Biblical and Theological Commentary on Unfinished Tales, Part 1

The First Age

(avg. read time: 31–63 mins.)

Last year, I wrote some extensive commentary on The Silmarillion. While I have done a few one-off commentaries since then, the logical next step for a series of commentaries is his Unfinished Tales, since it was the next book of Tolkien’s writings that Christopher Tolkien published. This is not actually part of the History of Middle-earth series, but it turned out to be something of a proof of concept, as the commercial success of this book proved that people would be interested in the volumes that constituted the HOME series a few years later.

As Christopher explains, the texts included in this book constitute “unfinished” tales in multiple senses:

The most important is the question of ‘consistency,’ best illustrated from the section entitled ‘The History of Galadriel and Celeborn.’ This is an ‘Unfinished Tale’ in a larger sense: not a narrative that comes to an abrupt halt, as in ‘Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin,’ nor a series of fragments, as in ‘Cirion and Eorl,’ but a primary strand in the history of Middle-earth that never received a settled definition, let alone a final written form. The inclusion of the unpublished narratives and sketches of narrative on this subject therefore entails at once the acceptance of the history not as a fixed, independently-existing reality which the author ‘reports’ (in his ‘persona’ as translator and redactor), but as a growing and shifting conception in his mind. When the author has ceased to publish his works himself, after subjecting them to his own detailed criticism and comparison, the further knowledge of Middle-earth to be found in his unpublished writings will often conflict with what is already ‘known’; and new elements set into the existing edifice will in such cases tend to contribute less to the history of the invented world itself than to the history of its invention.¹

This aligns with what we have noted about canon in Tolkien’s work previously. And indeed, for our interests in this commentary series, the tales will show a history of the theological shaping of Tolkien’s fiction that is the product of the author’s own theological shaping. As in previous entries in this series, it should be noted that this is not because he was writing allegory, but because he was himself shaped by a Christian worldview and he sought to write consonantly with that worldview, even if he did not feel obligated to conform to it per se.

The following commentary will proceed in four parts. They will correspond to the four-part division of the book. Part 1 concerns the unfinished tales of the First Age. Part 2 concerns the unfinished tales of the Second Age. Part 3 concerns unfinished tales of the Third Age as well as different perspectives on events narrated in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Part 4 will be the shortest entry, as it concerns information on the Drúedain, the Istari, and the palantíri.

Operations of Providence in the Story of Tuor

The first unfinished tale included here is that of Tuor and his coming to Gondolin. This was the last draft of the first story Tolkien composed for his legendarium. It was written at a time when Tolkien had finished LOTR, but its publication was in doubt, particularly since he had wanted to publish The Silmarillion along with it. He had planned to do a complete rewrite of the story that he first wrote in WW1, but the project ultimately stalled before Tuor entered Gondolin, and Tolkien despaired of The Silmarillion ever being published. As such, the updated version was never finished.

What is notable for our purposes is how divine providence is subtly invoked from early on in this story. I have noted previously in my commentaries on The Hobbit and LOTR (linked above) that this is a major theme evoked by a number of terms. Key words to watch for include uses of “fate,” “fortune,” “luck,” “chance,” and so on, which can function as references to divine providence by other names. In general, for whatever differences they have in precise nuance, these various terms share the sense of referring to what is beyond one’s control that can have positive or negative effects on one’s capability to achieve an end.²

Tolkien’s particular choices in terminology were influenced not only by parlance, but also by the medieval stories he knew well. Perhaps the most remarkable is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a text about a supposedly pre-Christian time which is nevertheless suffused with explicit Christianity, wherein we see a direct parallel between referring to “luck” and referring to God’s action. In stanza 38, when Gawain arrives at a castle, the narrator says that the lord of the castle learns “whom luck had brought him,” but the lord says more specifically a little later, “God has given us of His goodness His grace now indeed, / who such a guest as Gawain has granted us to have” (38).³ Likewise, in Beowulf, a text Tolkien knew thoroughly and which impacted him deeply, the Christian poet telling a story from a pre-Christian time refers to God’s providence as “fate,” “fortune,” and even by the name of Metod (Ordainer/Arbiter/Maker; cf. also the Old English Exodus poem that Tolkien translated).⁴ These authors were not reluctant to refer to God, nor were they imagining that some other benefactor was acting besides God, but uses of such terms highlight how they incorporated parlance in their theological expressions. They exemplify declarations like that found in Prov 16:33: “Into the lap the lot is cast, but from the Lord is its every decision” (personal translation).

I noted signals of this in Tuor’s story in my Silmarillion commentary, and the quality is present here as well. Providence sometimes anticipates outcomes in forebodings, as with Tuor’s mother Rían saying, “I forebode that great good, for Elves and Men, shall come from him” (19). Likewise, Annael the Elf, Tuor’s leader and caretaker in his youth, rightly suspected, “Far hence, I deem, your doom lies, Tuor son of Huor” (20). These are not full-blown prophecies, but they are related insofar as they foreshadow forthcoming divine action known in terms of “fate” or “doom.” And indeed, Tuor himself would come to perceive that “fortune still favoured him” (22).⁵

I have also noted in previous commentaries on Tolkien’s fiction that the work of Providence sometimes manifests as internal influence. In such cases, something can come upon a character as if from within. Yet the description of that influence maintains the impression that its ultimate source is from something or someone other than the character. This is also true here as Tuor hears of Turgon for the first time and the narrator tells us, “At that name Tuor was stirred, though he knew not why” (20). He did not know of what his father had foretold to Turgon. He did not know of any grand designs by which his fate was intertwined with Turgon and Gondolin, but he perceives—even if he cannot give name to—a purpose pressing upon him to seek Turgon and his Hidden Kingdom. And this purpose comes from beyond him or anyone he knows.

Moreover, his heart urging him to great deeds beyond his days as an outlaw is said to be evidence of Ulmo’s power at work (22). He is another figure I commented on multiple times in my Silmarillion commentary, as he is one of the Valar, and he is a prominent agent of Providence. It is said that at this time he “gave heed to the fates of the House of Hador, for in his deep counsels he purposed that they should play great part in his designs for the succor of the Exiles” (22). His own designs will be taken up to serve Eru Ilúvatar’s larger purposes beyond even Ulmo’s comprehension. After all, Ulmo had purposes for him related to the Noldor, but he would serve purposes for Men and for the wonder of all in Ilúvatar’s creation. As a Vala, Ulmo knows a significant amount of the story that is to come, but even he cannot see the full height, depth, and breadth of what will reverberate from this man he has designated as his instrument in the days to come.

He goes, then, in search of his doom (22), the fate he knows not for sure. Not long after he takes up his journey, he thinks himself to have reached a dead end before he encounters the Elves Gelmir and Arminas. He tells them that he seeks to leave this land, and Gelmir suggestively informs him, “if you would escape and find the havens in the South, already your feet have been guided on the right road” (23). At this point, Gelmir does not take his suggestion any further, but since we know that Tuor has no guide as such, the passive voice in itself is noteworthy. Specifically, he has been guided by a stream emerging from a spring, and he is seeking its source. But that in itself likely signals the work of Ulmo, for all waterways are messengers to him, the spring had bubbled forth when he sang an Elven song, and Tuor himself had taken the stream “as a sign” (22).

In any case, Tuor tells Gelmir that he thought he was going the right way, too, but the spring joined a stream that ran to a wall of rock and disappeared into darkness of a cave. Gelmir reassures him with a proverbial remark, “Through darkness one may come to the light” (23). This is functional dialogue in the context, since the Elves will indeed guide Tuor through the dark of the cave into the light on the other side, but it also encapsulates a theme throughout Tolkien’s fiction of trust/faith while taking the dark and obscure road through to the light that one cannot yet perceive. It fits with his approach to suffering as well and with the theme I have often referred to from the Bible as the perseverance of the suffering faithful. In this case, this step in Tuor’s journey is a microcosm of the whole and of his life, as he must trust the path that has led him hither will lead him thither.

The Elves agree to guide him on the way through the cave, but they warn him that they will only lead him back to his road, after which they must part for their own errand. Lest Tuor worry about what happens then, Gelmir comforts him with the assurance that “a great doom is written upon your brow, and it shall lead you far from these lands, far indeed from Middle-earth, as I guess” (24). Yet again, such foreboding is not clearly presented as prophecy, but it bears a providential message, nonetheless. As we have discussed before in these commentaries, and as we will revisit again and again, the relationship between fate/doom and choice is complicated. But the encouraging function of this reference is similar to Gandalf telling Frodo that it may be an encouraging thought that Bilbo and Frodo “were meant” to have the Ring (I/2). These thoughts are encouraging because the will behind the meaning and the dooming is the One who is good. What other will could this be but the will of the One (Eru), the All-Father (Ilúvatar)? And thus, what else could we be talking about here but the work of divine providence?

Also as with Frodo, we are reminded of the internal operations of Providence. At the Council of Elrond, Frodo receives grace to answer the call to the Quest (Letter #246), and he speaks with an effort, finding that is was if another will was using his voice (II/2). This other will is the same One who meant for Bilbo and then Frodo to have the Ring, and he is speaking through Frodo’s voice to call upon him for this task. And now Frodo humbly and freely submits himself to this will. It comes from within him, stoking his internal fire in recognition of the necessity of the situation until it bursts forth in a way that surprised even him. In the same way, Paul calls on his audience in Philippi, “even as you always obeyed, not only as in my presence but now much more in my absence, with fear and trembling work out/cultivate your own salvation; for God is the one who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure/will” (Phil 2:12–13, personal translation). As an instrument of Providence, Frodo is not entirely passive in this process. He must also actively accept the work of the will of the One and participate in it by his submission, as Paul similarly instructs. Others may be incorporated into the work of Providence despite their contrary wishes, but Frodo as a hero and humble servant is thus defined as one who works in concert with Providence.

Thus it is here with Tuor’s own quest. We have seen how he was stirred by reference to Turgon and the Hidden Kingdom. He set out on this quest because of it. And so he says also to the Elves, who are surprised to learn that he knows of Turgon, “though I know not why, ever his name stirs in my heart, and comes to my lips” (24). It is difficult for him to articulate, and he knows the stirring is from within, but he has a tacit recognition that there is another at work here drawing him to Turgon and his kingdom. Most immediately, it is Ulmo at work, but he is himself a chief servant of Eru Ilúvatar.

Likewise, Gelmir recognizes Providence at work through his agent. He thus tells Tuor, “And think not that our meetings was by chance; for the Dweller in the Deep moves many things in this land still” (25). While chance can be an operation of Providence, there are various times in Tolkien’s stories that characters perceive that more than seeming chance is at work, therefore directing one’s attention behind what would otherwise seem to be chance. The parting blessing he gives him, “Anar kaluva tielyanna [The sun shall shine upon your path]” (25), while something of a generic blessing, may also be a recognition of the light who guides his path and blesses it to achieve a higher purpose.

As he continues on his path, he does indeed find it blessed. He feels the protection of Ulmo’s power, even if he does not know him yet, so that he can journey and sleep securely. He even learns via hindsight that the gulls he is following were so timely in their arrival that if he had not followed them, he would have been taken by the rising tide (27). Afterwards, he follows swans to Vinyamar, the former city of Turgon by the sea. There, he finds the armor that, by Ulmo’s own arrangement with Turgon, had been prepared long ago and left behind when Turgon’s people departed for their new city.

While Ulmo’s protection, guidance, and orchestrations pervade this part of the story, one element would not have been within the purview of his control. When Tuor came to the old throne room, the sun had descended just so for a shaft of light to direct his attention to the prepared armor and to reveal its glory, which fulfills quite literally the blessing Gelmir gave him as they parted. And he thus declares, “By this token I will take these arms unto myself, and upon myself whatsoever doom they bear” (30). The timing of this shaft of light pointing Tuor to the implements of his purpose is a sign of a still higher will than Ulmo’s upholding his purpose. This is further signaled by the narration noting that it was Tuor’s doom to be “the father of the kings of the Kings of Men beyond the Sea” (30). Of course, the narrator is saying this with hindsight, but that has only made clearer what had been decreed for Tuor by the One. This is not the result of Ulmo’s will, since he and the other Ainur had known nothing of the fate of Men before the world began. He had a purpose for Tuor, to be sure, but it is part of and at the service of the divine purpose as presented in Tuor’s story as a whole.

Eventually, Ulmo himself comes to speak with Tuor. While he has some influence over Tuor’s life, he does not present himself as if he has full sovereignty over his actions. He had actually planned for Tuor to have something of a pleasant road to do his bidding. But his counsels, particularly as regards Nargothrond (56), have been ignored, and a great host of enemies could hinder his errand. Ulmo has also not at any point compelled Tuor, as even now he allows him a choice in whether or not to accept his charge (31). Nor is he asking him to do anything other than what Tuor has sought with his own heart (31).

Another interesting part of this narrative that speaks to the relationship between “fate” and choice comes after Ulmo has told Tuor the story of the darkening of Valinor, the Doom of Mandos, and so on. He then tells him,

‘But behold!’ said he, ‘in the armour of Fate (as the Children of Earth name it) there is ever a rift, and in the walls of Doom a breach, until the full-making, which ye call the End. So it shall be while I endure, a secret voice that gainsayeth, and a light where darkness was decreed. Therefore, though in the days of this darkness I seem to oppose the will of my brethren, the Lords of the West, that is my part among them, to which I was appointed ere the making of the World. Yet Doom is strong, and the shadow of the Enemy lengthens; and I am diminished, until in Middle-earth I am become now no more than a secret whisper. The waters that run westward wither, and their springs are poisoned, and my power withdraws from the land; for Elves and Men grow blind and deaf to me because of the might of Melkor. And now the Curse of Mandos hastens to its fulfillment, and all the works of the Noldor shall perish, and every hope which they build shall crumble. The last hope alone is left, the hope that they have not looked for and have not prepared. And that hope lieth in thee; for so I have chosen.’ (31–32)

A number of elements are worth noting here. First, Ulmo references Fate but qualifies it in terms of being “as the Children of Earth name it.” This is similar to statements we see in LOTR:

Just chance brought me then, if chance you call it. (I/7)

You have been saved, and all your friends too, mainly by good fortune, as it is called. (III/11)

A chance-meeting, as we say in Middle-earth. (Appendix A.III)

This is a tacit acknowledgement that there is more going on than the peoples of Middle-earth perceive in what they call “fate,” “doom,” “chance,” and so on. Moreover, we are also reminded of something Eru Ilúvatar said in the opening chapter of the “Quenta Silmarillion”:

Behold I love the Earth, which shall be a mansion for the Quendi and the Atani! But the Quendi shall be the fairest of all earthly creatures, and they shall have and shall conceive and bring forth more beauty than all my Children; and they shall have the greater bliss in this world. But to the Atani I will give a new gift.’ Therefore he willed that the hearts of Men should seek beyond the world and should find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to shape their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else; and of their operation everything should be, in form and deed, completed, and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest. (ch. 1)

This is not to say that the Elves or the Ainur do not have volition, but the degree of freedom for Men is greater, and that is due to their spirits not being bound to the world like the Valar, Maiar, and Elves are. In the same way, God’s utter freedom as an agent surpasses the degree of freedom for their faculty of will, as Tolkien himself stated (Letter #156). Their freedom is also incorporated as an essential—and, for the Ainur, unpredictable—element to the completion of God’s plan, even beyond what was articulated in the Music, and this by creatures that might have been considered “lesser” compared to the Ainur and the Elves. Such is the benefit of creatures whose desire extends beyond the world as it is to the world that is still to come, as they can be better prepared for their participation in the Second Music for the new creation. (On how the relation for the Elves is also different from the Ainur, see Letter #181.)

Second, although I have said that “fate” (as well as “doom”) is a word to watch for when it comes to possible signals for divine providence, it is important to remember that this is not always the case. As a matter of fact, both “fate” and “doom” have multiple senses in Tolkien’s fiction, as I have reviewed in the commentaries on said fiction to this point. That is also why I have tried to be careful in establishing why I think certain uses of these terms are signals of Providence. Generally speaking, the more suggestive a certain use of this language is of something more than randomness—i.e., being suggestive of a benefactor, of agency, and of a larger purpose, including implications of something being more than “mere” X—the more likely it is that one can find in such texts references to divine providence in appropriate Secondary World (or “mythological”) forms.

In this instance, the sense is something closer to what the denizens of Eä or Arda specifically experience as “fate” in terms of seeming inevitability. Moreover, in light of the immediate context of what Ulmo has just related to Tuor, there is also a specific link to the Doom of Mandos, which, due to the power of Mandos’s word and the judgment of the Valar, can have the appearance of tragic inevitability, even as the Music of the Ainur could seem to those within creation. And yet, that is not all there is to the story, as Eru’s own words indicate above. That same thought appears here in other guise in Ulmo’s declaration that there is a rift in the armor of fate and a breach in the wall of doom. The metaphors equally suggest a way through a seemingly impervious reality. While the Doom of Mandos and the inevitable fate of the works of the Noldor will come even to Gondolin, still there is a space through which agents of Providence can enter to provide hope beyond expectation of those who see what is happening to them as fate.

Third, there is a reference here to the eschatological when Ulmo mentions “the End.” His description of it as the “full-making” works on two levels here. One, in the immediate context, it refers to the fully wrought armor of fate or wall of doom, at which point all decisions have been made, all judgment is final, and the goal to which all is being directed is achieved. Until that time, there remains ever a space for hope to enter and avert the seemingly inevitable tragedy, provided that the opportunity is not scorned. Two, the End itself is described from the opening creation story as another beginning, wherein creation will experience its “full-making” in the Second Music that will surpass the Music of the Ainur. That new creation will be better realized, or more fully made, than this creation.

Fourth, Ulmo makes clear that what he is doing is part of his role as an agent of the One who is above the Valar. While he could not gainsay the will of Ilúvatar, he can gainsay “fate” as the will of Valar in Arda, precisely because he serves Ilúvatar in this capacity. The Silmarillion made clear at multiple points that he never forsook Middle-earth, even in these days, in opposition to his brethren. Nor is this the first time he has been a minority voice in their midst for the benefit of the Children of Ilúvatar. But he says he must play part among them because it was to this role “I was appointed ere the making of the World.” Who would appoint him so but Eru Ilúvatar? This supports the point we have made throughout that Ulmo is the agent of Eru Ilúvatar, and so Tuor is, by extension, an agent of the One and his purposes. And so it will prove that by Ulmo faithfully discharging his role to which he was appointed that Eru will bring hope to Middle-earth that will resonate through the ages.

Fifth, although Ulmo sees dark times ahead between his waning influence, the increasing power of Morgoth in these lands, and the fruit of the Doom of Mandos meaning the ruin of Gondolin, he assures Tuor and those he will bear his message to that a last hope remains. While Turgon had prepared the armor in this hope, it is not one he actively looks for, and so neither do his people. That hope is in Ulmo’s chosen instrument of Tuor.

The description of this hope recalls the distinction we have noted multiple times in the commentaries on LOTR and The Silmarillion between the words that can be translated as “hope”: amdir and estel. The former is “An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known.”⁶ On the other hand, the latter 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.”⁷ For all the evil that the Children of Ilúvatar do, they are themselves bearers of estel in the world, as their very existence and their contributions to the story of history attest to the surprising creativity of Eru Ilúvatar and his direction of history, as his is the only wisdom that understands and guides these creations of his (Letter #131). To the Ainur, including those who would enter into the material world and its history, Tolkien says the Children were, “an incalculable element: that is they were rational creatures of free will in regard to God, of the same historical rank as the Valar, though of far smaller spiritual and intellectual power and status” (Letter #181).

An example of amdir is actually provided in this text. Tuor later questions Ulmo if Turgon is not going to stand against Morgon, “as all the Eldar yet hope” (32). This hope is amdir because it is an expectation in an entity known to be present and previously involved in the war in Turgon, the current High King of the Noldor.

But this particular hope Ulmo speaks of is estel from the perspective of the Elves because it comes from outside of themselves, outside of their influence, and beyond their expectation. Ulmo had Turgon prepare the armor long before the Elves had even met Men, and so he could not have imagined back then that one of them would be the one to take the armor. Because it was so far beyond anything Turgon could have seen at the time, and because it is an acknowledgment that the only hope for the Noldor beyond the Doom of Mandos must come from outside themselves, the hope in light of which the armor was made was fundamentally is trust beyond what can be seen in that it is trust in Ilúvatar’s willing the good for his children.

Valor and Providence

Another element we have often noted in Tolkien’s fiction is the link between courage/valor and the work of divine providence. I will not repeat here what I have noted on multiple occasions already, but it is a part of the theological framework of this story that courage is itself a gift/grace from the One to his creatures to do what needs to be done. At the same time, there are many occasions, most notably the Quest in LOTR, wherein valor alone, even when multiplied amongst a great army, will not achieve the fulfillment of hope for deliverance from evil. But courage/valor, when combined with fidelity in doing what is right, can put one in position for the realization of hope, whereupon Providence takes up the fruits of one’s courage/valor and directs them to the fulfillment of higher purposes. This is a dynamic that is repeatedly in evidence in Tolkien’s stories.

And thus it is here. Tuor expresses doubt about what he, being only one man, can do. It is not that he is unwilling to do what he is being called to do, but he questions his own effectiveness and his own ability to fulfill Ulmo’s commission. Ulmo responds,

If I choose to send thee, Tuor son of Huor, then believe not that thy one sword is not worth the sending. For the valour of the Edain the Elves shall ever remember as the ages lengthen, marveling that they gave life so freely of which they had on earth so little. But it is not for thy valour only that I send thee, but to bring into the world a hope beyond thy sight, and a light that shall pierce the darkness. (32)

This is a call to estel as Tuor must trust in the higher purpose that doing what he must do will ultimately lead to the result he is sent to achieve. His determination will thus ultimately prove instrumental in the fulfillment of estel in ways that he cannot comprehend. His valor will certainly be recognizable to the Elves, as so many of their own people have embodied it, but to see it from a mortal, knowing that their days in this world are relatively short, has mystified the Elves since they first became familiar with their lot in life.

Such a quality is the manifestation of the spirit of courage that left such an impression on Tolkien when he read old stories like Beowulf and The Battle of Maldon. As we have explored elsewhere, it proved to be something of a preparation for the gospel. It is all the more fitting that such valor should characterize one who is a messenger who comes to bring hope in resistance of an enemy whose victory for the present time seems inevitable. Regardless of the chance of victory, resistance to evil is still necessary, and to do what one must do regardless of outcome is an exercise of the crucial virtue of perseverance. This virtue would be, in turn, a key aspect of the Christian life, and it is not until the Christian framework meets this spirit of courage that the latter is given its proper telos as it provides the final victory that completes it. But long before the gospel story was revealed to the world, God gave gifts of strength and courage to people to prepare them for the story and the kind of life it would bring. That is what Ulmo is calling upon from Tuor here.

But again, Tuor’s valor is not the whole story. As great a hero as he would be for Gondolin, as he had already been a mighty outlaw resisting the forces of Morgoth, his valor alone would not bring victory or hope. It is simply what will put him in position for the realization of the hope that is estel. What is more directly important than his valor is his presence, for it will be through him that a hope beyond sight will be brought forth into the world. This estel will be embodied in Eärendil, his son. He will be the light that pierces the darkness, for he will be the one to take a Silmaril to Valinor and to bear it in his course through the heavens as the brightest star in the night sky. And as with the earendel of Crist A (or Christ I) ll. 104–106, whence came the inspiration for the name (Letter #297), he will be a light that points to the transcendent source of light and hope beyond himself as the star Gil-Estel (“Star of High Hope”).

A Messenger with the Voice of Another

As with Moses (Exod 3:13–18; 4:12), Tuor wonders what he will say to Turgon and his people when he arrives there. Since the time for the conclusion of this meeting must come soon, Ulmo does not ultimately tell him the message specifically, but he assures him that if he makes it to his destination, “then the words shall arise in thy mind, and thy mouth shall speak as I would. Speak and fear not” (32). This is also reminiscent of Jesus’s promise to his disciples, lest they should worry about what they will say when put on trial for their proclamation. He assures them that they will be given the words to say, for the Holy Spirit will speak through them (Matt 10:19–20 // Mark 13:11 // Luke 12:11–12). Ulmo is not the Holy Spirit, of course (and I have written elsewhere on the Holy Spirit in Tolkien’s story, including here), but he is among the highest angels in this mythology.

Further confirmation of his appointment and the special revelation given to him comes from a vision that he receives of the lands of Aman and of the dwelling place of the Valar (33). This strengthens his desire for the sea and what lies beyond it. But one wonders what role this revelation would have had in the completed story. Perhaps it might have been further confirmation of the angelic source of his revelation, as Tuor could have told of the lands no Man has seen and which Turgon and his people had known long ago. Unfortunately, this cannot be known for sure.

What is certain in the context of this story is that Ulmo’s promise of Tuor receiving the words to speak is soon thereafter proven true. Tuor finds Voronwë, an Elf who is to guide him to the hidden gates of Gondolin. Voronwë is sure that his errand is in vain, since he could not secure his passage beyond the gate, no matter how important a Man he might be. Tuor informs him that this is not his concern, for he only needs to bring him to the gate to bring his message:

‘There Doom shall strive with the Counsel of Ulmo. And if Turgon will not receive me, then thy errand will be ended, and Doom shall prevail. But as for my right to seek Turgon: I am Tuor son of Huor and kin to Húrin, whose names Turgon will not forget. And I seek also by the command of Ulmo. Will Turgon forget that which he spoke to him of old: Remember that the last hope of the Noldor cometh from the Sea? Or again: When peril is nigh one shall come from Nevrast to warn thee? I am he that should come, and I am arrayed thus in the gear that was prepared for me.’

Tuor marveled to hear himself speak so, for the words of Ulmo to Turgon at his going from Nevrast were not known to him before, nor to any save the Hidden People. (35)

This confirms Tuor’s errand as coming from Ulmo to Voronwë, and he thus resolves to take him to Gondolin. He himself had experienced the internal operations of providence when he was made to realize that his doom was to serve Ulmo’s will when “it came into my heart to make a raft” (38).

An Unwitting Agent of Providence

As Tuor and Voronwë travel to Gondolin, the narrator informs of another agent of Providence at work, albeit unwittingly. I had mentioned this before in my commentary on The Silmarillion, but it is made clearer here. The two companions hear this man in the distance looking for his friends. This is none other than Túrin, Tuor’s cousin. These great Men of the ancient days had never met and could not have recognized each other, and the narrator tells us, “Thus only for a moment, and never again, did the paths of those kinsmen, Túrin and Tuor, draw together” (40).

One wonders how outcomes, especially in Túrin’s story, might have changed if they had known each other, but Túrin nevertheless serves the good of his cousin unknowingly. Tuor and Voronwë are not the only beneficiaries of Túrin’s heroic deeds (though, tragically, many others suffer because of them), but they are the most prominent. The narrator makes note of this later as he describes how the two companions avoided detection from the Orc encampments near their path. This was possible because, as with Sauron his servant millennia later, his attention was drawn elsewhere away from his greatest threat. He had instructed his Orcs to watch the roads and not the wilderness, “for Morgoth had set a guard on the highway, not to ensnare Tuor and Voronwë (of whom as yet he knew nothing) nor any coming from the West, but to watch for the Blacksword, lest he should escape and pursue the captives of Nargothrond, bringing help, it might be, out of Doriath” (43). This is another example of how valor can serve the purpose of Providence beyond what one might imagine.

Tuor Again Speaks with Another Voice

Tuor and Voronwë ultimately arrive at their destination, and after they pass through six of the seven gates of Gondolin, they are resisted by the guards, led by Ecthelion. He threatens Tuor with the promise that no stranger who passes this last gate can ever go back beyond it, save by death. Tuor responds, “Speak not ill-boding! If the messenger of the Lord of Waters go by that door, then all those who dwell here will follow him. Lord of the Fountains, hinder not the messenger of the Lord of Waters” (54).

All who stood by were amazed at Tuor’s words and his voice. Tuor himself wondered at hearing these words, as if another voice was using his own mouth. This is akin to how he had previously learned that Ulmo’s promise held true that he would receive the words to speak. A similar description sometimes appears in LOTR, as with Frodo accepting the Quest (II/2). This, together with the visual cue of Tuor revealing beneath his raiment the armor that Turgon had prepared centuries ago, confirms that Tuor is a messenger of Ulmo, and he is not to be hindered. Unfortunately, this is where this latest version of the story ends. Tolkien could not have imagined how much I and many others wish we could have seen his fully revised version of his oldest tale.

A Tragic Hero’s Tale

With this, we turn to the other major unfinished tale of the First Age: “Narn I Hîn Húrin,” the Tale of the Children of Húrin. This tale is unfinished in the sense of never being completely arranged in orderly fashion to tell a cohesive story from beginning to end. This presents many of the pieces of the tale, including what was not featured in The Silmarillion, but the tale would not be set out in full and proper order until the publication of The Children of Húrin. As such, much of what follows will eventually reappear in the commentary on that book along with the more general comments I had made for this story in The Silmarillion.

The account begins with the origins of Húrin, his marriage to Morwen, and the beginning of their family in dark times for the realms of Beleriand. An account is also given of Túrin as a child. The characteristics that would define him as a man are already in place now: “Túrin was slow to forget injustice or mockery; but the fire of his father was also in him, and he could be sudden and fierce. Yet he was quick to pity, and the hurts or sadness of living things might move him to tears; and he was like his father in this also, for Morwen was stern with others as with herself” (63).

While this characteristic appears in The Silmarillion, it is not noted from the outset like this, nor is there an encapsulating statement like one Finduilas makes much later when she notes that Túrin is merciful in spite of his pride, “He is not yet awake, but still pity can ever pierce his heart, and he will never deny it. Pity maybe shall be ever the only entry” (167). Túrin never ceases to be a tragic figure in Tolkien’s fuller story, but this quality is one that marks him as a hero, deeply flawed though he is. This is a divine virtue that he embodies (for more on the subject, see here, here, here, here, here, here, and here). It is typically expressed in the Bible as a divine characteristic or as an expectation of divine action. In extension to human instruction, there are times when, in addition to the terminology of forgiveness, there is emphasis on showing mercy because one has received mercy from God, because God will show mercy, and/or because of bearing the image and likeness of the God who shows mercy (Matt 5:7; Luke 6:36; Jas 2:13).

This pity is grounded in Tolkien’s own formation by Scripture and observance of the Mass. In the case of the former, despite its frequent misuse for rebuking any negative statement not affirmed by the person using the text, one text that likely resonates here is Matt 7:1–2: “Do not judge, so that you should not be judged; for by the judgment you judge you will judged, and by the measure you measure it will be measured to you” (personal translation). Similarly, Rom 3:9–18 (as well as the more famous 3:23) speaks to the common lot of sin that enslaves all of humanity, so that neither Jews nor gentiles are immune. Paul also reminds us of how we will all appear before the judgment seat of God in Rom 14:10. Whatever judgments we make in the present time should be tempered with discernment in accordance with right thinking rather than superficial appearance (John 7:24).

Thus, Tolkien saw “pity” as a word of “moral and imaginative worth” (Letter #153). Properly speaking, “Pity must restrain one from doing something immediately desirable and seemingly advantageous” (Letter #153). Elsewhere, he said pity “is also an absolute requirement in moral judgement (since it is present in the Divine nature)” (Letter #246). In that same letter he said in a footnote that pity “to be a true virtue must be directed to the good of its object. It is empty if it is exercised only to keep oneself ‘clean’, free from hate or the actual doing of injustice, though this is also a good motive.”

I have written more extensively on this matter in commentaries on LOTR and The Silmarillion, so I will not reiterate everything here. But it will be worth observing in the fuller study of this story for The Children of Húrin how Túrin manifests pity. It will also be worth considering how this evidence of pity comports with Tolkien’s descriptions and the biblical roots thereof.

Also referenced here is his first sister Urwen/Lalaith. Not as much detail about her part in the story is given in The Silmarillion because she died when she was but three years old. For this fuller story of Túrin’s life, the event of her death and the reaction of him and his family to it illustrate how Túrin’s story was cloaked in tragedy even before Morgoth cursed his family. It also proved formative for him in other ways, as he turned to the friendship of Sador, his family’s lame house-servant who would teach him much in his youth.

The Shadowy Past of Men

Túrin asks Sador about fate when the word comes up in conversation about his late little sister and the similarities and differences of Elves and Men. Sador then explains, as best he knows, the differences between the ends to which Men and Elves go. He even mentions how Elves are said to return again after their death, which is accurate to what we have seen elsewhere (especially in The Silmarillion) about the reincarnation of Elves. He does not know why this is, since he is unaware that the Elves are tied to the present creation in a way that Men are not, but he is accurate in his account as far as it goes.

Túrin then asks why it is that Men die so soon and so easily compared to the Elves and whether this has always been so or if it is because of Melkor. He responds,

‘I do not know. A darkness lies behind us, and out of it few tales have come. The fathers of our fathers may have had things to tell, but they did not tell them. Even their names are forgotten. The Mountains stand between us and that life that they came from, flying from no man knows what.’

‘Were they afraid?’ said Túrin.

‘It may be,’ said Sador. ‘It may be that we fled from the fear of the Dark, only to find it here before us, and nowhere else to fly but to the Sea.’ (65)

This is reminiscent of the account given in The Silmarillion:

But when he [Finrod] questioned him [Bëor] concerning the arising of Men and their journeys, Bëor would say little; and indeed he knew little, for the fathers of his people had told few tales of their past and a silence had fallen upon their memory. ‘A darkness lies behind us,’ Bëor said; ‘and we have turned our backs upon it, and we do not desire to return thither even in thought. Westwards our hearts have been turned, and we believe that there we shall find Light.’

But it was said afterwards among the Eldar that when Men awoke in Hildórien at the rising of the Sun the spies of Morgoth were watchful, and tidings were soon brought to him; and this seemed to him so great a matter that secretly under the shadow he himself departed from Angband, and went forth into Middle-earth, leaving to Sauron the command of the War. Of his dealings with Men the Eldar indeed knew nothing, at that time, and learnt but little afterwards; but that a darkness lay upon the hearts of Men (as the shadow of the Kinslaying and the Doom of Mandos lay upon the Noldor) they perceived clearly even in the people of the Elf-friends whom they first knew. To corrupt or destroy whatsoever arose new and fair was ever the chief desire of Morgoth; and doubtless he had this purpose also in his errand: by fear and lies to make Men the foes of the Eldar, and bring them up out of the east against Beleriand. But this design was slow to ripen, and was never wholly achieved; for Men (it is said) were at first very few in number, whereas Morgoth grew afraid of the growing power and union of the Eldar and came back to Angband, leaving behind at that time but few servants, and those of less might and cunning. (ch. 17)

As with the traditional story of the Fall, the Satanic figure in this mythos is said to be involved. And the basic function of what he sought to achieve is as is in the traditional story. But again, Tolkien is not simply re-presenting the biblical story that happens offstage. It is simply there, and its influence remains by the shadow that has fallen upon the hearts of Men, a shadow that all people carry to this day. Tolkien himself said in Letter #96 that, unlike many Christians in his day (and in ours), he did not feel ashamed or dubious about the Eden “myth”:

It has not of course, historicity of the same kind as the NT, which are virtually contemporary documents, while Genesis is separated by we do not know how many sad exiled generations from the Fall, but certainly there was an Eden on this very unhappy earth. We all long for it, and we are constantly glimpsing it: our whole nature at its best and least corrupted, its gentlest and most humane, is still soaked with the sense of ‘exile’…. As far as we can go back the nobler part of the human mind is filled with the thoughts of sibb, peace and goodwill, and with the thought of its loss. (emphases original)

This is a similar argument to that of C. S. Lewis and his notion that the deepest feeling of nostalgia (or rather, “longing”) ultimately has its roots in Eden, and the sense of loss of peace and goodwill that suffuses so much of human thought ultimately stems from the exile from the same. Indeed, as I have noted in my series on resurrection in the OT, the Bible establishes a strong conceptual link between exile and death, as well as return and resurrection. Of course, in line with how Revelation ends, Tolkien’s expectation is not simply to return to or recover Eden, “For that is not the way of repentance, which works spirally and not in a closed circle; we may recover something like it, but on a higher plane.” That is indeed how the new Jerusalem is described in Rev 21–22, as Eden fulfilled, not merely as Eden revived.

Striving Against the Devil

Túrin was assured that his father was not afraid of Melkor, and neither was he. This indeed would prove true as one can see from the dialogue of Húrin and Melkor after Húrin was captured in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. However, as steadfast as Húrin was, the torments of Melkor would have their effect on him in the long run. When we are told earlier in the story that “in Húrin’s company the hopeful ever seemed the more likely” (66), it highlights the lamentable character of his state after his years of imprisonment.

The years take such a toll precisely because he strove against the devil. Morgoth interrogated him to learn the way to Turgon’s realm, and Húrin defied him at every turn. Morgoth thus curses Húrin’s family. He claims, “The shadow of my thought shall lie upon them wherever they go, and my hate shall pursue them to the ends of the world” (71). Húrin doubts that his power can match his bravado. Morgoth mocks him for his doubt of a Vala like himself and for possibly thinking that Manwë, Varda, or any of the others can help him here. Húrin then states his faith that the Elder King (Manwë) “shall not be dethroned while Arda endures” (71). Morgoth affirms what he says, but he claims that he is the Elder King, not Manwë, and that he made the world.

This befits what we noted throughout the commentary on The Silmarillion of how Melkor sought to be worshiped as God in place of God. At first, he sought to claim the power of creation for himself. When that venture failed, it became clear that he was only capable of making in mockery and of corrupting the good of creation. He is lying to Húrin here as he has lied to his own servants about whence the world came because he desires to be worshiped as Creator. And his words that “all that is in it [Arda] bends slowly and surely to my will” (71) is itself a dark parody of Eru Ilúvatar’s words to Melkor before creation that:

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 shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined. (“Ainulindalë”)

Melkor was indeed the mightiest of Ilúvatar’s creations, and while his power has been dispersed in his domination, he still commands overwhelming power. But in his deceit he claims a power of inevitability matching how others speak of “fate.” It is interesting that the fuller version of this story will actually feature a note that Melkor feared at one point that Túrin would escape his curse and/or possibly return beyond his reach to Doriath, where he was regularly foiled by Melian.

Húrin rebukes Morgoth’s lies with his knowledge of the past and of the wisdom he has acquired from the Elves. He mentions what Sador had also referenced earlier, as he recalls that Morgoth spoke such lies as these to his ancestors in the shadowy past. Furthermore, “now we have knowledge of you, for we have looked on the faces that have seen the Light, and heard the voices that have spoken with Manwë. Before Arda you were, but others also; and you did not make it. Neither are you the most mighty; for you have spent your strength upon yourself and wasted it in your own emptiness. No more are you now than an escaped thrall of the Valar, and their chain still awaits you” (71–72). Húrin thus exemplifies the quality of knowing lore and learning its lessons well that Tolkien uses on multiple occasions for characterizing his heroes, especially in the later Ages. Húrin has learned well about whence the world came, which means he would have heard of Eru Ilúvatar, although he is not specifically mentioned here. And he also knows that Morgoth’s power has dwindled, which accords with what we noted at several junctures in The Silmarillion of how Morgoth spent himself in domination.

Morgoth’s only response is to be dismissive of what his “masters” taught him. He even refers to is as “childish lore” (72). Such is a familiar refrain the faithful hear even today. It mirrors also how Tolkien had heard fairy-stories be referred to derisively as being for children, while he contended that they were for adults as well (see here). He saw them as presenting truth transcending the walls of the world, a world encompassed by diabolic deceits.

After Húrin throws another jab of calling Morgoth “thrall,” he says he is going beyond the lore of the Eldar, for they do not speak definitively of the fate of Men. Rather, Húrin claims what is about to say is “put into my heart in this hour” (72). This is reminiscent of other cases of the internal operations of Providence that we have seen before, as well as the analogous case of Ulmo giving Tuor words to say. He rebukes the notion that Morgoth is the Lord of Men or ever shall be. The hope of Men is beyond and the Circles of the World, and “Beyond the Circles of the World you shall not pursue those who refuse you” (72).

Morgoth declares that he will not pursue beyond the Circles of the World because there is nothing beyond them. As he would present the matter, all that he sees is under Morgoth’s dominion, and all that he does not see is of no account because it is nothing at all. It is a long way of saying that his power is total. Such is a common diabolic deceit. Death is a cloud of unknowing for Men, and that is why they are called upon to have estel that there is something beyond it for them by the will of their Creator who wills the good. And this is what he exemplifies here. And it is what will be tested from him for many years hereafter as he is faced with Morgoth’s deceits that come from seeing with Morgoth’s eyes and hearing with Morgoth’s ears (72).

Sadly, although many opportunities for averting Morgoth’s will arise in the course of the story, it appears as if various forces combine to lead down the path he would set for Húrin’s family. For example, if Morwen never parted from Túrin and Túrin had grown up with his sister, perhaps their story might have turned out differently. But it was not to be, since Morwen, despite hearing the echo of her husband’s voice telling her to leave at once without waiting for him, as he told her to do if the battle went ill, she could not bring herself to do so. She hoped rightly that he still lived, but she hoped falsely that he would return to her. Between this false hope and her concern for traveling to Doriath while pregnant overrode her husband’s counsel, and the narrator forebodingly tells us, “the first strand of the fate of Túrin was woven” (75).⁸ This is one of many examples where “fate” is sometimes described in terms of the outcome of choices. It is not always so, and sometimes larger forces appear to drive choices, but this is a reminder of both the diversity of meanings for “fate” and the complex relationship of “fate” and choice.

Thralldom and the Desecration of Humanity

As Túrin is being prepared to leave without his mother, he speaks once more with Sador. Sador wishes to return the gift of the knife Túrin had given him on Túrin’s birthday. He thinks he will have no more good use for it now that he is almost certainly not going to be a household servant anymore and will instead be doomed to be a thrall in this land ruled now by the Easterlings. Túrin thus asks him what a thrall is. Sador answers, “A man who was a man but is treated as a beast … Fed only to keep alive, kept alive only to toil, toiling only for fear of pain or death. And from these robbers he may get pain or death just for their sport. I hear that they pick some of the fleet-footed and hunt them with hounds. They have learned quicker from the Orcs than we learnt from the Fair Folk” (76).

On the one hand, this illustrates how the Orcs align with the sinful nature, the propensity to that rebellion against God that is rooted in Men as a result of the Fall. The Orcs themselves exist because of the Dark Lord’s corruption of God’s good creation (as we addressed in the commentary on The Silmarillion). On the other hand, this also illustrates how the Elves served to cultivate the sanctification of humanity by cultivating the capacities of those made to be bearers of God’s image and likeness. This is why Tolkien wrote in his “Qenya Lexicon” of the Elves or “fairies” as those who “came to teach men song and holiness” (35). I think Austin Freeman is on the mark when he says, “Recalling that Elves symbolize artistry, creativity, and a delight in the world, we might say that Tolkien sees a re-infusion of these traits as important to the sanctification process, which is not merely a painful endurance of suffering but a growth toward receptivity to the joy and holiness of God, which shines through all of creation.”⁹ In Tolkien’s larger mythology, not all of which made it into the published Silmarillion, this clearly included the knowledge that helped them develop their theology of Eru Ilúvatar and what marks of religion they associated with their faith in him, as we have explored elsewhere. Such elements of sanctification as they passed on to them to help them achieve the purpose for which God created them (for which they are set apart and by which they are made whole, to combine senses of “holy”) were meant as preparation for the Men to replace Elves/fairies on the plane of history. Thus, Tolkien similarly said of the renunciation and suffering of Frodo and Arwen that they both “were parts of a plan for the regeneration of the state of Men” (Letter #246).

A Piece of Wisdom from Sador

Túrin weeps about having to leave his home to go live among Elves, not knowing if he will ever see his mother again. Sador reminds him that he said not long ago that he would be like his father in serving as a soldier for an Elven king. This brings Túrin to his senses, and it makes him think not to say such things so rashly again. Sador acknowledges that he has now learned a lesson too few learn: “Let the unseen days be. Today is more than enough” (77).

This is an application of a general proverb that matches biblical wisdom. Jesus himself concluded his teaching on worry in the Sermon on the Mount, “Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself; each day’s trouble is sufficient” (Matt 6:34; personal translation). Relatedly, Jas 4:13–14 says, “Come now you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city and spend a year there, do business, and profit.’ Yet you are of the sort who do not know the things of tomorrow. What is your life? For you are a mist, which appears for a short while and then disappears” (4:13–14; personal translation). The teachings are related but have different emphases. Jesus stresses trust in God over anxiety about the future while James stresses the frailty of life and the uncertainty of the future. Both are concerned with focusing on what needs to be done today (Matt 6:25–33; Jas 4:13–17).

In a sense, the two biblical teachings and the proverb here—which more closely resembles Matthew in form—are related to cultivating the virtue of courage. After all, courage is a virtue characterized by resolve or strength of heart to do what must be done and to do so when it must be done. Courage is a virtue that upholds other virtues in supplying the resolution to do what must be done in the face of obstacles. And in its fullest exercise, it is a virtue that is itself upheld by others like the theological virtues of faith, love, and hope. To do what must be done today without worrying about tomorrow cultivates courage to do what must be done tomorrow, whatever it might be, rather than—in the case of this story—haughtily feigning courage about the future only to shrink in cowardice when it becomes the present. Letting the unseen days be can also help to cultivate estel in realizing what is beyond one’s control and trusting in the work of Providence. It is good for Túrin to learn this lesson, but unfortunately, he does not consistently apply it over his life, nor will he realize the many opportunities he has to avert the curse placed on his family.

Another Failed Aversion

Speaking of which, there does appear to be confirmation that the “fate” of Húrin’s family could be averted. After Thingol and Melian have received Túrin into their house as a foster-son—a most remarkable arrangement for a king, much less for an Elf to make this happen for a child of Men, and thus beyond what Morwen might have hoped—Melian invites Morwen to join them in Doriath. For, the narrator tells us, “Melian was wise and foresighted, and she hoped thus to avert the evil that was prepared in the thought of Morgoth” (79). This fate was not inevitable; it was the outcome of a complex convergence of choices, albeit contributing to Morgoth’s desired end.

But for the second time, Morwen avoids what could have been an aversion of Morgoth’s desire. Partly, this was due to her pride. Another part was her wish to remain where she was for Húrin’s return. And yet another part was her worry about traveling with her baby daughter Nienor. Melian perceived such things, and she was moved to pity, for “she saw that the fate which she foreboded could not lightly be set aside” (79). In other words, it was not a matter of if such “fate” could be averted; it was a matter of difficulty. Such again illustrates the complex meanings of what is signified by the single term of “fate” as well as the relationships between that concept and choice.¹⁰

The Devil’s Work

There is much that is good in Túrin’s time in Doriath. He is the foster-son of Thingol and Melian, after all. The Elf Nellas watches him while he is in the woods, and when he was a child she would often accompany him and teach him. Beleg, the greatest warrior of the realm, taught him much, and theirs was a bond that would last.

However, grief would still find him here. The most obvious source was that his mother and sister never joined him. But that might not have made him as dour if it were not accentuated by the Elf Saeros, who was ever hostile to him. Saeros had dwelt in Doriath since the beginning of the war in Beleriand, having come there as a refugee. He had never been especially warm towards Men, but his disposition was worsened by seeing the trouble brought by Beren to his kinsmen, especially Daeron, who had the misfortune of being in love with Lúthien when her heart was for Beren. Combined with the favor Túrin received upon his entrance into the realm, Saeros was resentful of Túrin regardless of what he did. When Túrin responded to his insults with silence, he treated it as contempt. When he escalated his insults to the point of Túrin throwing a cup at his face, no one took his side because of his obvious provocation.

For all this, Saeros threatens to kill Túrin if ever he draws his sword on him in the woods. Mablung doubts his ability relative to Túrin (and for good reason). More importantly, he insists that if either one slays the other, regardless of cause, “it will be an evil deed, more fit for Angband than Doriath, and more evil will come of it. Indeed I think that some shadow of the North has reached out to touch us tonight. Take heed, Saeros son of Ithilbor, lest you do the will of Morgoth in your pride, and remember that you are of the Eldar” (85). When Mablung hears of their fight the next day he thinks, “malice that wakes in the morning is the mirth of Morgoth ere night” (86). Similarly, he describes Túrin’s chase of Saeros (who had waylaid him) as “Orc-work in the woods” (86).

All such descriptions are reminiscent of some key quotes noted in my LOTR commentary, including the following:

Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him. (II/6)

We are all friends here. Or should be; for the laughter of Mordor will be our only reward, if we quarrel. (III/6)

But it’s a pity that folk as talk about fighting the Enemy can’t let others do their bit in their own way without interfering. He’d be mighty pleased, if he could see you now. Think he’d got a new friend, he would. (IV/5)

Such deeds he loves: friend at war with friend; loyalty divided in confusion of hearts. (V/7)

Of course, Tolkien has established elsewhere that Morgoth could not assert his power from afar in Doriath, since Melian had her ways of foiling him. However, the likeness of his works could still be imitated there. Saeros himself was by no means an intentional agent of Morgoth, but he served his purpose nonetheless. It can be this way with unintentional agents of Providence (like Gollum), and it can be so in the opposite direction. This reflects what is seen in the Bible where people may not be willing agents of the devil, but they do the devil’s work (John 8:44; Acts 5:3; 26:18; 1 John 3:8–10). In such ways, Saeros contributes to working Morgoth’s will for Túrin, as does Túrin with threatening Saeros after defeating him.

Mandos

As Túrin chases Saeros through the woods, Saeros attempts to escape the pursuit by jumping over a chasm over the Esgalduin. But he misses his jump and breaks his body on the rocks below. As the narrator tells us, “So he ended his life in Doriath, and long would Mandos hold him” (86). Similarly, Túrin, educated about and by Elves as he is, reflects without mourning for his death (although he did not intend it), “May Mandos judge him justly; and if ever he return to the lands of the living, may he prove wiser” (87).

Mandos the Vala is the Doomsman of the Valar, the one who judges the dead brought to his halls. His judgment is not final, of course, as that authority belongs to the One. But his halls are functionally a Purgatory for the Elves (as well as, seemingly, Men for a time, and, possibly, the Dwarves). As we discussed in the commentary on The Silmarillion, the Children of Ilúvatar have different fates, being different ways Ilúvatar has defined creaturely limitations that the Children must come to terms with. They will only be united at the End. For now, mortality is Ilúvatar’s gift to Men, as after death they are able to go beyond the Circles of the World. As for the Elves, Ilúvatar’s gift to them is reincarnation. This is a path distinct from that of Men, and Tolkien does not imagine anything like various Indian religions or the philosophies of Pythagoras and Plato as the framework for understanding the Elves’ re-embodiment. Rather, it is a gift given to the Elves as a result of their life being tied to the life of creation. It is not something to be liberated from, at least within the scope of history, unlike cycles of reincarnation in Primary World belief systems. Elves are immortal in the sense that their lives are bound to the created world of Eä. They live, whether embodied or not, for as long as it lives. Thus, an Elf could live in perpetuity without ever once experiencing death. But if they do die, they are sent to the Halls of Mandos, which was once in Arda and is still in the scope of the created world, where after a time of purgatory their spirits are allowed to reincarnate if they choose (although they rarely do so more than once).¹¹

Túrin as an Instrument of Providence

At this point, much of Túrin’s story is skipped over or it is told out of order, so there is a gap of relevant content for our purposes here. Still, there are a couple notes to make, besides what we will save for the Children of Húrin commentary. We have already observed how Túrin served as an instrument of Providence in making Tuor’s path to Gondolin manageable without realizing it. He is also such an instrument in the slaying of Glaurung, Morgoth’s first dragon and the bane of many. He himself acknowledged that slaying the dragon could only happen by a combination of “cunning, and hope for good fortune” (134). He would likewise say later, “where all lies on chance, to chance we must trust” (140). And such is indeed to Túrin’s benefit in his deed of slaying Glaurung. His valor alone likely could not have accomplished such, great though he was among the warriors of the First Age.

Rumors of Hope

In an out-of-order note, we are told of how Gwindor and Túrin were at odds in the counsel of Orodreth in Nargothrond. Gwindor had been a prisoner in Angband, and he had himself been a prisoner as a result of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the last time an army had attempted open war with Morgoth and failed disastrously. At best, all the armies of the Elves and Edain (as well as the Dwarves, who are not mentioned here) had sufficed to achieve was to contain Morgoth. Now that the might of his armies had grown, a single realm could not hope to overcome him in open war. Thus he reinforces what had been the traditional wisdom of Nargothrond, “In secrecy only lies now any hope; until the Valar come” (163).

Túrin counters that the Valar have forsaken the Noldor. The only Vala they should concern themselves with is Morgoth, “and if in the end we cannot overcome him, at the least we can hurt him and hinder him. For victory is victory, however small, nor is its worth only in what follows from it” (163). Nor does he think it wise to perpetuate the tactic of waylaying every scout and spy from Morgoth, as he would still discover, be it ever so slowly, where Nargothrond is. War would come to them one way or the other, and he declares that he and other Men like him “would rather spend it in battle than fly or submit. The defiance of Húrin Thalion is a great deed; and though Morgoth slay the doer he cannot make the deed not to have been. Even the Lords of the West will honour it; and is it not written into the history of Arda, which neither Morgoth nor Manwë can unwrite” (164).

Gwindor warns Túrin of speaking too haughtily, but his own response is too cautious, nor does he effectively defuse Túrin’s own suggestions. He also exemplifies how the Noldor had understandably, but regrettably, loved too much their own realms and the works of their hands long after it should have become clear that they could not keep them. As such, the hope he proclaims is drowned out: “It is a prophecy among us that one day a messenger from Middle-earth will come through the shadows to Valinor, and Manwë will hear, and Mandos relent” (164). Of course, this also reflects true hope, as this will be fulfilled by Eärendil, the son of Túrin’s cousin Tuor.

For the flaws in Gwindor’s approach and his failure in persuasion, he does at least exemplify the virtue of estel. He knows his hope is outside of himself and his own realm, and he trusts in the ways of Providence to bring it to fulfillment. And this is a virtue Túrin never exemplifies, as far as we are told, and that indirectly plays a role in how his story ends (again, as we will explore in the Children of Húrin commentary). In his shortsightedness, he focuses rather on amdir. Túrin is rather like the old Anglo-Saxon warriors in exemplifying the northern spirit of courage without hope of victory. His courage is undeniable. But he did not balance it enough with other virtues (such as, e.g., Faramir did).

1. J. R. R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth, ed. Christopher Tolkien (New York: Del Rey, 1980), 3. While in previous commentary on Tolkien’s Middle-earth fiction I have relied on chapter designations because of the problem of a wide variety of paginations, that is not as much of a problem with this volume. Therefore, hereafter I use parenthetical references to page numbers. All such page numbers are taken from this edition.

2. Helpful in this regard is Kathleen E. Dubs’s outline, following the influential theologian Boethius in distinguishing, “providence, which orders the universe; fate, the temporal manifestation of that order; chance, that ‘fate’ which occurs not according to our expectations, and for causes of which we are unaware; and, of course, freedom of will, which operates as part of this providential order.” Kathleen E. Dubs, “Providence, Fate and Chance: Boethian Philosophy in The Lord of the Rings,” in Tolkien and the Invention of Myth: A Reader, ed. Jane Chance (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2004), 141. See Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, Books 4 and 5.

3. J. R. R. Tolkien, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Pearl, Sir Orfeo (New York: Del Rey, 1980), 58.

4. J. R. R. Tolkien, trans., The Old English Exodus, ed. Joan Turville-Petre (Oxford: Clarendon, 1981). Since, as far as I am aware, the latter text has not been reprinted, it is available at: https://archive.org/details/document_20230827.

5. As also with his kinsman Túrin, of whom it is said “his doom delivered him from death” (84).

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

7. Tolkien, Morgoth’s Ring, 320.

8. Thus also is Sador confirmed in his wisdom that “False hopes are more dangerous than fears” (76).

9. Austin M. Freeman, Tolkien Dogmatics: Theology Through Mythology with the Maker of Middle-earth (Bellingham, WA: Lexham, 2022), 299.

10. Thus it is also with “fortune.” Although that term can, at times, be a reference to Providence, it is not so when it is said that his craft work would often collapse by accidental application of his strength and that “In other matters also it seemed that fortune was unfriendly to him, so that often what he designed went awry, and what he desired he did not gain; neither did he win friendship easily, for he was not merry, and laughed seldom, and a shadow lay on his youth” (81).

11. For more on this matter, see Tolkien, Morgoth’s Ring, 217–46.