Adrian Berry  
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The Truth Behind Tolkien

Real Background of Frodo's Adventure

THE three films of The Lord of the Rings makes people wonder about the origins of the story. Is it a pure fantasy, which a dictionary defines as ``imagination unrestricted by reality''? Or could it be partly based on real events?

It is well known that Professor Tolkien drew extensively for his inspiration on Norse and Germanic folklore that abound in Orcs, dragons, trolls, and other fearsome creatures. But the really interesting question is: what were the original sources of these legends?

Few of the millions of Tolkien enthusiasts have read this medieval literature, but most of us get the impression when reading his stories of some vague familiarity with dark events of long ago, as if one was hearing afresh of ancient legends of evil that might have haunted our distant ancestors.

This is particularly true of the Orcs, or Goblins, those fearsome crypto-humans and servants of the Dark Lord that make unceasing war on everyone else. Of repulsive appearance, they are variously described as ``vile creatures'', animated by ``malice and hatred.'' They delighted in torture, and ``the prisoners and slaves in their dungeons have to work until they die for want of air and light.''


But who exactly were the Orcs? Were they based on actual beings? Since the action of the stories is set in the remote past, there is a strong case for believing that they were Neanderthal men who fought for supremacy against Homo sapiens in Western Europe during the last Ice Age.

The Neanderthals were distant cousins of modern man, differing from us as the mammoth differed from the elephant, both descending from a strain that originated in East Africa about half a million years ago. They drifted apart and gradually became two distinct types. The Neanderthals colonised Europe, while our ancestors migrated to Asia. Then about 50,000 years ago, modern men arrived in Europe and found that they had company. It was the first and only time that we shared the planet with another human species.

It does not seem to have been a happy encounter. More than a century ago, H.G. Wells gave a glimpse of the conflicts of our ancestors and the Neanderthals in his frightening short story ``The Grisly Folk.''

``The steps of the humans were dogged. The legends of ogres and man-eating giants that haunt the childhood of the world may descend to us from those ancient days of fear. Generation after generation, that long struggle for existence went on. Thousands of fights and hunts, sudden murders and headlong escapes there were amidst the caves and thickets of that chill and windy world.''

Then, very suddenly, about 35,000 years ago, the Neanderthals vanished. Their fossils exist in plenty from before that time, but none after it. The long war appears to have been won. In the words of Paul Pettitt, senior archaeologist at Oxford University's Radiocarbon Accelerator Unit, their disappearance ``may have been the result of modern man's first and most successful deliberate campaign of genocide.''

Incredibly, some academics believe that humans and Neanderthals co-existed peacefully. Humanity's warlike record surely belies this idea. It has been estimated that in the past three and a half millennia of recorded history, only 280 of those years have been free of major wars. How, in competing for the sparse hunting grounds and riverside caves of the barren glacial landscape, the two species could have refrained from conflict is hard to imagine.

Other events in Tolkien's stories could surely not have been invented. The evil dragon Smaug, in The Hobbit, sleeps in a cave on a huge pile of stolen treasure. Although intelligent, he makes no attempt to sell it or trade with it; he just sits on it.

Astonishing to relate, there is a precedent for this kind of animal behaviour. Long ago there existed a giant bird that scientists have called Titanis. Larry Marshall, of the Institute of Human Origins at Berkeley, California, calls it ``the most dangerous bird that ever existed.'' Shaped like a ostrich but about 12 feet tall, it would run faster than a horse, striking down its victims with talons before ripping them apart with its hooked beak.

True, it was not green, it couldn't fly, and it did not exhale fire. But it did, at least according to Herodotus, have a great love for gold and precious stones. Like Smaug, these animals sat on heaps of it.

Ancient tales, he says, spoke of a people called the Arimaspians who lived in Scythia in the Crimea. They were at constant war with these ``gryphons'', fighting and dying to recover from them the hoarded gold. It is a similar story to the eleventh labour of Hercules, who had to kill the ``dragons'' that guarded the golden apples in the Garden of Hesperides.

What matters is not whether these stories were true, but that ancient peoples believed them and that they became legends. Hence the inspiration for the journey of Bilbo and the Dwarfs to Smaug's lair under the Lonely Mountain.

Whether he intended to make it clear or not, Tolkien's stories are clearly set in the last Ice Age, a bleak period 100,000 years long. When the Noldor sailed to Middle Earth in pursuit of Morgoth, they encountered what seems a vivid description of a glacial North Atlantic: ``...vast fogs and mists of deathly cold, and the sea-streams were filled with clashing hills of ice and the grinding of ice deep-sunken.''

Some things never change. Sauron is described as ``a sorcerer of dreadful power, master of shadows and of phantoms, foul in wisdom, cruel in strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled, lord of werewolves; his dominion was torment.'' There is a familiarity here to the way political leaders always talk about each other in times of conflict.

 

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