Q: Why Did Tolkien Leave Out the Second Prophecy of Mandos?

ANSWER: J.R.R. Tolkien did not write the published Silmarillion, which was his son Christopher’s dedicated attempt to publish something that resembled his father’s work but which was reasonably complete and sensible. Nonetheless, in the Foreword to the book Christopher warned readers not to look for consistency between that book and The Lord of the Rings or even within The Silmarillion itself. In the 12-volume History of Middle-earth series he explained in meticulous detail what the sources for the published book were and why he made the choices he made.

As for the Second Prophecy of Mandos, many people wrongly believe that J.R.R. Tolkien “finished” it in the 1930s; in fact, Christopher published a much later version of the prophecy in The Peoples of Middle-earth, the twelfth volume of the History series, in which he explained the passage’s long and complex history.

The prophecy originated as part of Tolkien’s pseudo-pagan “Mythology for England”, The Book of Lost Tales, which he never completed or published. The English mythology and many related elements “fell away” from the Legendarium as J.R.R. Tolkien reshaped his themes and characters into the original “Silmarillion” mythology (which spawned a number of sub-mythologies that were ultimately brought back together in what I usually refer to as “the [published] Middle-earth mythology” as represented by The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings).

Through the numerous changes to the stories and characters Turin lost his divine future — instead of being reborn as a god (much like Hercules was in Greek mythology after he burned himself on a pyre) Turin was simply to return for a brief time at the end of the First Age to help defeat Morgoth before dying a final death.

In other words, Tolkien decided that Turin and Beren would experience special fates among Men without being changed from Men into something else. In the original stories (from The Book of Lost Tales) Beren was an elf. So both Beren and Turin were to be given special reprieves from death, but neither would be allowed to remain among living Men or to continue to participate in the affairs of mortal men.

Only Eärendil, Elwing, and their sons were eventually given the special grace of shedding their mortality and joining a different race (the Elves). Elros chose to remain a mortal man and became the first King of Numenor. Eärendil and Elwing were forbidden to return to Middle-earth after they were admitted to the ranks of elven-kind, but Elrond elected to stay there for many thousands of years. His children (Elladan and Elrohir and Arwen) were given the same choice as their father, contingent upon making that choice when he finally left Middle-earth. We only learn Arwen’s choice (to become mortal like Luthien).

Tolkien did not fully abandon the idea of having some of his characters change races, but he isolated the transition to a single family line within the descendants of Luthien; hence, I think Turin had to become mortal because he did not share in that bloodline and could not surpass it. Even Tuor (the uncle cousin of Turin) is not clearly shown to have been made immortal (and in one passage Tuor apparently remained mortal in J.R.R. Tolkien’s final conception).

These conflicting traditions regarding the fates of important characters in the cycles are proof that J.R.R. Tolkien really did not have a firm idea of how to finish up his First Age legends. He clearly set himself the task of “cleaning” up many of the ideas originally held over from the mythology for England. But somewhere in the process he began to feel that his mythology was completely unsustainable — that its apparent contradictions about what science has learned about Earth’s history could not be easily explained away.

The Elves, students of the Valar and Maiar, should have had a much clearer understanding of the nature and age of Earth and the universe. The Dunedain, students of both Maiar and Eldar, should also have had a much better understanding of the “facts” of the natural world, but Tolkien tried to frame an argument for the Dunedain — who apostatized in their rebellion — to have become the source of corrupted legends and memories. And yet this tradition fails to work under close scrutiny because the rebellious Dunedain not only eschewed the Elvish languages and traditions, they were succeeded by the Faithful Numenoreans as the arbiters of Elvish history among men.

Hence, Turin’s story becomes too complex and contradictory to reliably include the second prophecy of Mandos in The Silmarillion, at least as Christopher tries to explain its history. Some people have suggested that given the amount of editorial intrusion Christopher exercised (including writing “The Ruin of Doriath” for The Silmarillion) that he could have justified including Turin’s return at the end of the First Age.

But to restore Turin and the Second Prophecy of Mandos would have diminished the story of Eärendil, which was already greatly impacted by a lack of detail for the War of Wrath. The two great tasks of the war were the overthrow of Morgoth and the defeat of the winged dragons. Without a clear outline for the War of Wrath Christopher Tolkien struggled to produce a coherent ending for the story; and he apparently felt that so much editorial decision-making had occurred by this point that a quick exit rather than further fabrication would be more faithful to his father’s memory.

Ultimately, The Silmarillion fades out in what amounts to sanctioned fan fiction. Christopher had an understanding with his father that, should J.R.R. Tolkien die before completing the work, The Silmarillion would become Christopher’s responsibility. He had, in my opinion, two reasonably clear choices: to try to preserve as much of his father’s work as possible or to produce a posthumous collaboration. He seems to have striven to walk a middle path, but his effort was so confusing he felt compelled to publish the twelve volumes of The History of Middle-earth to explain what happened and why he made the choices he made.

Christopher does chastise himself in a few places, and eventually concedes in The War of the Jewels that he probably could have achieved a much more faithful adaption of his father’s work with far less editorial intrusion; but he makes that concession with the benefit of hindsight produced by many years’ research and analysis.

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