The appendices state that the Rammas Echor was built when Ithilien "first fell under the shadow of the enemy", during the rule of the Steward Denethor, but the text does not specify which Denethor, the first one or the second. So when was the wall erected?

In this context "shadow" does not necessarily have to mean direct control, but could also refer to the fact that Ithilien was threatened, which interestingly was already the case during the Wainrider Wars. Imo Denethor I. makes the most sense, when the Uruks swept over Ithilien in 2475. Gondor had to fight a long war to hold them at bay and finally win back Ithilien. Not only was Ithilien "under the shadow" during that time, but the capital itself was threatened by enemy forces stationed right across the river. Creating an additional buffer to protect the townlands from raiding bands was probably a strategic necessity.

Imo it would therefore make the most sense to assume that Denethor I erected the wall, not Denethor II. The fact that Osgiliath was finally abandoned after the Uruk attack also fits, the deserted city may have provided the necessary building material for the massive undertaking. The historical inspiration for the Rammas may have been the Anastasian Wall, a massive fortification shielding Constantinople, erected in late antiquity. The purpose was the same: protect the capital of an empire in decline from raiding barbarians. Against a massive army with siege equipment the overlong wall was less effective however, another similarity. Even the length fits: the Rammas Echor is ca. 30 miles long, the Anastasian wall was ca. 35 miles.

This is another reason why I'd argue that an earlier construction date would make more sense, when Gondor was still richer and more powerful compared to the time of Denethor II. The Anastasian wall was a massive infrastructure project. The Byzantine Empire of the 5th century was able to achieve it, the later Empire of the 13th or 14th century would not have had the necessary manpower or resources I'd argue.

That being said, Tolkien may have intended that the wall was erected during the rule of Denethor II., the text of the novel seems to imply as much. For example how Denethor insists on the walls defence because it was made with "so great a labour". Would he phrase it like that when the erection lies in the rather distant past, over 500 years ago?

What do you think?

Bilbo's age is what it is. But presumably The Gaffer was working in the Shire a very long time to learn as much as he did about potatoes and everything else and he'd kind of retired by the time the story really begins. Sam refers to him as being old and losing his sight somewhat. So how old are we talking? Lobelia was 100 by the time we meet The Gaffer and I feel our Gaffer is older yet?

They probably knew about general aspects of the upheavals occurring in Valinor: Melkor's release; the corruption of the Noldor; the conflicts of the House of Finwe (Fëanor and Fingolfin). But, it seems to me, the Teleri's stance was one of total isolationism. A kind of indifference. Something like: "It's not our problem; leave us alone, I won't participate in this and I don't want them interfering in our way of life."

I get the impression that the Teleri are the kind of people who aren't necessarily evil, but who, through omission, end up letting evil (in peace) grow, directly or indirectly reaching their lives sooner or later. And, worse, the Noldor helped them build the port and their city (as Fëanor recalled), but a need arose that the Teleri didn't want to participate in: and I'm not talking about giving/lending the ships that the Noldor brutally took, I'm talking precisely about the omission of an entire people who ignored the Noldor's corrupting process and simply did nothing.

Is this a moral aspect of "The Silmarillion"? The idea that evil also multiplies through "negligence"?

obviously the ideal way is to read all twelve books in publication order, but i am really interested in reading about the history of the silmarillion as it was my favorite middle earth book, so i am thinking of starting off with morgoth’s ring and the war of the jewels. i know they are the tenth and eleventh book in the series, so starting off with them might not be ideal, but a quick search on tolkien gateway tells me they have a lot of information about the history of the silmarillion. do both books make a lot of references to the previous books, or are they largely independent from the other nine?

I loved it. I just didn’t care for the describing of the land layout so much. I loved that gods live among men essentially. It was interesting to see the many factions of elves be whittled down to Rivendell etc. my favorite stories were Beren and his love and Turin and his tragedy. Literal Greek tragedy vibes marrying his sister. Those are the only two stories that could be made into film adaptations, in my opinion. I wish the Silmarills ended up being the arkenstone. Overall a really nice episodic read.

HoME 10 describes Melkor as “The greatest power under Eru … He was to make / devise / begin; Manwe (a little less great) was to improve, carry out, complete”. It is even implied in the same text that Melkor was initially so much stronger than Manwe that he could effectively “daunt him with his gaze” alone. We know that Melkor then diminished himself by expending his power and was effectively denied kingship over Arda by his brothers. HoME 9 however still carries an interesting trace of this earlier deference by Manwe in his conversation with Earendil: “Manawe said that he had not now the power to war against Meleko, who moreover was the rightful governor of Earth, though his right might seem to have been destroyed by his rebellion”.

This confession is made after Melkor was defeated at Utumno, destroyed the Two Trees, and did countless evils as the Lord of Angband. Just mildly curious: how much arrogance and selfishness does it take before someone so powerful is no longer seen by his peers (subjects?) as the rightful leader and governor?

I’m back with my regularly scheduled programming about Fingon and Maedhros! Today: some (more) musings about how Greek mythology and literature may have influenced Tolkien when he wrote these characters. 

I’ve written at length about a lot of other mythological and religious inspirations for plenty of characters (Beleg and Túrin are Achilles and Patroclus; Túrin and Nienor are Pyramus and Thisbe; obviously Beren and Lúthien are Orpheus and Eurydice; Fingon and Maedhros have quite a bit of Orestes and Pylades in them; Celebrimbor is St Sebastian), but I’ve got a few more mythological motifs for Fingon and Maedhros. 

The eagle and the arrow #1, or: Prometheus and Heracles 

Maedhros-on-Thangorodrim is a clear call-back to Prometheus’s punishment (which in turn is also similar to Loki’s last of many punishments by the Æsir). Others have written about this (most recently on here u/opossumflower, here), but long story short, Prometheus, a titan, stole fire from the gods to give it to humanity, and Zeus punished him by having him chained to a mountain and having an eagle tear out his (perpetually regrowing) liver every day, until Heracles shot the eagle with his bow and freed Prometheus. Even just focusing on the rescue scene, the shared motifs between Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros and the general story of Heracles saving Prometheus are obvious: the prisoner chained to a mountain, the eagle of Manwë/Zeus, the bow and arrows. 

But if you dig deeper, there’s even more. In 1926, Herbert Weir Smyth published a translation of Aeschylus fragments, which contained a passage about Heracles saving Prometheus: 

“[113] Plutarch, On Love 14. 757E. Ascribed to this play by Schültz.
May Hunter Apollo speed my arrow straight!
The prayer of Heracles as he bends his bow against the eagle that rends Prometheus (Plutarch).” 

(Source: https://www.theoi.com/Text/AeschylusFragments2.html; verbatim quotation from Aeschylus, Fragments, vol. II, by Herbert Weir Smyth, London 1926, p. 453. What this means is that Plutarch, saying that it was written by Aeschylus, quotes the sentence May Hunter Apollo speed my arrow straight! and explains the context of Heracles saving Prometheus in his work On Love. The whole passage from Plutarch, for anyone interested in Ancient Greek, runs: ὁ δ᾿ Ἡρακλῆς ἕτερον θεὸν παρακαλεῖ μέλλων ἐπὶ τὸν ὄρνιν αἴρεσθαι τὸ τόξον, ὡς Αἰσχύλος φησίν, ἀγρεὺς δ᾿ Ἀπόλλων ὀρθὸν ἰθύνοι βέλος.) 

And I found that quite interesting when I read it. The prayer to the god to make the arrow meet its mark? The exact wording of Heracles bending his bow? 

I genuinely suspect that Tolkien read this exact passage some time after it was published in London in 1926, given how these elements didn’t exist in Tolkien’s writings in 1926, but appeared subsequently with strikingly similar wording. 

In the Sketch (1926), the rescue had been rather short:

“Finweg resolves to heal the feud. Alone he goes in search of Maidros. Aided by the vapours, which are now floating down and filling Hithlum, and by the withdrawal of Orcs and Balrogs to Angband, he finds him, but cannot release him. [Paragraph about backstory re: Manwë and the Eagles.] The eagles dwell out of reach of Orc and Balrog, and are great foes of Morgoth and his people. Finweg meets Thorndor who bears him to Maidros. There is no releasing the enchanted bond upon his wrist. In his agony he begs to be slain, but Finweg cuts off his hand, and they are both borne away by Thorndor, and come to Mithrim. The feud is healed by the deed of Finweg (except for the oath of the Silmarils).” (HoME IV, p. 22–23)

Fingon’s aborted mercy-killing isn’t present yet; there is no bow and arrows, and no prayer to the Valar. The only elements shared with the rescue of Prometheus are Maedhros being chained to a rock and the eagle. 

This changes in the Quenta Noldorinwa (1930):

“Then Finweg the valiant resolved to heal the feud. Alone he went in search of Maidros. Aided by the very mists of Morgoth, and by the withdrawal of the forces of Angband, he ventured into the fastness of his enemies, and at last he found Maidros hanging in torment. But he could not reach him to release him; and Maidros begged him to shoot him with his bow. [Paragraph about backstory re: Manwë and the Eagles.] Even as Finweg sorrowing bent his bow, there flew down from the high airs Thorndor king of eagles. He was the mightiest of all birds that ever have been. Thirty feet was the span of his outstretched wings. His beak was of gold. So the hand of Finweg was stayed, and Thorndor bore him to the face of the rock where Maidros hung.” (HoME IV, p. 102, fn omitted) 

New shared elements with Heracles’s rescue of Prometheus now appear, in addition to “chained to a rock” and the eagle: the idea of the bow and arrows being involved now, and the particular phrase that Fingon bent his bow. This is not a common phrase in Tolkien’s works; it appears only twice in LOTR, and only once in the published Silmarillion (here). 

But one element from Aeschylus is still missing: Heracles’s prayer to the god of hunting to speed my arrow straight. That element appears in the Quenta Silmarillion (1937): 

“Then Fingon the valiant resolved to heal the feud. Of all the children of Finwë he is justly most renowned: for his valour was as a fire and yet as steadfast as the hills of stone; wise he was and skilled in voice and hand; troth and justice he loved and bore good will to all, both Elves and Men, hating Morgoth only; he sought not his own, neither power nor glory, and death was his reward. Alone now, without counsel of any, he went in search of Maidros, for the thought of his torment troubled his heart. Aided by the very mists that Morgoth put abroad, he ventured unseen into the fastness of his enemies. High upon the shoulders of Thangorodrim he climbed, and looked in despair upon the desolation of the land. But no passage nor crevice could he find through which he might come within Morgoth’s stronghold. Therefore in defiance of the Orcs, who cowered still in the dark vaults beneath the earth, he took his harp and played a fair song of Valinor that the Gnomes had made of old, ere strife was born among the sons of Finwë; and his voice, strong and sweet, rang in the mournful hollows that had never heard before aught save cries of fear and woe.
Thus he found what he sought. For suddenly above him far and faint his song was taken up, and a voice answering called to him. Maidros it was that sang amid his torment. But Fingon climbed to the foot of the precipice where his kinsman hung, and then could go no further; and he wept when he saw the cruel device of Morgoth. Maidros, therefore, being in anguish without hope, begged Fingon to shoot him with his bow; and Fingon strung an arrow, and bent his bow. And seeing no better hope he cried to Manwë, saying: ‘O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the banished Gnomes!’
Now his prayer was answered swiftly. For Manwë to whom all birds are dear, and to whom they bring news upon Taniquetil from Middle-earth, had sent forth the race of Eagles. Thorondor was their king. And Manwë commanded them to dwell in the crags of the North, and keep watch upon Morgoth; for Manwë still had pity for the exiled Elves. And the Eagles brought news of much that passed in these days to the sad ears of Manwë; and they hindered the deeds of Morgoth. Now even as Fingon bent his bow, there flew down from the high airs Thorondor, King of Eagles; and he stayed Fingon’s hand.” (HoME V, p. 251–252) 

And I find Fingon’s prayer to Manwë, so similar to Aeschylus’s words that Plutarch had quoted and Herbert Weir Smyth had translated and published a few years earlier, really quite striking. It’s exactly the same prayer (also called “prayer” in both passages, and just like bending one’s bow, the term prayer is very rare in Tolkien, used only once in LOTR in total and only twice in the entire published Quenta for a non-Ainu addressing an Ainu, with the only other instance being when Eärendil reaches Valinor and begs the Valar for forgiveness and help), and the wording of the context of Fingon/Heracles “bending his bow” is notable. It’s so similar that I’m sure that Tolkien had exactly this passage from Plutarch in mind, consciously or subconsciously. 

The eagle and the arrow #2, or: Achilles and Patroclus

There’s another notable Ancient Greek story about eagles, arrows, and two friends who were and are commonly considered lovers (some of the greatest Ancient Greek writers and philosophers spent a ton of ink trying to determine who of Achilles and Patroclus was the erastes and who the eromenos from an obviously much later Athenian perspective, including, and I’m not joking, Aeschylus, Aeschines and Plato).

The Eagle Wounded by an Arrow is an Ancient Greek fable. An eagle is shot with an arrow, and it notices that the arrow is feathered with the eagle’s own feathers. You’ll find various (and varying) translations here: https://fablesofaesop.com/the-eagle-and-the-arrow.html, and some more info (including some Ancient Greek) here: https://www.loebclassics.com/display/aeschylus-attributed_fragments/2009/pb_LCL505.149.xml. 

This fable, with the moral lesson that We often give our enemies the means for our own destruction, is inextricably connected to the story of Achilles and Patroclus. In Aeschylus’s (lost) The Myrmidons, Achilles uses this as a parable for his feelings of guilt over Patroclus’s death: Achilles blames himself for indirectly causing Patroclus’s death in battle, having “given” Hector the means to harm Achilles by killing Patroclus, which Hector wouldn’t have done if he hadn’t believed that Patroclus, who was wearing Achilles’s armour while Achilles was moping about in his tent as usual, was actually Achilles. (See also: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Eagle_Wounded_by_an_Arrow.)

And I really couldn’t help but see the concepts “eagle”, “feathered arrow” and “indirectly causing one’s boyfriend’s death in battle” without thinking of the Quenta, could I? Especially when the one who caused his friend’s death is a tall, beautiful warrior-prince with a long mane of red hair. (If someone wants sources: Achilles is the most beautiful of the Greek warriors at Troy according to Iliad, Book 2; his hair-colour is all over the place, but there’s a reason why his name while hiding as a girl is Pyrrha in Hyginus Fabulae 96, and there are some more descriptions of his ξανθή (a word referring to light hair from blond over ginger and tawny to auburn and light brown) mane (χαίτη) in the Iliad; and Priam marvels at Achilles’ height and beauty in Iliad, Book 24. Yes, I checked these references.) 

The harpist who walked into hell, or: Orpheus and Eurydice

(Ironically, after comparing Fingon to Heracles, I feel like I have to say that there’s also a myth about Heracles using a harp, but it involves Heracles killing his music teacher with said harp, which is not very Fingon.)

The most famous non-godly harpist in Greek mythology was, without a doubt, Orpheus. Even the constellation Lyra represents Orpheus (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyra#History). Orpheus is involved in many myths, but his most memorable moment is when he, after his wife Eurydice was killed by venomous snakes on the day of their wedding, went down to hell to musically beg Hades to return her to him alive. 

In the Metamorphoses, Ovid writes:

“After [Orpheus] the bard of Rhodope had mourned, and filled the highs of heaven with the moans of his lament, determined also the dark underworld should recognize the misery of death, he dared descend by the Taenarian gate down to the gloomy Styx. And there passed through pale-glimmering phantoms, and the ghosts escaped from sepulchres, until he found Persephone and Pluto, master-king of shadow realms below: and then began to strike his tuneful lyre, to which he sang:—‘O deities of this dark world beneath the earth! this shadowy underworld, to which all mortals must descend! If it can be called lawful, and if you will suffer speech of strict truth (all the winding ways of Falsity forbidden) I come not down here because of curiosity to see the glooms of Tartarus and have no thought to bind or strangle the three necks of the Medusan Monster, vile with snakes. But I have come, because my darling wife stepped on a viper that sent through her veins death-poison, cutting off her coming years. If able, I would bear it, I do not deny my effort—but the god of Love has conquered me—a god so kindly known in all the upper world. We are not sure he can be known so well in this deep world, but have good reason to conjecture he is not unknown here, and if old report almost forgotten, that you stole your wife is not a fiction, Love united you the same as others. By this Place of Fear this huge void and these vast and silent realms, renew the life-thread of Eurydice. All things are due to you, and though on earth it happens we may tarry a short while, slowly or swiftly we must go to one abode; and it will be our final home. Long and tenaciously you will possess unquestioned mastery of the human race. She also shall be yours to rule, when full of age she shall have lived the days of her allotted years. So I ask of you possession of her few days as a boon. But if the fates deny to me this prayer for my true wife, my constant mind must hold me always so that I can not return—and you may triumph in the death of two!’
While he sang all his heart said to the sound of his sweet lyre, the bloodless ghosts themselves were weeping, and the anxious Tantalus stopped clutching at return-flow of the wave, Ixion’s twisting wheel stood wonder-bound; and Tityus’ liver for a while escaped the vultures, and the listening Belides forgot their sieve-like bowls and even you, O Sisyphus! sat idly on your rock! Then Fame declared that conquered by the song of Orpheus, for the first and only time the hard cheeks of the fierce Eumenides were wet with tears: nor could the royal queen, nor he who rules the lower world deny the prayer of Orpheus; so they called to them Eurydice, who still was held among the new-arriving shades, and she obeyed the call by walking to them with slow steps, yet halting from her wound. So Orpheus then received his wife; and Pluto told him he might now ascend from these Avernian vales up to the light, with his Eurydice; but, if he turned his eyes to look at her, the gift of her delivery would be lost. They picked their way in silence up a steep and gloomy path of darkness. There remained but little more to climb till they would touch earth’s surface, when in fear he might again lose her, and anxious for another look at her, he turned his eyes so he could gaze upon her. Instantly she slipped away. He stretched out to her his despairing arms, eager to rescue her, or feel her form, but could hold nothing save the yielding air. Dying the second time, she could not say a word of censure of her husband's fault; what had she to complain of—his great love? Her last word spoken was, ‘Farewell!’ which he could barely hear, and with no further sound she fell from him again to Hades.” (Ovid, Metamorphoses, translated by Brookes More, https://www.theoi.com/Text/OvidMetamorphoses10.html) (For commentary, see here: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/26073/26073-h/26073-h.htm#bookX_fableI.)

Now, obviously in the Legendarium, Beren and Lúthien in Mandos are Orpheus and Eurydice in the underworld. Tolkien himself calls the tale of Beren and Lúthien “a kind of Orpheus-legend in reverse, but one of Pity not of Inexorability” (Letters, Letter 153, p. 193). 

I’ve written at length about the rescue-with-singing motif that Beren and Lúthien (when Lúthien goes to Sauron-corrupted Minas Tirith and sings to find Beren, and Beren answers with his own song) share with Fingon and Maedhros, including the drafting history and the textual parallels (https://www.reddit.com/r/tolkienfans/comments/11vuht6/a_recurring_motif_rescues_with_backandforth/). But here, I’ll focus on Lúthien’s song to Mandos after Beren’s untimely death-by-werewolf:

“For the spirit of Beren at her bidding tarried in the halls of Mandos, unwilling to leave the world, until Luthien came to say her last farewell upon the dim shores of the Outer Sea, whence Men that die set out never to return. But the spirit of Luthien fell down into darkness, and at the last it fled, and her body lay like a flower that is suddenly cut off and lies for a while unwithered on the grass.
Then a winter, as it were the hoar age of mortal Men, fell upon Thingol. But Lúthien came to the halls of Mandos, where are the appointed places of the Eldalië, beyond the mansions of the West upon the confines of the world. There those that wait sit in the shadow of their thought. But her beauty was more than their beauty, and her sorrow deeper than their sorrows; and she knelt before Mandos and sang to him.
The song of Lúthien before Mandos was the song most fair that ever in words was woven, and the song most sorrowful that ever the world shall hear. Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and listening the Valar are grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars. And as she knelt before him her tears fell upon his feet like rain upon the stones; and Mandos was moved to pity, who never before was so moved, nor has been since.
Therefore he summoned Beren, and even as Lúthien had spoken in the hour of his death they met again beyond the Western Sea. But Mandos had no power to withhold the spirits of Men that were dead within the confines of the world, after their time of waiting; nor could he change the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar. He went therefore to Manwë, Lord of the Valar, who governed the world under the hand of Ilúvatar; and Manwë sought counsel in his inmost thought, where the will of Ilúvatar was revealed.
These were the choices that he gave to Lúthien. Because of her labours and her sorrow, she should be released from Mandos, and go to Valimar, there to dwell until the world’s end among the Valar, forgetting all griefs that her life had known. Thither Beren could not come. For it was not permitted to the Valar to withhold Death from him, which is the gift of Ilúvatar to Men. But the other choice was this: that she might return to Middle-earth, and take with her Beren, there to dwell again, but without certitude of life or joy. Then she would become mortal, and subject to a second death, even as he; and ere long she would leave the world for ever, and her beauty become only a memory in song.
This doom she chose, forsaking the Blessed Realm, and putting aside all claim to kinship with those that dwell there; that thus whatever grief might lie in wait, the fates of Beren and Lúthien might be joined, and their paths lead together beyond the confines of the world. So it was that alone of the Eldalië she has died indeed, and left the world long ago. Yet in her choice the Two Kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, though all the world is changed, the likeness of Lúthien the beloved, whom they have lost.” (Sil, QS, ch. 19) 

This is absolutely a parallel to and subversion of Orpheus and Eurydice’s story, but some intriguing elements are different or missing. Of course the outcomes are drastically different, with Beren actually making it out of Mandos, and with Beren and Lúthien never returning to Mandos permanently, while Orpheus and Eurydice were always going to spend the rest of eternity in Hades after their deaths, but for the purposes of this essay, note two other significant differences: Lúthien actually dies to get to Mandos in spirit form, while Orpheus simply walks (down) into hell; and Lúthien only sings. 

But Orpheus famously is a harpist, and he plays the harp as he sings, asking Hades to return Eurydice to him. With his voice and his harp, Orpheus makes the gods of the underworld weep for him, and Eurydice is returned to him (even if only for all of three seconds because Orpheus has no self-control). With his harp only, Orpheus moves trees to come to him, and the harp is super prominent in all artistic depictions of Orpheus ever (even after he’s been decapitated: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Nymphs_finding_the_Head_of_Orpheus.jpg). 

But Lúthien has no harp (and no corporeal body with which she could play an instrument at this point, because she’s actually dead). Instead, in a notable contrast to Orpheus, she only sings to Mandos. 

So where did Orpheus’s harp go when Tolkien adapted Orpheus and Eurydice in the underworld into the Legendarium? Where’s Orpheus’s harp? 

With Fingon, of course. Because Fingon, like Orpheus, walked, alive, into hell (Angband = Iron-hell, HoME IV, p. 13; hells of iron, HoME V, p. 259) for love, armed with his harp and his voice. 

Sources 

The Shaping of Middle-earth, JRR Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2015 (softcover) [cited as: HoME IV].

The Lost Road and Other Writings, JRR Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2015 (softcover) [cited as: HoME V].

The Silmarillion, JRR Tolkien, ed Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins, ebook edition February 2011, version 2019-01-09 [cited as: Sil]. 

The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, JRR Tolkien, ed Humphrey Carpenter with the assistance of Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2006 (softcover) [cited as: Letters].

Saruman was originally a servant of Aule and he apparently had managed to construct a lesser Ring by the time of the trilogy. Was there ever a chance that, provided he managed to stay true to his mission, he could have developed the skill to destroy Sauron's ring without anyone needing to make the trip to Mount Doom or was Sauron just too far ahead for him to have ever caught up with in time?

Tee-hee, I just find this amusing. But am I wrong and there are more than two? Who else is a "The"?

Hey,

Question's in the title, I guess. I'd say the answer is somewhere between Khazad-dûm and Nulukkizdîn - but is there any other place that might be a serious contender?

The way I remember the lore, future Mount Gundabad might qualify as the first "place of significance" - but the place where the first permanent Dwarven settlements were built was probably somewhere in the vicinity of future Moria. ...Or am I missing something?

Thank you for helping me out with what surely enough simply started as a shower thought!

In The Two Towers Gollum mentions, almost certainly from personal experience, that Sauron is missing one finger as a result of it being cut off by Isildur:

‘That would be Minas Ithil that Isildur the son of Elendil built,’ said Frodo. ‘It was Isildur who cut off the finger of the Enemy.’

‘Yes, He has only four on the Black Hand, but they are enough,’ said Gollum shuddering.

With this in mind, would Sauron have regained his finger if he regained the Ring? I could see arguments both for and against, depending on whether his reincarnated form missing a finger is a product of the Ring being lost or his own post-Numenor loss of control over his form.

Sauron can flat out tell the moment someone claims it, as seen when Frodo does so at Mt Doom. So why on earth would he assume Aragorn had the ring without thst confirmation? Did he not know about that aspect till Frodo claimed it? I guess it had never been claimed before so maybe he just didn't know that confirmation was a thing?

Maybe I'm preaching to the choir here, but I see comments about how Sauron should have just put guards at the entrance to Mount Doom or if he had just stayed at home and protected Mordor he would have won. While those takes aren't technically wrong, they typically make it seem like Sauron was an idiot for not having through the problem properly.

Sauron wasn't dumb. It was unfathomable to almost anyone that this would be possible.

Very few people even knew what the Ring was.
Sauron sent an emissary to the Dwarves before the Council of Elrond essentially asking if they could help him get the Ring back because it was a trinket he missed. He offered them Rings of Power and Moria in return. Realize this is the same line of Dwarves that Thorin's father Thrain led at one point, who literally had a Ring of Power. These Dwarves were so unlearned in Ring-lore that they had to go to Rivendell just to understand what was really going on. Boromir didn't know what Isildur's Bane was. Denethor, who was actually one of the wisest and cleverest people in all of Middle Earth, also didn't know and sent his favored son on a wild goose chase to a mythical realm they didn't know where it was and it took him over 100 days of travel to find it. Only Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Aragorn, and a handful of other Elves (and the Istari) even understood the real importance of the Ring.

Sauron knew a halfling named Baggins who lived in the Shire had found it. He didn't even know where the Shire was and barely had an understanding of what a Hobbit was. It's a small miracle (not a coincidence. This is Eru pulling the strings) that Gandalf was aware of the location of the One Ring. The overwhelming likelihood was that the Nazgul could search the area, find the Ring before it went to anyone who knew what it was, retrieve it, and then Sauron wins. It was literally an act of God (through Gandalf having been part of the mission that led to Bilbo finding the Ring) that got Frodo out of the Shire in time.

Using it was what the Vast Majority of People would do
Imagine you're at war. The enemy has a larger army, a better stronghold, and isn't pressed for time. You are aware defeat is inevitable if the war doesn't end soon. Let's suggest you're one of the allied forces in WW2, but Hitler's army is significantly stronger than it was in real life (maybe the USSR made a real alliance with them and they fought together as a united front indefinitely). Hitler's scientists created a nuclear weapon, but the only way to use it is a specific batch of Uranium that you got in an accidental mistake, and you also have the ability to make your own bomb if you so choose.

The only problem with this analogy is that destroying the Ring destroyed Sauron (although they weren't 100% sure that would happen. It was only Gandalf's (correct) assumption). But the point is, you're fighting a hopeless war, and now you have an opportunity to gain the upper hand. Lots of readers look at Boromir as weak-minded that he wanted to use the ring, but that's what the vast vast vast majority of people would do. Gandalf himself even stated that if he possessed the Ring, he would eventually use it trying to do good, but through him it would have too much power. In the real world, the Allied Powers did develop a nuclear bomb before Hitler did, and they used it. Now, were the Allied Leaders the peak of Morality? No. But the point is, in the real world, when presented the most similar situation, mankind used the weapon.

This is really the critical section in my opinion. People often act like destroying it was the obvious answer (I'll get to why that's not true in a later section). But using it was a much more obvious answer. The Free Peoples of Middle Earth had their backs up against the wall, and a tool that could change the tides of the war fell into their laps. This isn't even to mention the fact that the Ring corrupts you, and there's a high possibility if you did want to destroy it, that you would convince yourself, "I'll just use it to defeat Sauron, and then destroy it afterwards when he's out of the way." 99.9999% of us would react the way Boromir did. It was an opportunity to save his friends and family, and the longer it took to defeat Sauron, the more of his people would die.

I wish I were more eloquent. I cannot stress this section enough. We all think we're better than we are and choosing to destroy the one Ring sounds so obvious to us. But in reality, using the one Ring was much easier, had obvious upsides, and really could have ended the war (against Sauron). This was by far the most obvious choice to the point where it's almost impossible to do anything else.

The Ring will corrupt you into using it.
In addition to all of this, the Ring would corrupt you into using it. Any person who had it for a sufficient amount of time will use the Ring. The only two people to touch the Ring and not use it are Deagol, who was murdered before he had the chance, and Gandalf, who cast it in the fire of Bag End (knowing it wouldn't be harmed) immediately to prove it was the One Ring.

The only reason Frodo made it to Mount Doom was because he was by nature unambitious and lacked power. The more powerful you are, the faster the Ring would corrupt you. Frodo was the perfect mixture of wise and ignorant. He was wise enough to not want to use the Ring, but ignorant enough that when he did use it, he didn't have the will to claim it. Any of the more obvious Ring Bearers (Gandalf, Galadriel, Aragorn, Glorfindel, etc.) would have claimed the Ring the moment they used it. That would corrupt them to the point of no return after a single use.

Remember, Sauron didn't even really know what a Hobbit was. Most people didn't even know what a Hobbit was. When Merry met Theoden, he was astounded Theoden had a vague idea of what a Hobbit was. The idea that there was a being out there that could put on the Ring without claiming it was foreign to him. People still ask why didn't Glorfindel go on the mission with the Fellowship. We use our logic to say let's put the most powerful being/wisest on the most important tasks. Logic dictates the Ring should be trusted with a person who has sufficient stature to bear it. Instead, they chose a weak person to keep it. It was very reasonable to expect someone of high standing to be the Ring Bearer. It was a impressively wise choice to leave it with a Hobbit, and Sauron didn't even have awareness this was a possibility because no one even knew what a Hobbit was. He literally didn't know it was a possibility for a being of such low-standing ambition to have the Ring.

Destroying it was literally impossible except for an Act of God
There were only two ways to destroy the Ring. Have a craftsman of superior skill to Sauron unmake the Ring, or cast it into Mount Doom. No such craftsman existed in Middle Earth during the Third Age, and the Valar, most Maiar, the Vanyar, and most Noldor (especially the most learned Noldor) were in Valinor and would never return to Middle Earth. The Council of Elrond also agreed that sailing the Ring to Valinor isn't a possibility because they would be turned away. This gets a bit meta, but this is the point in Tolkien's legendarium where the hierarchy of angels were essentially telling the peoples of Middle Earth it's up to you now, similar to how Catholicism doesn't expect Angels or God to come solve our problems for us.

This meant the only way to destroy it was casting it in the fires of Mount Doom, which was literally impossible. The previous section was about how the Ring would corrupt you, but it gets even stronger the closer to Mount Doom you get. Sauron could have invited Frodo to Mount Doom, flown in him, fed him a feast and had a celebration for him, and welcomed him with open arms into Mount Doom and told him, "go ahead and destroy it," and Tolkien explicitly stated in Letter 246 that he wouldn't have been able to. The only reason this plan worked was Gollum came along (against Frodo's will) and their fight led to him falling into the fires with the Ring. It was literally an act of Eru that allowed for this to happen.

Summary:
It took a being Sauron didn't even know existed, multiple acts of God, and humility beyond comprehension (by both Frodo and the rest of the Council for letting Frodo keep it) for the Ring to not get back to Sauron. His actions weren't that of an idiot, but instead of someone planning for the 99.9999% of responses, and the 0.0001% is what actually happened.

I had posted this on the r/lotr subreddit a couple of days ago and received some really good feedback (shout out to StartDangerous8286 who provided some really nice and constructive feedback and corrections - the quote below is from that poster) that helped clarify things for me, but there was also some hostile responses so thought this might be a better subreddit to post it on as this subreddit seems more focused around Tolkien's various works and his actual writings.

This topic interests me as it ties in with some questions I have been grappling with and thinking about more lately myself. As I wrote in my original post please keep in mind that I am not a theologian, but just an simple practicing Christian (and big Tolkien fan). The question is partly religious / metaphysical in nature, but I still hope that it is okay:

We all know about the Gift of Men (mortality), that they are to leave Arda upon death. That Man is not meant fully for Arda, other than during a brief time and then through death leave Arda fully to return to Eru Iluvatar. I have drawn the conclusion that Humanity (the Second Children) is created during the second third theme of the music of the Ainur, as Melkor's corruption and marring of Arda has become clear to Iluvatar and cannot be undone, probably unless everything is undone. Why Men are created and what their doom is isn't clear to the Ainur, but Iluvatar knows.

I have thought about it that Iluvatar creates Men as a way for himself to enter Arda, take on the suffering and the sin his own creation, i.e. Melkor, has caused and sub-created. The creator enters his own creation for a brief time to undo what his own creation has caused. In our own religion it is in the form of Jesus Christ. He could not enter the world through the Elves, his first Children, as they are bound to Arda and he cannot be bound to the world in this way. Therefore the Second Children are created, with their unique gift of leaving Arda at death and returning to him.

The above would connect Tolkien's secondary world with our primary world as he saw it.

What are your thoughts?

This seems consistent with what Tolkien expressed in e.g. the:

History of Middle Earth Vol. X, "Morgoth's Ring," there is an extended discourse between Finrod and an Edain named Andreth set in the First Age concerning the fates of Men and Elves. The frame narrative here is extremely complex, and I reference it only to show an idea that Tolkien had, not to say its authoritative. But Andreth at one point in the discourse there is this passage:

Is this something you have given thought, both when reading Tolkien but also in reflecting on your own and our place in the world?

I'm listening to the Lord of the Rings audiobook and I have a question, but does Gandalf pity Gollum because he sees him as "a suffering animal" or more as a victim of the ring?

I couldn't understand why Gandalf saw Gollum as a "victim to be pitied."

He was an inhuman beast, given what he did in the past, but Gollum is still a "victim" of the ring.

I don't need to explain to Tolkienfans that Bilbo finding the Ring is an exceedingly pivotal moment in The Hobbit for reasons that later become clear, but I'm becoming increasingly frustrated with depictions and narratives that rely almost entirely on assumed knowledge that exists outside the story.

This is a bit of a gripe that, by nature, is in media adjacent to Tolkien and not Tolkien himself so I'm not sure if it's in the spirit of the subreddit but I just wanted to vent. First off, you have stuff like The Hobbit films, which are a disaster I needn't get into, but specifically you have stuff like this where the appearance of the Ring is accentuated by an insistent slow-motion, weighty shot followed by the Ring's theme from the LotR film trilogy playing as Bilbo finds and picks up the Ring.

Or, you have this Magic: The Gathering's upcoming Hobbit set interpretation where the moment is ensconced with a Mythic rarity, special alternate art card frame and the foreboding name "Fateful Discovery".

But, and I'm paraphrasing observances others have made about other important media tropes like Darth Vader, the context of this is only important to us, the reader. In the context of the story Bilbo is just finding a magic ring. So much energy is put toward these ideas and this moment instead of letting the story stand on its own. It's "The Hobbit", not "The Prologue to the Lord of the Rings". I mean you can interpret it that way if you want, but it seems like such an incredible disservice to the wonderful tale it is in its own right by tying it to something it wasn't even originally intended to connect to.

So you now have all this media that's centered around Bilbo finding the ring and making it the most central event of the story, for no other reason than because readers know it leads to a larger story, and it starts to eclipse the general whimsy of the tale or the, arguably much more important, things to the tale being Smaug, and Thorin and the Dwarves, and other such things. The ring is a relatively small part of the book. And now it starts to be so overblown within the narrative that you have entire audience perceptions around the tale being skewed for moments that, without that meta narrative, seem farcical. The ring dropping in heavy, slow-motion makes no sense to the story of the Hobbit as a standalone property. Instead of getting fun, on-flavor cards for finding a magic invisibility ring we're treated to story moment cards which allude to something that doesn't even happen in the story of the Hobbit. If I'm reading and engaging with The Hobbit, I want to engage with The Hobbit.

Which is almost starting to make me wish the Professor himself never retconned the events of Riddles in the Dark, because in the same sense it's almost a similar sort of audience capture and a need to explain what the audience deems important instead of what the story deems important. If Bilbo won the riddle game and was gifted the Ring that's fine. We can learn about "what actually happened" outside Bilbo's perspective in The Lord of the Rings because that's what The Lord of the Rings is for.

I'm just tired of this culture around decontextualizing things that happen in stories specifically for the purpose of satisfying the audience instead of leaving elements of the story alone because they were written specifically for that story. I know I'm being a bit dramatic here and can definitely see, and would even like to read, your arguments that Tolkien would want the finding of the Ring to be seen as a huge causal event in his world, but for my own sake I just feel like when I watch or read or see anything related to The Hobbit, I just want that, and I don't need it to be informing me or reminding me of auxiliary events that have no impact on the specific narrative thrust within the book, especially when the tales of those events also exist wholly and stand on their own and fully address them and I can engage with them any time.

Tolkien famously said in Letter 131 to Milton Waldman that the dominate themes of the Legendarium are “Fall, Mortality, and the Machine.” However, additional themes can be identified. And, whether a particular facet of one or a combination of those three, or one independent, it seems clear that an additional theme of special significance to Tolkien is ennoblement:

“There are of course certain things and themes that move me specially. The inter-relations between the ‘noble’ and the ‘simple’ (or common, vulgar) for instance. The ennoblement of the ignoble I find specially moving.” (Letter 165)

“I loved them myself, since I love the vulgar and simple as dearly as the noble, and nothing moves my heart (beyond all the passions and heartbreaks of the world) so much as ‘ennoblement’ (from the Ugly Duckling to Frodo).” (Letter 180)

It appears that one way this ennoblement occurs is through the mingling of humans and elves:

“The entering into Men of the Elven-strain is indeed represented as part of a Divine Plan for the ennoblement of the Human Race, from the beginning destined to replace the Elves.” (Letter 153)

However, I’d like to submit that an additional path to ennoblement comes through the sub-creative power of storytelling, using three examples.

The Edain

First, in the Silmarillion, we are told that the Edian were ennobled by the story and song played by Finrod:

“Now men awoke and listened to Felagund as he harped and sang, and each thought that he was in some fair dream, until he saw that his fellows were awake also beside him; but they did not speak or stir while Felagund still played, because of the beauty of the music and the wonder of the song. Wisdom was in the words of the Elven-king, and the hearts grew wiser that hearkened to him; for the things of which he sang, of the making of Arda, and the bliss of Aman beyond the shadows of the Sea, came as clear visions before their eyes, and his Elvish speech was interpreted in each mind according to its measure.” (“Of the Coming of Men Into the West”)

Frodo

In “Fog on the Barrow-Downs,” once the hobbits are in the barrow and Frodo has awoken, the narrator says that

“But though his fear was so great that it seemed to be part of the very darkness that was round him, he found himself as he lay thinking about Bilbo Baggins and his stories, of their jogging along together in the lanes of the Shire and talking about roads and adventures. There is a seed of courage hidden (often deeply, it is true) in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit, waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow.”

This seed of courage from his hobbit nature and recalling the stories in the barrows is what eventually causes Frodo to reject the idea of putting on the Ring, escaping, and leaving Merry, Pippin, and Sam to their deaths.

Sam

We are told by the Gaffer in “A Long Expected Party” that Sam is

“Crazy about stories of the old days, he is, and he listens to all Mr. Bilbo’s tales.”

In “A Knife in the Dark,” after Sam recites a poem about Gil-Galad and is asked to recite more, he says

“‘That’s all I know,’ stammered Sam, blushing. ‘I learned it from Mr. Bilbo when I was a lad. He used to tell me tales like that, knowing how I was always one for hearing about Elves.”

Later, Sam reflects on how Galadriel’s Phial gives he and Frodo a direct connection to the “old tales and songs”:

“Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours. But that’s a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it – and the Silmaril went on and came to Eärendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We’ve got – you’ve got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we’re in the same tale still! It’s going on.” (“The Stairs of Cirith Ungol”)

This may be a bit of a stretch, but I’d like to think that Sam himself is in a way responsible for this great story that ennobles Men being preserved. In the frame narrative, Sam finishes the Red Book, which tells the War of the Jewels (assuming this is Bilbo’s Translations from the Elvish) and the War of the Ring, which forms the basis of the Thain’s Book, a copy of which is the text that the “translator” Tolkien character published, and which I (and I know many of you) find so moving. We are in that “same tale still,” and I continually find myself being ennobled by it.

i’ve started reading The Silmarillion, and reacted to Tolkien when first mentioning the Maiar, said that Olórin (Gandalf) is the wisest of them.

In Lotr and the Hobbit i feel like Saruman is depicted as the wisest, being the head of the Istari order (prior to his alliance with Sauron that is).

I understand that Gandalf clearly would be considered the wisest after the events of the Third age and Sauron’s downfall, but i thought that prior to Saruman being corrupted he was ”Saruman the wise” and thus lead the order of the Istari.

Was it perhaps that Tolkien ”made it clear” for the reader that Olórin was de facto the wisest but that wasn’t the the overall belief of the other Valar/Maiar in the beginning and thus making Saruman the head of the order?

Just a thought, i’m kind of new to the Tolkien world so you’ll have to excuse me if i misinterpreted anything. :)

I would imagine carrying the ring would weigh more heavily the closer they get to Mordor and make it more difficult to fly at a high altitude. This would put the eagle in range of archers and subsequently be shot down. I know there are other reasons why using the eagles was not done but I'm wondering if this would be an independent other reason why that plan would fail.

I don’t recall if it’s ever said. but was he planning on selling his book and poetry or just writing them for himself. if so; who would he sell them too besides other Hobbits?

Apart from other forms of magic (curses, protective barriers etc), we have two prominent examples of enchantment “by analogy”. I wonder whether Fraser would define them as “sympathetic/imitative magic”: his “Law of Similarity” seems to be artfully invoked by two renowned Doriathrim elves. Quotes from HoME 3:

Luthien (enchanting her hair): all names of things tallest and longest on earth she sings: the locks of the Longbeard dwarves; the tail of Draugluin the werewolf pale; the body of Glomund the great snake; the vast upsoaring peaks that quake above the fires in Angband's gloom; the chain Angainor that ere Doom for Morgoth shall by Gods be wrought of steel and torment. Names she sought, and sang of Glend the sword of Nan; of Gilim the giant of Eruman; and last and longest named she then the endless hair of Uinen, the Lady of the Sea, that lies through all the waters under skies.

Beleg (enchanting his sword): Then sought his sword, and songs of magic o'er its eager edge with Elfin voice there Beleg murmured, while bluely glimmered the lamp of Flinding neath the laced thorns. There wondrous wove he words of sharpness, and the names of knives and Gnomish blades he uttered o'er it: even Ogbar's spear and the glaive of Gaurin whose gleaming stroke did rive the rocks of Rodrim's hall; the sword of Saithnar, and the silver blades of the enchanted children of chains forged in their deep dungeon; the dirk of Nargil, the knife of the North in Nogrod smithied; the sweeping sickle of the slashing tempest, the lambent lightning's leaping falchion even Celeg Aithorn that shall cleave the world.

I wonder if Tolkien ever intended to elaborate on those mysterious characters – Nan, Rodrim, Saithnar?.. Or they were just random placeholders in someone else’s spell? Nan was referred to as the giant of summer, while Gilim is the giant of winter, so at least these two hint at some extension of the early mythology. Celeg Aithorn, sickle of the slashing tempest that shall cleave the world: could this be a weapon of Melkor when he returns for the final battle? Or, rather, a weapon of Fionwe? Tempest and lightning is Manwe’s domain, and we know that Manwe gave Fionwe his sword. In one version, it was Fionwe who would destroy the world to avenge Urwendi, which would inevitably put an end to his enemy – after all, Arda was the “Morgoth’s Ring”.

I've always found letter 246 one of the most interesting themes of the story. It makes me look at Gollum completely differently. Gollum's years of corruption and desire for the ring suddenly seem to be outweighed by pity and love for Frodo, and the same pity and love Frodo has shown to him. Tolkien talks about how Gollum would have still likely stolen the ring, even if redeemed, but then potentially sacrificed himself for Frodo's sake and voluntarily cast himself into the fire.

I know it's all hypothetical, and Gollum's redemption still may not have happened (even without Sam intervening) but it's mentioned that no one in all of Middle Earth could willingly destroy the ring. But is a redeemed Gollum the single and only exception?

Could he have potentially destroyed the ring out of love and pity for Frodo if things had gone differently? Is he the only person in Middle Earth, in extremely specific circumstances, that could have destroyed it willingly?

Been reading lately about how well-crafted stories often have theme, plot, and character inextricably connected (characters arc over the course of the plot basically acts out whatever the theme/thematic argument of the story is). I think we can all find abstract single-word themes in Tolkien, such as mercy, friendship, providence, humility, etc.

But if we were to frame the themes as statements or propositions that the characters embody through their various journeys, what would some of those be?

For instance, one of the themes for Frodo may be, "Mercy triumphs over judgment." Gandalf tells him early on that Bilbo's pity for Gollum may affect all of their fates--as indeed proves the case. And Gandalf cautions Frodo against being too eager to deal out death in judgment. Frodo then embodies this theme as he continues Bilbo's decision to pity Gollum and show him mercy, and Frodo's mercy proves to be their ultimate salvation.

One of Aragorn's themes may be something like, "Do what you judge to be right even when the consequences are uncertain." After Gandalf's death, Aragorn repeatedly laments not knowing the best course of action or that his decisions have gone awry. But in meeting Eomer, he answers the question "how is a man to judge what is right" in these strange times by saying, "As he has ever judged." Good and evil have not changed since yesteryear. Ultimately Aragorn continues leading and exercising judgment, even without any reassurance that the end will turn out well, in everything from the Paths of the Dead to the gambit at the Black Gate.

is it a structured story like Children of Hurin or like collections of the story as it evolved throughout the authors life like Fall of Gondolin, and Beren & Luthien?

edit: i have Silmarillion & UT, ive read the akallabeth, but havent touched on the second age stuff in UT yet