world does. Then the Great End will come, and final judgment will be rendered not by one of the Valar but by Ilúvatar himself. Likewise, even those privileged to dwell with the gods are said to only do so until the Great End. This is not their final destination either. That awaits the anticipated new creation, wherein the Children of Ilúvatar will join with the Ainur to make a yet greater music.

Ilúvatar the Creator

What does not change from this earliest conception is that Ilúvatar is the Creator. The Book of Lost Tales contains some affirmations of this that are unparalleled elsewhere. When Eriol expresses his wish dwell forever on this island in fellowship with the Eldar, the Elf Meril tells him, “Fellowship is possible, maybe, but kinship not so, for Man is Man and Elda Elda, and what Ilúvatar has made unalike may not become alike while the world remains” (102–3). When Aulë hears that the Eldar have finally emerged after the Valar’s long wait, he says, “Then Ilúvatar hath sent them at last” (122; cf. 126). Indeed, we are later told that Ilúvatar “waked” them (126). His wife Yavanna said “only the heart and mind of Ilúvatar have conceived” creatures like the Eldar (125). Fanuin will refer to “all beings that Ilúvatar has made” (246) as a roundabout way of referring to everyone, save Ilúvatar himself. Furthermore, Fanuin, Danuin, and Ranuin, representing divisions of time, are said to be children of the Ainur of Time, Aluin, who, like all the Ainur, is “subject to Ilúvatar” (247). The Eldar or Qendi (as it is spelled in this phase) are said to have “the gift of speech direct from Ilúvatar” (262).

Melko references Ilúvatar as Creator twice, but only because of his attempts to pit the Eldar and Valar against each other. At first, he tells the Noldor that the Valar are selfishly using them, but he tells them to test the Valar’s love, “Ask for your inheritance that Ilúvatar designed for you – the whole wide world to roam, with all its mysteries to explore, and all its substance to be material of such mighty crafts as never can be realised in these narrow gardens penned by the mountains, hemmed in by the impassable sea” (155). Then when he speaks to Manwë, he claims the Noldor “dared murmur to his ears against Manwë’s lordship, claiming that in skill and beauty they (whom Ilúvatar had destined to possess all the earth) far surpassed the Valar, for whom they must labor unrecompensed” (156).

In these various ways beyond the creation narrative itself, there is never any conception other than that Ilúvatar is Creator. He allows others to participate in his work, and the expectation of the Second Music is that this blessing will be extended further. But only Ilúvatar is rightly called the Creator. Thus, as Christopher notes in commentary, “Although the conception of the world was indeed derived in large measure from their own playing in the Music, its reality came from the creative act of Ilúvatar” (255). We have seen this reflected elsewhere in the story of Aulë. He makes the Dwarves, but he is incapable of true creation, as he can make them only lifelike puppets that are extensions of his own will. It is only by Ilúvatar’s creative action that they become independent beings in their own right, as only Ilúvatar exercises the Creator’s prerogatives.

Moreover, it should be noted again that the fact of being Creator has other theological implications, as explored here. It is these other implications that Melko is in denial of. Naturally, he says nothing against Ilúvatar being Creator while he dwells in Valinor, even as he is sowing seeds of discord. His speech before his own corrupted servants may have resembled what Sauron told Ar-Pharazôn while he was dwelling in an already rebellious Númenor (as noted here), but here Melko does not attempt to make such a denial part of his deception. Indeed, he knows that Ilúvatar is the Creator, and he has sought to usurp what is solely the One’s prerogatives as Creator from before the world began. Still, before those who knew better, he was more honest on this front, believing even as the demons do that God is one (Jas 2:19). He was there with them and him before the creation of the world. But he denies that he alone is Creator, that he is Lord, that he is Judge, that he is the One who will undo the works of evil and bring his will to fruition, and thus he does not seek to do Ilúvatar’s will.

Desire Beyond the World

In part of the framing story, Meril the Elf discourages Eriol from giving into his desire to try by whatever means to abide in perpetuity on Tol Eressëa. Part of her reasoning is that in his attempt to fulfill one desire, he would simply be exchanging it for another, and it is not one he is ready for: “Desire unsatisfied dwells in the hearts of both those races that are called the Children of Ilúvatar, but with the Eldar most, for their hearts are filled with a vision of beauty in great glory” (103).

Although the emphasis in this context is on recognition of unfulfilled desire and the sorrow that arises from the same, this is still a fascinatingly suggestive statement in view of the eschatological expectations already articulated in this phase of Tolkien’s story. What is especially interesting is that this text comes from a time before Tolkien had met C. S. Lewis (and, of course, long before Lewis himself became a Christian), and yet it is reminiscent of Lewis’s later so-called “argument from desire” (also see here). The desire is unfulfilled, but, particularly if such a thing is a desire for something fundamentally good, why would it be there if it could not be fulfilled at all? And so it is in the larger context of the story. Men like Eriol desire everlasting life and to never leave the world behind, and this desire in this fallen world points forward to a time when Men will live forever and that in Arda Healed/Remade. Elves desire the glorious beauty they envision, to see the world around them become more like it was created to be, and this desire in this fallen world points forward to a time when Elves will participate in the Second Music that will make the world more glorious and beautiful than it has ever been. The God who put these desires in the hearts of his Children in the midst of this world that cannot fulfill them will himself bring their fulfillment to realization through his new creative work that he will allow them to participate in.

Of course, a basis of the argument from desire is that some desires are fulfilled in this life. An example of this in the course of the narrative here is that the Elves like Inwë are filled with “a desire for light” (125). And so their desire will be fulfilled. The Valar take it upon themselves to bring the Eldar to Aman. We have already discussed this decision in the commentary on The Silmarillion. It is interesting that at this early stage, the narration is ambivalent about this decision: “Maybe indeed had the Gods decided otherwise the world had been a fairer place now and the Eldar a happier folk, but never would they have achieved such glory, knowledge, and beauty as they did of old, and still less would any of Melko’s redes have benefited them” (126).

We thus see here two bases for thinking that the unfulfilled desires will ultimately be fulfilled. On the one hand, as is common in biblical connections of God’s creative/sustaining activity with his expected salvific action, there is a basis in the divine creative provision. The Creator has already provided means of fulfilling fundamental desires like that for light, and he has made provision beyond imagination, including in his allowance of the Valar to dwell within the bounds of the world. On the other hand, although it is not directly linked with the subject of desire, there is an example here of the work of divine providence. Ilúvatar’s providence and upholding of free will is such that he did not step in to prevent this decision, but it was taken up and still directed to good ends because of how the Elves who made the journey would grow and what they would learn from their time among the Valar and Maiar. One of the surprising results of this was that the Eldar did genuinely benefit from at least some of what Melko taught them. Such a situation would not have obtained if the Valar did not intervene on the Elves’ behalf to subdue him, for otherwise he would have no incentive to change tactics from what he had been doing with the Elves he made into Orcs. And while his manipulation of the Eldar certainly bore evil fruit, by the mysterious workings of Providence the work of Melko was turned to some measure of good already. This realization is a key aspect of the estel kind of faith and hope that we have discussed previously (particularly in commentaries on The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion):

Estel we call it, that is ‘trust’. It is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhini, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves. This is the last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children’s joy.⁴

It is thus an expression of estel that these desires unfulfilled in this fallen world will be fulfilled by the Creator’s provision for his Children.

1. All page numbers are taken from the following edition: J. R. R. Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales 1, ed. Christopher Tolkien (New York: Del Rey, 1983).

2. Cf. how Aluin, the Ainur of Time, is “subject to Ilúvatar” (247). Similarly, Ilúvatar is called “the Lord of All” (264).

3. Tolkien’s proper emphasis is better captured by a later statement that largely carries over to the “Ainulindalë” and ch. 1 of the “Quenta Silmarillion”: “These too in their time shall find that all that they have done, even the ugliest of deeds or works, redounds at the end only to my glory, and is tributary to the beauty of my world” (57). The “tributary” imagery was ultimately transplanted to the “Ainulindalë.”

4. J. R. R. Tolkien, Morgoth’s Ring, The History of Middle-earth 10, ed. Christopher Tolkien (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1993), 320.