The Ainulindalë

The Music of Creation

There are many creation myths in the world. Some are tales of gods shaping the cosmos from chaos, some speak of light triumphing over darkness, and some describe the universe emerging from a great cosmic egg. But none of them resonates with me quite like The Ainulindalë, the Music of the Ainur, from The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Because, in this myth, the world is music.

And that is the most beautiful, most profound way to understand existence.

The Song of the Ainur

In the beginning, before the world was formed, before the time began, there was Eru Ilúvatar, the One. And from his thought, he created the Ainur, the Holy Ones—great spirits, like angels or demiurges, each with their own unique nature. Ilúvatar did not give them instructions or commandments. Instead, he did something far more wondrous.

He gave them a theme.

And the Ainur began to sing.

At first, their voices were like instruments in a perfect orchestra, weaving melodies in harmony. It was a symphony of pure creation, where each spirit added its voice, building upon Ilúvatar’s great design. Through this music, they shaped the very fabric of the universe—not as material, but as something deeper, more fundamental - Flame Imperishable.

Then, one of the Ainur began to introduce his own melody. Melkor, the most powerful of the Ainur, desired to create something greater, more different, more his own. He wove discord into the music—harsh notes, a competing theme. Others faltered in confusion; some joined his song, while others tried to resist. The harmony was disrupted.

Yet, Ilúvatar, seated in the infinite void, did not stop the music.

Instead, he introduced a new theme—a grander, richer harmony that took Melkor’s discord and wove it into something even more beautiful. The music became deeper, layered, evolving into something greater than it had been before.

And when Melkor rose again in defiance, trying to overpower the song with chaos, Ilúvatar answered once more—not with force, not with destruction, but by shaping the discord into something even more profound.

And then Ilúvatar raised his hand.

And the music stopped.

In the silence that followed, he spoke:

“Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor; but that he may know, and all the Ainur may know, that I am Ilúvatar, those things that ye have sung, I will show forth, that ye may see what ye have done.”

And he revealed to them a vision of the world—the very world we live in now—Arda, shaped by their song.

The discord, the struggle, and the suffering that Melkor had introduced were all part of the design.

Melkor had thought himself a rebel, a force of his own will. But everything he did, every note of chaos he added, had only made Ilúvatar’s creation more complex, more intricate, more wondrous.

There was nothing that could happen against Ilúvatar’s will.

Melkor’s rebellion was part of the plan all along.

The Deeper Meaning: All is Music

This is what makes The Ainulindalë the most beautiful creation myth ever written.

Because it understands something that most myths fail to grasp:

Creation is not an act of war. It is not a battle between light and darkness. It is not a struggle between opposing forces.

It is a symphony.

Even discord, even pain, even what we call evil, is still a part of the greater music. There is nothing outside of it. There is no force that can break the harmony—only forces that can change it, add to it, evolve it.

Tolkien, a man deeply influenced by Catholicism, Norse mythology, and the ancient Anglo-Saxon worldview, wove into his legendarium a truth that transcends all of them:

There is nothing outside the One. There is nothing beyond the Great Design.

Even those who seek to rebel against the divine will are still within it, their actions only adding new complexity, new depth, new richness to the symphony.

In The Ainulindalë, Tolkien captures the same profound insight:

Nothing stands against the One.

Melkor believed himself a rival, a lord of chaos, but his every action only made Ilúvatar’s design greater.

This mirrors the great spiritual traditions of the world:

• In Hermeticism, “All is Mind,” and nothing exists outside the divine intelligence. Even those who think they are separate are merely playing their part in the grand unfolding of reality.

• In Buddhism, the interplay of suffering (dukkha) and enlightenment is just another rhythm in the great dance of existence. Samsara and Nirvana are not two—they are part of the same song.

• In Hinduism, Krishna tells Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita that all things, even destruction and war, are part of the divine order. Even the apparent chaos of the battlefield is woven into the Dharma.

• In Hinduism and many mystical traditions, the primordial sound of creation is "Om" (Aum). In the Vedas and Upanishads, it is said that before anything existed, there was only sound—the first vibration, the cosmic resonance from which the entire universe emerged. Om is not merely a symbol but the direct representation of the fundamental hum of reality itself—the frequency at which all things vibrate. If Ilúvatar sang creation into being, then Om is its echo across time, a vibration that still carries the imprint of the first moment of existence.

• Even in Christianity, Meister Eckhart’s mystical theology suggests that everything—light and dark, good and evil—ultimately serve God’s unknowable, infinite design.

From a scientific perspective, we can draw a striking parallel as well.

• Modern physics tells us that at the most fundamental level, everything is vibration. Quantum Field Theory describes the universe as a vast, underlying quantum field where every particle is just an excitation—a wave, a vibration, a note played upon the very fabric of existence. Matter itself is not solid; it is simply the way energy arranges itself in patterns of resonance.

• String theory takes this even further, proposing that all fundamental particles are tiny, vibrating strings whose different modes of vibration give rise to the fundamental forces and matter of the universe. In this view, all reality is a symphony of oscillations, an intricate, multidimensional music woven into spacetime itself.

Thus, from mysticism to physics, the pattern repeats: existence is music. Whether sung by the Ainur, chanted in mantras, whispered by quantum waves, or played across the strings of reality—all is vibration. All is song.

A Final Thought: The Music Never Ends

At the end of the Ainulindalë, after the world is shaped by the music, Ilúvatar tells the Ainur something extraordinary:

“Behold your Music! This is your minstrelsy; and each of you shall find contained therein, amid the design that I set before you, all those things which it may seem that he himself devised or added.”

And then he says something even more profound:

“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.”

The music never stops.

It only changes.

And even the greatest discord cannot escape the melody of the One.

This is why The Ainulindalë is my favorite creation myth. Because it is not a battle, not a struggle, not a tragedy.

It is a song.

And we are all part of it.

Love,
Felix