I often think about what exactly Mairon would feel at the downfall of Numenor.
Obviously, at that point, he’s openly rebelling against the Valar, and his tragic end is likely already a foregone conclusion to the arc that began when he forged the One Ring and concretely chose to prioritize dominance over cooperation. If he hasn’t given up on fixing middle-earth, he’s certainly at least gotten very distracted. But there’s still an enormous contrast between Tar-Mairon and third age Sauron, and I don’t think it comes down to the loss of his fair form.
Because—think about it. Mairon believed from the beginning that the gods didn’t take the active role in the world they should. He believed that life, all life, deserved perfection, and he was willing to interfere to that end to the point of joining Melkor—arguably the antithesis to his entire worldview—to gain the power necessary to achieve it. Sure, he clearly enjoyed the whole ‘dark lord’ shtick (one doesn’t end up the Lord of Werewolves without finding evil at least a little fun), but his central goal remains somewhat recognizable for a long while. There’s a reason that, when he wants to fix middle-earth at the start of the second age, he jumps to ‘make magic rings that can reshape reality’ rather than ‘kill everyone in a war,’ and there’s a reason he didn’t run to the Valar. Fear was part of it, of course, but also—why would he trust them? They just destroyed half a continent in a necessary war they delayed for thousands of years, and Eru, the one responsible for all of this, didn’t even get involved!
So, not unfairly, he considers the Valar to have abandoned middle-earth and its people. They have little interest in rebuilding, so he’ll do it himself. But it doesn’t work, and it doesn’t work, and it doesn’t work, and, by the time he’s in Numenor, he’s just about had it with the people he (in his mind) is trying to help doing anything but listening to him, so he lashes out at the Valar. After all, hasn’t he spent centuries trying to do their job? Shouldn’t they be the ones to feel afraid for once, after so long hiding behind their mountains?
And he gets a response. Not from the people of Aman. Not from the Valar. From Eru.
It’s the first time in thousands and thousands of years that the creator of all has intervened in the world. Iluvatar didn’t even weigh in on the War of Wrath against Melkor himself. But now, for the sake of a maia and some random human king, he makes his will known. And what does he do?
He sinks an island of fifteen million people, he restricts Mairon’s shapeshifting, and he leaves again.
He doesn’t help. He doesn’t save any of the people Mairon was exploiting. He doesn’t communicate any advice or counsel. He punishes those who would disrupt his specific preferences about who gets to live where, and that’s it.
How could Mairon see it as anything other than proof that he was right all along? That the gods would rather sit in isolation and let millions die than take risks? That it’s more important to punish a violation of an arbitrary order than it is to build something new? That the world itself, all of creation, was created by a being who does not care for his children?
No wonder Mairon gives up on everything but warfare and nihilistic conquest! He put everything he had into disrupting the world to prove a point, and the only thing god himself had to say in response was ‘no.’ No, you don’t get to change things. No, this is the way it will always be. No, we would rather rearrange the entire solar system than allow an expression of free will (and of course it wasn’t just an expression of free will, not really, but Mairon isn’t going to consider all the logic at this point). No, you don’t get to sing unless it’s the melody I dictate.
I imagine, in that moment when he realized what was happening, he finally understood exactly why Melkor raged against the world the way he did.
