The Nature of Middle-earth

by J. R. R. Tolkien

  4. Some then asked whether the fëa re-housed was the same person as before the death of the body. It was agreed that it was the same person, for these reasons. “What means this word same?” the loremasters said. ‘It means two things: in all respects equivalent; but also identical in history.’

  “With regard to spirits: No fëa can be repeated; each proceeds separately and uniquely from Eru, and so remains for ever separate and unique. It may indeed resemble some other fëa so closely that observers may be deceived; but it can then only be said to be like the other. If it is said to be the same as the other (though this is not said by the wise), this can only mean that it resembles the other in all features of its character so closely that the two, unless present together, cannot be distinguished, save by intimate knowledge of both. We say by intimate knowledge, not meaning knowledge only of the different histories of these two, but because we hold, and all observation confirms us, that no two fëar are in truth exactly alike or equivalent.

  “With regard to things without life, and to things with life corporeal only, it may seem that all these also are unique in history, that is in the Unfolding of Eä and the Tale of Arda. But here two things require thought. First: ‘In what degree things without even life corporeal can be distinguished as the same (or identical) on the one hand, and as equivalent on the other.’ Second: ‘How does it concern a thing with life corporeal (still more a person with a life spiritual also), if the material in which it is embodied is changed, the pattern of the embodiment being maintained or restored?’

  “To speak of things without life. In history, maybe, one quantity of iron (for example) is not the same as any other equal quantity of iron; for both co-exist in time, occupying different places, and they will do so while Eä lasts, even though each quantity or aggregation of iron may be dispersed into smaller quantities. But this difference concerns IRON only, that is the total of this nassë (or material) that exists in Arda (or in Eä, maybe). For later-made and higher forms, whether having life (from Eru and his vice-gerents), or the shaping of art (from minds incarnate), this difference has no importance or meaning, and all fractions of IRON (or other nassë) are in value or virtue the same.”[fn1] [6]

  Thus for all the purposes of constituting a form that uses (say) IRON in its embodiment, the substitution of one fraction of IRON for another equal fraction will have no effect upon life or identity. It is commonly said, for instance, that two rings (differently shaped by art) are made “of the same stuff”, if they are both made (say) of GOLD. And “same” is rightly used, when the higher thing that uses lower materials for its embodiment is considered.

  Still more truly is the word “same” used, if we consider things with life corporeal. For life corporeal consists in a pattern, existing in itself (from the mind of Eru, directly or mediately), and neither derived from the nassi used in its embodiment, nor imposed by other living things (as by the art of the Incarnate). Though it may indeed be part of the nature of the living thing to use certain materials and not to use others in the development of its pattern.

  This is because the living patterns, though conceived as it were outside Eä, were destined to be realized within Eä (having respect to the qualities of the erma and nassi of Eä), and therefore “select” – not by will or awareness of their own good, but by the nature of the unfolding pattern, which is to seek realization as near to its primal and unconditioned form as possible – those materials by which they may be “best” realized. “Best”, but not perfectly: that is, not in any case exactly according to the conceived and unrealized pattern. But such “imperfection” is not an evil, necessarily.[7] For it does not seem that Eru designed Eä so that living things should each in their kind exactly exhibit the primal life-pattern of that kind,[8] and that all members of one kind (as, say, beeches) should be exactly alike. Rather His design is more akin to the Art of the Incarnate, in which the pattern conceived may be endlessly varied in individual examples, and according to the chances of materials and conditions in Arda. To perceive the patterns, and their kinship, through living variation is a chief delight of those who survey the wealth of the living things of Arda. Neither is there a fast distinction between “kinds” and the variations of individuals. For some kinds are more akin to others in pattern, and may seem to be only variations of some older and common pattern. This the Valar say is how the variety of Arda was indeed achieved: beginning with a few patterns, and varying these or blending pattern with pattern.[9]

  Thus it may occur that for a living thing its “proper”, that is, its best, materials are scarce, so that it may be obliged to use these in different proportions from those which are “proper”, or even to use other materials. If these changes do not actually impair its development so that it perishes, still its form may be modified; and the modifications may be thought to be “due” to the nassi. But rightly viewed they are not so. The nassi are passive, the living pattern is active; and though the realization of the pattern may be otherwise than it would have been with “better” materials, the modified form is due to the operation of the living upon the unliving.

  Another thing which distinguishes the living from the unliving is that the living employ Time in their realization. In other words it is part of their nature to “grow”, using such material as is needed or is available to them for their embodiment. So that a living pattern does not exist fully at any one moment of time (as do unliving patterns); but is complete only with the completion of its life. It cannot therefore rightly be seen instantly, and is only imperfectly envisaged even with the help of memory. Only those who conceived its pattern and whose sight is not limited to the succession of time can, for instance, see the true shape of a tree.

  We say that unliving things or patterns do “exist fully at any one instant of time”, meaning, for instance, that IRON is always IRON, just so and nothing more nor less, whenever observed or considered. So long, that is, as its characteristic inner pattern is maintained. If this is or could be changed, it would not be IRON, or a portion of IRON, “growing” and working out the full pattern of IRON according to iron-nature. It would rather be that iron was changed into something else, and became another nassë, whether by force external applied to it, or by its own instability. Though in the case of certain nassi that appear “by nature” to be thus “unstable”, breaking up or changing their inner patterns normally under like conditions, it may be thought that we have an adumbration in a lower order of the normal nature of a higher order.[10] For such adumbrations are to be seen in all orders. Nonetheless they are only “adumbrations” and not the same processes. Just as the apparent growth of crystals foreshadows but does not forestall the growth of plants.

  Some may say: “But are not many unliving things subject to change without loss of identity?” We answer: “No. These things are things in name only: that is, they are distinguished from their surroundings by minds, and not by their own interior nature. Or they have shapes and individuality derived also from minds, and imposed upon the unliving material by art.”

  Thus the Incarnate may distinguish, say, a mountain from the land about it, giving it a name, such as Dolmed [one of the Blue Mountains]. But what are the bounds of Dolmed? Some may say “here it begins” or “here it ends”; but others may say otherwise; and if the bounds are agreed, it will be by custom or convention of people, not by the nature of the land. Neither would its bounds in Time be clear, so that one of the Incarnate living many ages might say “now Dolmed has begun to be” or “now it has ceased”. For this aggregation of materials upon the surface of Arda has no inner individuality distinguishing it from the adjacent material. The distinction is applied by minds receiving the impression of a shape that can be held in memory; and it is by their memory alone that it is name-worthy.

  A face perceived by eyes in the markings on a wall, or in the weatherings of a rock, or in the discolorations of the Moon, is not a face in itself, but only for a beholder (and maybe not for all beholders). Such perceptions are related to Art
, and not to the forms which living things exhibit by their own nature apart from any beholder.

  As for works of art or craftsmanship, these things resemble corporeal living things in having a shape that does not belong to the material used in their embodiment. But this shape lives (so to speak) only in the mind of the maker. It is not part of Arda (or Eä) apart from that mind; and it may indeed only be recognized as a “shape” by that mind, or by others of like kind. Those who had never had need or thought of a staff, if they saw one, might not distinguish it from any chance piece of wood. For the most part the Incarnate do, or think that they do (for they may be deceived by the chances of Arda), recognize the purposeful touches of shaping hands in things of art or craft, even when the purpose is not known. But this is because they are like minds, and have experience in themselves of this mode of shaping. Moreover shapes of this mode are only name-worthy when complete, either completely finished, or so far made that their ultimate form may be foreseen or nearly guessed.

  In this way, therefore, living forms (not imposed) may be distinguished from those given by craftsmen. The living forms grow; but they have at all stages a true form that is name-worthy. Being part of a total shape, extending over Time, each instant of their existence partakes in that reality (or realization). We may speak of a “young” tree (or “sapling”), and of a “young” man (or “child”), judging the form to be tree or man, but because of memory and experience deeming (not always rightly) that this tree or man is in an early stage of its development. But beholding a craftsman making a chair we should not call its first stage a “young” chair. We should say at different moments that he was making something of (say) wood; that he was making a piece of furniture; and that he was going to make a chair (when the shape was so far advanced that we could guess this). But we should not call his work “a chair” until it was finished.

  Thus when we speak of things named, we must distinguish three kinds. Some have a shape and being of their own, which we did not give, and which would exist so, even if we did not exist: these are living things, which though we may use them, have as primary purpose to be themselves. Some have their individuality only in the names given to them by name-givers, and have only such bounds as the name-givers ascribe to them. This name-giving is related to the arts of the Incarnate. For either the mind of the name-giver, though no work of his hands is involved, selects from Arda a memorable shape that he might have made or might make if he had the skill and power; or he attributes that which he sees, as a mountain or lake, to the work of a mind that had purpose (such as one of the Valar). Some, the third kind, have shapes given to them by Incarnate minds with purposes belonging to the minds and not to the materials. But since all things in Arda are akin, the form of Art respects the nature of the material, and should do so.

  All that has been said concerning things of life corporeal applies fully to the Incarnate also. For they use a body of life corporeal. But with regard to the Incarnate this must be added: their bodies are governed indeed, as are bodies without fëar, by living and growing patterns; but over that again is now the indwelling spirit, which exerts power over the life corporeal, and so over the material also. When the fëa is strong, and when it is not weakened by the Shadow so as to be turned away from its good, it sustains the life corporeal (as a master may support and succour a servant), so that it too is strong, to complete itself and to resist affronts from without, or to heal and restore any injuries to its embodiment.

  Much more, then, than in even a healthy living thing without fëa, its being must be sought in its life-pattern rather than in the material of its body; so that change in that material, or the substitution of equivalent materials, as long as these are adequate for the continuation of the life and coherence of the housing body, will not affect its identity and individuality.

  For the individuality of a person resides in the fëa. A fëa alone may be a person. In the case of the Incarnate, though they are by nature embodied, their identity resides no longer, as it does in things of corporeal life only, in that embodiment, but in the identity of the fëa and its memory. A fëa of this kind requires a “house” by which it may inhabit Arda and operate in it. But a house exactly equivalent is sufficient for it – for it will exactly correspond to its memory of its former house, and that memory being in the mind only and incorporeal will not be concerned with the history of the material used in the realization (so long as it is fitted for this purpose) but with the form only. Therefore, returning, the fëa will inhabit the rebuilt house gladly.

  Even so, one might go on a journey, and while he was away lightning might come and destroy his house. But if he had friends of subtle skill, who while he was away re-built his house and all its appurtenances that had been ruined in exactly the same shapes, he would come back to this house, and call it his own, and continue his life there as before. And even if his friends reported to him what they had done, would he not still be content, giving to the house re-built the same name as the old house had, and deeming that the evil chance had been healed?

  He would be content, or at least he would accept with gratitude the work of his friends and find in it a sufficient means for the carrying on of his life in the same mode as was his wont. Alas! it might well chance that the house, or something within it, had for him a value not residing in itself or its fashion, but attributed to it by him, the owner: as being, for instance, the gift of one whom he loved. With the counterfeit (that is, the exact copy) he might then not be wholly content, saying “this is not the same thing as the one that is lost”. But this would be because he loved the history of the thing, rather than any other quality it had possessed, and because that history was connected with a loved person he attributed to it part of that love. This is part of the mystery of love, and of the singling out by love of one thing alone in its oneness and history unique, which is of the nature of the Incarnate. Such losses not even the re-housing of the Dead, under the authority of the One, can avoid, for it deals with the future, not the past. Death is death; and it may be healed or amended, but it cannot be made not to have been.

  Nonetheless one of the Dead re-housed, with whatsoever regret death may bring, will remain the same person; and will inhabit and continue the life of the housing body, as if no evil had befallen it. To doubt this is as if one were to doubt that a craftsman remained the same person, when, after a work upon which he laboured was destroyed, he laboured again with fresh material to make that work again, or to finish it.

  It is then, we see, the relation of the fëa to its housing that makes possible the re-building of this house without change of identity in the whole person. If we return to consideration of living things without fëar this will become clear. Of these it is true to say that they all are unique in history and according to the Tale of Arda. To speak of trees, for example. Each tree is unique; for no other tree can occupy the same situation (comprising both the time and the room of its growth). If it ends or is destroyed, then it cannot appear again in the Tale of Arda.

  Some may say, nonetheless: “Yet its being resided mainly in its pattern, as a single exemplar of the pattern of its kind. What then, if after that embodiment of the pattern was destroyed, the pattern was reconstituted from the same materials (that is, identical) wherewith it was before embodied? Will then the ‘new’ tree be other than the ‘old’ tree, even in history? All those who knew the tree and mourned its loss will rejoice; and Arda will suffer no loss or change, for both the pattern and the materials will be as they were before the damage and in the same relations. Would it not be truer to say then, even in history: ‘This tree at this date suffered the marring (or destruction) of its body; but soon after it (sc. the tree) was made again and so continued its life’? And what if the re-making was accomplished not with identical materials but with equivalents? The difference between ‘equivalents’ of the order of nassi has, as we have seen, no importance for forms of a higher order.”

  To this it may be answered: “This is a proposition of thought only. In
any case we have here to consider not the materials (whether identical or equivalent), but the nature of corporeal pattern. This is not ‘of Eä’, but its embodiment belongs to a particular date or period within Arda. When this embodiment is destroyed, the co-operation of pattern and material and Time (which is the being of the tree) is ended. It cannot be begun again (even if identical materials are used); it can only be counterfeited. For the pattern is a ‘design’ extending through a period of time, which therefore at any moment before its completion envisages the future and has an energy, as it were, impelling the growth to continue the development to its end. At the moment of the dissolution of its work, from whatever cause, that impulse ceases. We may say, if we limit ourselves to the particular thing considered, not involving ourselves with wider or deeper matters, that it was the ‘fate’ in Arda of this tree to fail of full achievement. This may become clearer, if we reflect not on premature death but on the natural death of living things of short duration. If the tree dies, having fulfilled its span, who can remake it? It was both its ‘fate’ and its nature by design to live so long and no longer; its pattern is complete and ended; it is all ‘past’ and has no more ‘future’.”

  For this reason the Valar themselves do not claim ever to re-make the same tree, whether its loss be mourned or not, but only (if they will) to restore to the wealth of Arda a thing equivalent. They do not undo history. This cannot indeed be done without the undoing of Eä. Therefore, it is only the Elves that the Valar can, under the authority of Eru, “re-house”. For it is their nature not to end within Arda. Those whose nature it is to end within Arda, that is to die naturally, they cannot and do not re-house, as is seen in the case of Men. Even so, the restored body of one of the Elves, is only an “equivalent”, and it is the fëa which provides continuity, since this still has a “future” in Arda.