White Light and Dark Light on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm
Probably few episodes in the novels of recent decades have left such powerful memories as that confrontation between Gandalf and the Balrog that attacked the members of the Fellowship of the Ring in Moria. The intensity of the story reaches a burning point in the dwarves’ underground halls. If the author, J.R.R. Tolkien, categorized The Lord of the Rings as a “heroic romance,”[1] in this episode we truly see heroism reaching epic proportions. Gandalf, armed with the legendary sword Glamdring, alone on the narrow bridge suspended over the abyss, tensely awaits the moment of the clash. Parents, grandparents, children, or grandchildren listen with bated breath. And all of them forever remember the famous words of the wise one standing face to face with the demon of terror:
I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.[2]
The fight with the beast from the depths of the mine, then Gandalf’s death and resurrection, represent the symbolic key to the entire adventure—similar to other episodes, such as Frodo and Sam’s passage through the pass of Cirith Ungol. Passing through dark tunnels and ruins, where no glimmer of light remains, is always one of the major initiatory trials faced by characters in Tolkien’s stories. Before any possible interpretations can be offered for all this,[3] understanding what happened is the first necessary step.
On the bridge of Khazad-dûm takes place the confrontation of two antinomic and antagonistic types of spiritual light. As for the Balrog (whose name, in Sindarin, means “demon of might”), the light surrounding him is, strangely, dark. Covered by flames and smoke, armed with a red sword, he has all the traits of the infernal world from which he comes. The epithet Gandalf uses—“flame of Udûn”—gives us a precious clue about his nature. For Udûn (or Utumno) is the first underground fortress of the fallen angel Melkor (or Morgoth), the equivalent of Satan in the Judeo-Christian tradition.
Much more mysterious is the title Gandalf gives himself: “wielder of the flame of Anor.” The name Anor is a Sindarin reformulation of the Elvish name for the sun, Anar. The white light that shines on Gandalf’s sword, Glamdring, clearly indicates its solar origin. And if we add the fact that, in The Silmarillion, the sun was created from the last fruit of the Golden Tree of the Valar, Laurelin, things begin to reveal their deeper meanings. In the visible world, the sun is the physical body that, unlike the moon, has its own light that springs from itself. And if we recall that the Savior Christ is called “the Sun of Righteousness” (referencing the prophecy from Malachi 4:2), then we can detect a subtle Christian inspiration.
Though never explicit or didactic, the Christian (i.e. Catholic) connotations of Tolkien’s “heroic romances” are undeniable. In letter 142 to Jesuit Father Robert Murray, after stating that “The Lord of the Rings is of course a fundamentally religious and Catholic work,” Tolkien added that “the religious element is absorbed into the story and the symbolism.”[4] Undoubtedly, Tolkien’s stories have a discrete Christian thread discernible to the trained eye of a Catholic reader.
One of the major themes of Middle-earth is the apocalyptic confrontation between Good and Evil. What more fitting representation of this cosmic-scale conflict than the battle between light and darkness? Or, more precisely, between the white, solar light of the virtuous, and the dark, perhaps red light of those aligned with the evil? The battle on the bridge of Khazad-dûm encodes this cosmic conflict in an episode with great dramatic weight. However, in Gandalf’s famous declaration, there is one detail I haven’t addressed yet. Here it is: before mentioning the flame of Anor and the flame of Udûn, he declares himself “a servant of the Secret Fire.” Perhaps surprisingly for some readers, I hasten to point out that this fire is not the same as the flame of Anor.
The Secret Fire
The Secret Fire is so important that one of the most esteemed interpreters of Tolkien’s works, Stratford Caldecott (1953–2014), published in 2003 a monograph titled Secret Fire: The Spiritual Vision of J.R.R. Tolkien, through Darton, Longman and Todd. The fact that an author of Caldecott’s stature drew the very title of his book from Gandalf’s cry on the bridge of Khazad-dûm is particularly significant. So, what is this Secret Fire?
The answer is provided in the work that outlines the entire context of Tolkien’s stories—The Silmarillion. In the second book of this mytho-historical work, Valaquenta, we encounter right at the beginning a brief and dense description of the cosmogony of Arda:
In the beginning Eru, the One, who in the Elvish tongue is named Iluvatar, made the Ainur of his thought; and they made a great Music before him. In this Music the World was begun; for Iluvatar made visible the song of the Ainur, and they beheld it as a light in the darkness. And many among them became enamoured of its beauty, and of its history which they saw beginning and unfolding as in a vision. Therefore Iluvatar gave to their vision Being, and set it amid the Void, and the Secret Fire was sent to burn at the heart of the World; and it was called Ea.[5]
The quote above is, in fact, a summary of what was described in the first book of The Silmarillion, Ainulindalë. Here, we find the genesis of the world detailed. God—called either Eru (the One) or Ilúvatar (Father of All)—creates the angelic hierarchies (the Ainur), who are then invited to participate in the cosmic symphony whose theme is proposed by the Demiurge. While most of the angels follow this theme, singing variations that remain faithful to it, the most gifted among them, Melkor, desires originality at all costs.
In other words, he wants to compose, in a way completely autonomous from his Creator, a music that has nothing in common with the majestic theme proposed by God. This aspiration of his proud heart, which reeks of hybris, clearly indicates what the revolutionary angel truly wants: to create ex nihilo. The madness of such a thought cannot be emphasized enough. Only an all-powerful Creator—namely, God—can do such a thing.
When describing Melkor’s main obsession and his desperate searches, Tolkien refers once again—using a slightly different name—to that “Secret Fire” also mentioned by Gandalf:
He had gone often alone into the void places seeking the Imperishable Flame; for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being things of his own, and it seemed to him that Iluvatar took no thought for the Void, and he was impatient of its emptiness. Yet he found not the Fire, for it is with Iluvatar. But being alone he had begun to conceive thoughts of his own unlike those of his brethren.[6]
The quote is extremely important because it contains clear evidence of the identity between the Secret Fire (referred to here simply as “the Fire”) and “the Imperishable Flame.” So, in this regard, there is no doubt: whether we speak of “the Secret Fire” or “the Imperishable Flame,” we are talking about one and the same fire.
The name Imperishable Flame had been used only once before, right at the beginning of the first book of The Silmarillion, when Ilúvatar speaks to the angels about the great music he proposes to them:
Then Iluvatar said to them: ‘Of the theme that I have declared to you, I will now that ye make in harmony together a Great Music. And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable, ye shall show forth your powers in adorning this theme, each with his own thoughts and devices, if he will. But I will sit and hearken, and be glad that through you great beauty has been wakened into song.’[7]
The musical symphony in which the Ainur are invited to participate represents one of the most fascinating cosmogonic metaphors of creation. As I have shown in another article,[8] many hypotheses have been proposed regarding its source. What interests me here is the clarification made by God Himself: that the possibility of co-participating in the development of the proposed musical theme is the result of the Ainur being kindled with the Flame Imperishable.
Here, I believe that if I add a clarification—which, in my view, is essential—I would be in agreement with Professor Tolkien. We saw in the first of the three quotes above that the Secret Fire is found at the heart of the world. I believe we can say that, in the case of the Ainur (as with humans), the Imperishable Flame is found within their hearts. We will see later why I consider this detail to be of exceptional importance.
The Heart of God
Professor Clyde Samuel Kilby (1902–1986) was the first “outsider” to read the manuscript of The Silmarillion. On that occasion, Tolkien revealed to him that the Secret Fire mentioned in his cosmogony is a symbolic image of the third person of the Holy Trinity—the Holy Spirit. [9]
This interpretation was also supported by Stratford Caldecott in his already mentioned work, Secret Fire: The Spiritual Vision of J.R.R. Tolkien. The Oxford author further developed this interpretation—legitimized by the author of The Lord of the Rings himself—in a remarkable direction, beginning with the statement that “we might call it (i.e., the Secret Fire) the divine eros.”
The commentary that follows is one of the most insightful to be found in the entire body of exegesis dedicated to Tolkien’s works:
We normally associate God with love in the sense of agape or charity, and eros with the love of the sexes. But the word captures the passionate energy of God’s love in a way that agape does not. The characteristic of eros is that it reaches out towards beauty: it is a response to beauty, or a recognition of it. In God’s case it is the active creation of beauty. We find this wild, passionate, creative and fiery love of God enshrined in the very heart of the Bible as the Song of Songs.
Eru sends forth into the void the ‘the Flame Imperishable’ to be the heart of the world. He has kindled the Ainur into reality with the same fire. This fire is that which Melkor seeks in the void, hoping to use it to create beings of his own, but he does not find, ‘for it is with Ilúvatar.’ Thus it is that the Enemy cannot make, but only mar. He can imitate, distort and copy, he can mock and corrupt, but he cannot truly create. Yet all his desire is bent on creation, and his inner torment is caused by this eternal frustration. He has become a flame, but a flame that gives more heat than light. He burns, which is to say that he consumes instead of illuminating. His fire, compared to that of Ilúvatar, is shadow.[10]
What I quoted above represents the best synthesis of the meaning of the fragments from The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings that I have cited. Everything gradually becomes clearer. While reading and rereading the pages written with profound understanding by Stratford Caldecott, an image was born in my mind—unique and perfectly illustrating all that this brilliant interpreter of Tolkien’s works has taught us.
Of course, the secret fire at the heart of creation and of rational creatures can only be the Holy Spirit—who descended on Pentecost upon the Holy Virgin Mary and the Apostles in the form of tongues of fire. Furthermore, the association of this fire with the divine eros that Caldecott speaks of is a natural conclusion of our meditation. Alongside all this, readings from Saints Cyril of Alexandria, Gregory the Great, and the Venerable Bede have emphasized the indestructible association between the manifestation of the Holy Spirit and the action of divine love which—as the last of these saints puts it—seeks “to inflame the hearts of believers by the fire of the Spirit.”
All these reflections gave rise in my imagination to an image connected with the most natural yet revealing question: is this fire sent to us by God not the manifestation of His Most Sacred Heart?
Nothing else could correspond to the heart of the world and the hearts of the Ainur and of men, in which the secret fire may dwell, but the Most Sacred Heart of Our Lord Jesus Christ. It is from this Heart that, out of a supernatural love beyond our understanding, everything that exists was created. No matter how deeply we meditate on the mystery of creation, we will never find a better explanation than this: God created the cosmos, the angels, and man out of the enthusiasm of love.
Even more concretely, God created us out of a desire to share with someone who does not belong to the eternal Holy Trinity the joy of love. Do we not ourselves, at least sometimes, know this joy? Do we not long to share with our loved ones the discovery of a good book, a remarkable film, or a musical or artistic masterpiece? The experience of beauty generates an indescribable love. The “logic” of the heart is to share. And true love never forgets humility: we cannot truly love unless we are aware that God is the one who loved us first.
In other words, we are not the source of love, but merely “mirrors” meant to reflect it to one another—and together, to the Creator—through a majestic hymn that should sound like Gregorian chant sung in the diamond-like silence before the Holy Altar.
This, then, is what the secret fire in Tolkien’s world may be: the great fire—which illuminates without destroying—of the flames of the Most Sacred Heart of God, He who loved us first. And Who waits for us to allow our hearts to be set ablaze by these delicate, gentle flames that the Holy Spirit seeks to kindle and preserve unextinguished in our hearts, wounded by the dark fire of sin:
“I am come to cast fire on the earth; and what will I, but that it be kindled?” (Luke 12: 49)
[1] Letter 329 to Peter Szabó Szentmihályiin The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, A selection edited by Humphrey Carpenter with the assistance of Christopher Tolkien, Harper Collins Publishers, 1995, p. 414.
[2] The Ring Goes South. Being the Second Book of The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien, Collins, 2001 (the Seven-Volume Edition), p. 151.
[3] I have already published some essays and studies on such topics. For example, in The European Conservative, “Swallowed by the Dragon: Monstrous Meanings in Tolkien’s Stories ”( [Accessed: 25 June 2025]) and “Tolkien’s Paradise” ( [Accessed: 25 June 2025]), or “Images and Symbols in Tolkien’s Works. Hell” in ARCHÆVS. Studies in the History of Religions, XII/2007, pp. 351-375.
[4] The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, ed. cit., p. 172.
[5] J.R.R. Tolkien, Silmarillion, Edited by Christopher Tolkien, New York: Ballantine Books, 1979, p. 17.
[6] Ibid., p. 4.
[7] Ibid., p. 3.
[8] “J.R.R. Tolkien and the Musical Cosmogony:” [Accessed: 25 June 2025].
[9] Kilby a povestit această discuție în Tolkien and The Silmarillion, Berkhamsted: Lion Publishing, 1977, p. 59: [Accessed: 25 June 2025].
[10] Stratford Caldecott, Secret Fire. The Spiritual Vision of J.R.R. Tolkien, London: Darton, Longman and Todd, pp. 107-108.
