On Revealing and Unrevealing Disguises (Part 1)

Our sages tell us that you can learn of someone's true nature if you observe them in three contexts: their wallet (their business dealings), when they are angry, and when they drink. On Purim, which for non-Jerusalmites falls out on Friday (March 14), two of these factors come into play: money, where there is an extra emphasis and command to give money to the poor, and wine, which is traditionally drunk due to the centrailty of wine in the commemorated story of Queen Esther. 

In place of anger, however, I have often suggested that the Jewish people have developed another method of demonstrating their true nature, which is the custom of dressing up. How this custom arose is not the goal of this post, but I nonetheless think that how someone dresses up may provide insight into their nature. I think people inherently realize this when in English they will colloquially say, "I am going to be ______ for Purim?" And of course, that's silly. People are who they are and do not become a princess, Batman, or Aaron Judge on Purim. But perhaps there's more than just a shortening of language in this formulation, when someone says they "want to be," rather than saying they "want to dress up as." Because, to some degree, the person really would like to be Queen Esther, a soldier, or a fireman - why else would they want to dress up as that person or object?

This is true dressing up - in fact we might say it's a revealing disguise, because while the disguise may make someone look like someone or something else, in fact, it reveals an aspect of who they really are. 

Before tying this into Narnia, I'll just note that personally I do not dress up (or drink) on Purim because I am perfectly happy being myself (not that there isn't much to criticize in that). However, this year, I will wear my math tie in honor of Pi Day.   

Anyway... on to Narnia...

There is quite a bit of dressing up in Narnia and I think what we'll see is that there are good ways and bad ways to dress up. When Lucy first enters Narnia she meets the faun Tumnus who is unknowingly dressed up look "just as if he had been doing his Christmas shopping." Of course, as we've discussed elsewhere, if there was one thing Tumnus was NOT doing it was Christmas shopping. But Tumnus, perhaps still unconsciously, yearned for the time that he would be able to, and I have no doubt that less than 12 months later he was in fact Christmas shopping. This "disguise" was revealing. It showed us the true nature of Tumnus' soul - he was yearning for redemption. He knew there would be redemption, and he disguised himself to reveal the coming of redemption. 

Next, when the Pevensie children enter Narnia for the first time together they don fur coats leading Lucy to exclaim, "We can pretend we are Arctic explorers," and she's in some senses correct, but it is an unrevealing disguise. It does not truly demonstrate who they are or what they want. Peter responds correctly, "This is going to be exciting enough without pretending." This adventure cannot be pretend, it must be them, themselves, not disguised as somone else. 

The same thing happens shortly afterwards. Peter suggests thinking of a stratagem to save Tumnus from the White Witch. He says, "I mean couldn't we dress up as something, or pretend to be - oh, pedlars or anything." These are unrevealing disguises. Peter has desire to be a pedlar. And here, Mr Beaver has the proper reply. No, you cannot pretend to be someone or something else. True hope, true redemption will not occur through you on your own no matter what you do - only through Aslan can you participate in the redemptive process, "No good your trying, of all people. But now that Aslan is on the move..." Peter, like Lucy earlier, was trying to hide. Redemption comes through truth. 

Several years later, future Narnian heroes do dress up in an effort to hide their true nature. It fails miserably. Shasta, Aravis, Hwin, and Bree are attempting to get safely past Tashban on their journey to Narnia and decide that Aravis, Hwin, and Bree must disguise themselves. Bree cannot be seen as a warhorse being used as a packhorse by a grubby child and Aravis, hiding from her family, certainly cannot be noticed as a royal Takheena. They go through great pains to make unrevealing disguises, ones that would hide their true nature and destiny. And the disguised almost immediately fail. Bree is instantly recognized as a warhorse, and Aravis can't make it halfway through Tashbaan without being noticed by a (not very close) friend. Of course, this works out for the best, but it shows once again, that redemption does not come about by hiding and sneakiness, it must be quested after in truth, honesty, and determination to do what is right.

This now takes us to The Last Battle, where we have a number of characters who again disguise themselves and the disastrous results. 

We will explore that in our next.  

Kind Actions Cause Cruel Ones

In out last post we started analyzing the statement of Raish Lakish in Ecclesiastes Rabbah, "Anyone who becomes merciful in place of cruel, will at the end, become cruel in the place of merciful." (Ecclesiastes Rabbah 7:16). There we asserted that this was due to cause and effect: by having mercy on those who are cruel, for example exempting them from any punishment for their crimes, will only enable them to commit further acts of cruelty. If not by the grace of Aslan, the discussions between Lucy, Edmond, and King Lune regarding Prince Rabadash, would have indeed brought about such as a circumstance. 

Our Sages, however, go one step further. It is not simply that displaced mercy for evildoers will enable the evildoer to perform more acts of cruelty. No! The person who invokes inappropriate mercy will themselves act with unwarranted cruelty. As proof the midrash references the actions of King Saul. King Saul had been commanded by God to wipe out the Amalekites. Much to God's chagrin, Saul had mercy on their king (1 Samuel 15:9). However, Saul did completely wipe out the priestly city of Nob (1 Samuel 22:19) who did nothing but support David assuming David was operating at Saul's command. 

Similarly with Ahab, who, as we mentioned a couple of posts ago, was merciful with ben-Haddad the king of Aram who had previously ordered Ahab to give him his wives and children (1 Kings 20:34). Nevertheless, when Ahab desired the vineyard a Naboth's, his wife Jezebel arranged for Naboth to be falsely accused of a capital offense and he received the death penalty (1 Kings 21:13). 

The commentaries on the midrash attempt to understand why it is that displaced mercy should lead someone to act cruelly. After all, shouldn't the exact opposite be true? If one shows mercy even when they should not, they will certainly show mercy when they should?

The general approach taken is to simply say that mercy or not mercy is not the true issue. What is actually being discussed is fidelity to the words of God. Saul's unwillingness to listen to God with respect to Amalek demonstrates that there are no circumstances that he can be trusted to listen to God. Sometimes that lack of adherence will manifest in undue mercy, and sometimes in undue cruelty. But what is central is that God's commands should come first.

I actually think our Sages mean something deeper. I think we can fairly assume that people do not typically see themselves as being cruel. So how can anyone allow a dangerous or violent criminal get away with their crimes? Is it not obvious that such people will then harm others? The answer is straightforward. Those who free the criminal believe that either the pain and suffering by those future victims is unimportant or that the victims of the criminal's future violence deserve the pain and suffering. There is no other way to justify how a normal supposedly moral person can justify such actions. 

Now we see how mercy to the undeserved will make that person cruel to the innocent. There is no way around it. The undue mercy presupposes a lack of mercy for others.  Saul's undue mercy for Amalek had to assume cruelty to the future victims of Amalek's frequent attacks on innocent outposts. And so, when one of those outposts did make a mistake, he could not be merciful. 

This the trap that King Lune almost fell into. Undue mercy for Rabadash pre-supposes cruelty to the innocent of Archenland who would be Rabadash's next victims. Aslan had to appear and stop the kind king from going too far and bringing ruin on himself and all of Archenland. 

Kindness Leading to Cruelty

Raish Lakish said, "Anyone who becomes merciful in place of cruel, will at the end, become cruel in the place of merciful." (Ecclesiastes Rabbah 7:16)

Taking this statement of our Sages as stated we can see how it may be applied to Ahab's willingness to free ben-Haddad the king of Aram. When a villain is left unpunished, while perhaps it seems merciful, ultimately, far more cruelty will arise. Criminals let go without consequences will continue to criminalize. There may be a feel-good moment for the prosecutor or judge, that does not change the harm done to the next innocent victim. The judge of prosecutor is cruel to the innocent and will be recognized as cruel by anyone who values ethics and morals.  

Ahab may have felt he was being merciful, but ben-Haddad was not deserving of such mercy and instead caused unimagined harm to the innocent citizens of Israel. 

And the same is true of what King Lune almost did. In their discussion of what to do with Rabadash after he was taken prisoner Lucy offers, "Let him go freon strait promise of fair dealing in the future. It may be that he will keep his word." Of course that sounds a bit risky, because what if he doesn't. What if, after being humiliated by Archenland and Narnia he decides the best thing would be revenge. That seems like a much greater probability. 

Edmund realizes this but counters the thought with, ""But, by the Lion, if he breaks it again, may it be in such time and place that any of us could swap off his head in clean battle." Well, maybe, but maybe not. And what about all of the innocent people that might die in the battle in the meantime? 

Finally, King Lune calls Rabadash in and is about to provide an ultimatum presumably based on Lucy's suggestion. However, in doing so I think he makes things worse. "Nevertheless, in consideration of your youth and the ill nurture, devoid of all gentilesse and courtesy, which you have doubtless had in the land of slaves and tyrants, we are disposed to set you free, unharmed, on these conditions..."

Hold on a second! OK, we're blaming Rabadash's like of honor and civility on his nurturing, fair enough. But now you're just going to let him free with no punishment on condition that he'll be honest? You're going to send him back to the place where he had all that horrible nurturing and expect him to turn over a new leaf? At least keep him around for a while to teach him how to be honorable! 

I really think that all three of these protagonists have it wrong. They are applying mercy when they should not, risking great cruelty which is unlikely to fall on them.  

Fortunately for all concerned Aslan rescues them from this morally rotten though process. He punishes Rabadash and forces him to face consequences by transforming him into an ass. However, the transformation is not permanent. As Aslan puts it, "Justice shall be mixed with mercy." And Aslan gets it right. Without justice there is no mercy - there is simply chaos. King Lune's "mercy" already caused great harm to his own family and was about to endanger all of Archenland. Aslan's lesson of justice first is the necessary response. 

However, despite all of the above, our Sages have another explanation for, "Anyone who becomes merciful in place of cruel, will at the end, become cruel in the place of merciful." Which we will get to in our next post. 

Kindness between Royals

As those who did the homework from the last post saw, in chapter 20 of 1 Kings, King Ahab of Israel is merciful to ben-Haddad the King of Aram. This same ben-Haddad had earlier in the chapter demanded Ahab's wives, children, gold and silver, and then launched a major offensive against Israel. Israel miraculously won the major battles and King Ahab frees ben-Haddad, calling him his brother.   

One might praise Ahab for his great kindness in the face of cruelty. Perhaps, some might say, ben-Haddad will be overcome with emotion over the goodness shown to him and turn over a new leaf bringing an era of peace between Israel and Aram. And even if he doesn't, it is necessary to give him that chance. Of course, ben-Haddad does not usher in peace. Ahab's kindness enables Aram to retain its strength which they eventually use to kill Ahab to severely harm Israel. 

Furthermore, we see that Ahab is not such a kind individual. For in the very next chapter, he steals a vineyard from one of his own subjects, Naboth the Jezreelite. How can we understand this sudden change of behavior?  

How could Ahab have shown such great kindness to ben-Haddad, but such cruelty to Naboth?

One answer may be that Ahab held of a strict divide between royalty and the proletariat. Ben-Haddad, for all he was evil, was a fellow royal. Similar to divine blood found in Lewis' royals of Glome, who could only marry fellow royals, Ahab could, without pause, be kind to a fellow king, while cruel to one of his own people. 

Should this be the case then King Lune may not have much to learn from Ahab's story. King Lune frees Rabadash, not from a sense of kinship between royals but in hopes that he will have learned his lesson and out of a recoiling from killing Rabadash not in battle. Thanks to Aslan, King Lune's hopes come true and Rabadash (though not out of the kindness of his heart) does bring peace between Calormen and Archenland. 

However, our Sages read the story of Ahab otherwise and that understanding challenges Lewis' ending to the story of Rabadash. 

Is King Lune too Kind (Homework)

Tomorrow evening begins the holiday of Shavuot - the time the Torah was given. Hence, I thought it appropriate to suggest some Torah learning for everyone to do. Specifically, please look at chapter 20 of 1 Kings and you may want to think about the following questions:

1) Why was it necessary for the prophet to have been actively harmed before approaching the King of Israel?

2) Why was the person who did not listen to the prophet's command punished so severely?

3) Why did the King of Israel release the King of Aram?

4) Was he right in doing so? If yes, why was he punished?

5) What, if anything, does this teach us about how King Lune should treat Prince Rabadash? How are these stories similar? How are they different?

Feel free to put answers and ideas in the comments. 

PS. My Shavuot class this year will not be Narnian related (they can't all be), but instead I'll be speaking on "A Nation Alone, A Nation Apart," using the blessing of the evil Balaam as the source text. 

Is King Lune too Kind? (Part 1)

King Lune is the king of Archenland during Narnia's Golden Age under the Pevensies. In our first personal encounter with him in The Horse and His Boy, King Lune is described as, "the jolliest, fat, applecheeked, twinkling eyed King you could imagine." King Lune very much lives up to the implications of this description. He is welcoming, gracious, an understanding father, and a king who appears to have one the respect of his people by having respect for them. And, of course, he is kind even to his enemies. 

It is this last characteristic that I would like to examine. Is King Lune very kind, or kind to a fault? We have two situations in which this question arises: in his treatment of the Lord Bar and in his judgment of Prince Rabadash. Let us examine the first situation in this post.

The Lord Bar was King Lune's Lord Chancellor. Presumably the function of the Archenlandish Lord Chancellor was similar to that found in the United Kingdom, to ensure the functioning and administration of the Judiciary. The problem of course, was that the Lord Bar was embezzling funds that were presumably earmarked for the courts. This led to his dismissal, but beyond that, as described by Cor, "Nothing else was done to him and he was allowed to go on living in Archenland."

Was the punishment appropriate or too lenient? 

Well, that he needed to be dismissed is obviously necessary. Such a betrayal of trust of that sort clearly renders someone unfit for office. 

But what sort of sin is embezzling? Clearly it is theft, but it may also be treason?

If the situation was simply theft, we would expect the punishment to be at least to pay back the sums he stole. Biblical law prescribes that the thief pays back double as a type of fine (unless he himself admits that he stole). It would also seem reasonable that the reason for Lord Bar's dismissal was publicly proclaimed so that no one should trust him either. 

Should he have been allowed to continue living in Archenland? Well, simple theft does not seem to warrant exile. People steal for all sorts of reasons and of course we want to leave a door open for the person to repent. 

However, if the embezzling was treasonous, exile would seem to be very appropriate. Was Lord Bar's motives investigated? Was he in the pay of the Tisroc before or only after he was caught stealing? Was he the type of person who would seek and/or have the means to take revenge on the crown? 

These all seem to be relevant and important questions especially for someone who betrayed his office: Lord Bar was in charge of the sources of justice but was very much unjust himself.

Of course, we know what happens. Lord Bar is not exiled and eventually is able to kidnap the crown prince. That this outcome fts Aslan's plans is irrelevant. All outcomes can fit Aslan's plans. But, whether King Lune was too kind is an open question. And one that we can further explore in the next scenario: his treatment of Prince Rabadash, the Crown Prince of Calormen.   

The Lapsed and the Conniver

There is one Talking Beast about whom we are explicitly told that he had, “gone back to Wild Bear habits.” That is the Lapsed Bear of Stormness, who was eventually beaten in a boxing match by Corin Thunder-Fist and became a “reformed character.” Given the short description, it is not at all clear what habits the Lapsed Bear returned to. Nonetheless, perhaps this supports our previous contention that it is an approach or trajectory towards the ways of Wild Beasts that violates Aslan’s command. The Lapsed Bear habituated himself as a Wild Beast. Whether he did something evil, dangerous to others, or even just non-thinking is not important. Simply, he did not value the gift in sentience granted by Aslan and directed his approach to life towards the ways of the Dumb Beasts.

There is also a Talking Beast explicitly struck with Aslan’s curse, “lest you cease to be Talking Beasts.” That creature is, of course, Ginger the Cat in The Last Battle who loses his ability to speak, and ceases to be a Talking Beast, after looking into the stable at “Tashlan.” Of course, we know what Ginger did wrong. As part of the plot with the Calomens (and Shift) he betrayed his own people. He disbelieved in Aslan, enough to create “Tashlan,” and attempted to sell this new god to the Narnian proletariat.

So, there’s no question that Ginger is an evil character who deserves to be punished. The challenge is that his actions are not returning to ways of the Dumb Beasts. Dumb Beasts do not deceive, connive, or scheme. How does Ginger’s punishment fit the crime?

Bree and the Ways of the Dumb Beasts

In our last post we noted that there is one Talking Beast, the horse Bree from The Horse and His Boy, who is highly attentive to not acting in the ways of the Dumb Beasts. His angst is mainly centered on his habit of rolling, an extremely pleasant activity for Bree, but one he fears may be a slovenly outgrowth of having been assimilated into the life of the Dumb Beasts of Calormen. Shasta and Aravis (and presumably Lewis) are amused by what they perceive as Bree’s vanity and don’t seem to think there’s much wrong with rolling. This despite Aslan’s command at the creation of Narnia that Talking Beasts should not return to the ways of the Dumb Beasts.

However, there is another way in which Bree acts like a Dumb Beast which perhaps does violate Aslan’s command. When the Lion (though at that point in the story they do not realize it is Aslan) is chasing Aravis and Hwin, Shasta courageously turns back to help, while Bree does not. It is Bree himself who realizes his wrongful action and pronounces his own punishment, to return to slavery as a Dumb Beast:

Slavery is all I'm fit for. How can I ever show my face among the free Horses of Narnia? - I who left a mare and a girl and a boy to be eaten by lions while I galloped all I could to save my own wretched skin!

And, upon Aslan’s word, that is in fact, the appropriate punishment for returning to the ways of the Dumb Beasts.

Nevertheless, Bree is brought back from the edge by the Hermit who provides them safety. The Hermit says that Bree has lost nothing but his self-conceit. While Bree was a great horse compared to the dumb Calormen horses, he is not necessarily destined to be particularly great in Narnia. And that’s OK as long as he remains humble.

The hermit is certainly correct. Bree has never once mentioned his fear of violating Aslan’s command, but appears much more worried about his image and reputation. A situation that forces Bree to confront that he is not as great as he thinks is quite positive for his character development. Still, though Bree may not be aware of Aslan’s command we are (of course, if we read the books in the proper publication order we don’t yet know of Aslan’s command when we read The Horse and His Boy the first time, but I assume everyone has already read the complete series). Does Bree deserve the grace offered by the Hermit?

It appears to me that what the Hermit is saying is as follows: the courage it takes to turn around and face imminent danger rather than run from it is a valiant action that will not come naturally even to a Talking Horse or other sentient being. It is a level to strive for, and as long as one recognizes the need to strive for that level, they have not returned to the ways of the Dumb Beasts. Bree’s action was indeed what a Dumb Horse would have done. However, comprehending the necessity for continual improvement is already beyond what is possible for Dumb Beasts.

If this analysis is correct, we have some possible clarity as to what it means to return to the ways of the Dumb Beasts. It’s not rolling, perhaps it’s not even shying away from some valiant action. Perhaps it’s not so much an action as an approach or a trajectory. Is that all? Possibly, but are there any actions that are just beyond the pale?

Still, we’ve got a few more examples to figure it out.

Narnian Ba'alei Teshuva: the Lapsed Bear of Stormness

I am preparing to write a post or two about Aslan's warning to the Talking Beasts of Narnia not to return to the ways of the Dumb Beasts from which they were chosen. Hopefully that will happen soon, but it returned my thoughts to the Lapsed Bear of Stormness. So, let's take some time to talk about him.  

We know very little about the Lapsed Bear of Stornmness as he is mentioned at the end of "The Horse and His Boy" by way of demonstrating the boxing prowess of Prince Corin. The story is as follows:

That was how he got his name of Corin Thunder-Fist; and how he performed his great exploit against the Lapsed Bear of Stormness, which was really a Talking Bear but had gone back to Wild Bear habits. Corin climbed up to its lair on the Narnian side of Stormness one winter day when the snow was on the hills and boxed it without a time-keeper for thirty-three rounds. And at the end it couldn't see out of its eyes and became a reformed character.

Clearly the Lapsed Bear is one of Lewis' ba'alei teshuva (repentants) though, a priori, there's not much to glean from his story. However, bears are mentioned one other time in the Horse and His Boy when the Raven quotes an old saying, "See the bear in his own den before you judge of his conditions." And, indeed, this is exactly what Corin did. Rather than taking rumors at face value he went right up to the bear's lair and saw him for what he was. Not only did this allow him to see the truth about the bears behavior, but perhaps it demonstrated a way forward. 

What exactly did Corin see? Well, we don't really know, but Corin apparently perceived that the only way to get through to the bear was to box him. Now, this may sound rather barbaric and it's highly unlikely that this would be proper operating procedure for the sinners of our day, but perhaps surprisingly it worked for Corin. 

Why did boxing help reform the bears character? Because Corin took the time to look. Perhaps, the bear himself understood that Corin took the time to come to his lair to see his condition. Corin didn't make a public stand for Aslan and the ways of Narnia, but instead fought with no time-keeper. No one had to know what had happened and, perhaps, the bear himself realized Corin's sincerity in this. 

Bears. of course, have a quite a history in Narnia, including the Bulgy Bears later to be confirmed in his hereditary office of Marshal of the Lists, and we can continue to explore the Lapsed Bear of Stormness in light of these noble figures.   

Ba'alei Teshuva in The Horse and His Boy

We have already spoken of the Chronicles’ two great ba’alei teshuva, “returnees” to the true religion, Edmund and Eustace. Edmund had rebelled against his siblings and, for his own personal gain, joined the forces of evil. Eustace suffered from the lack of a spiritual upbringing and refused to see the truth when clearly presented to him. The first two returnees we will discuss in The Horse and His Boy seek the truth for another reason, they have learned the evils of their former worldview and are seeking an alternative.

Shasta is raised by his adoptive father the fisherman Arsheesh and is motivated to look elsewhere when he is sold as a slave. Aravis is raised in the home of a powerful Calormen Tarkhan and is sold as a wife to one she does not love. Both are looking for a better life elsewhere and are drawn to Narnia by talking horses they meet.

However, there is a sharp contrast between them Shasta and Aravis. Shasta is a natural Northerner and has long had an impulse to travel in that direction. When alerted that this impulse arises from his natural propensity as a Northerner, he immediately claims to identify himself with this new culture (though he does not yet know it). Aravis is a Calormene and in every way a stranger to Northern ethics and culture. If anything, she has been taught to hate this culture. Yet, she follows a guide who promises her a better life as the biblical Ruth followed her mother-in-law to the Land of Israel.

The Horse and His Boy feature other returnees as well. The two horses themselves, Bree and Hwin, return to their native land after being captured by Calormen. Unlike Shasta, however, both knew of their Narnian origin though not much of the culture or religion of Narnia. The horses, however, are very different characters. The proud Bree expects to be welcome with open arms by his fellow Narnians while Hwin would be glad just to get home.

The Calomene prince Rabadash was a potential convert in the same way as Aravis. He too was sold by his father, the Tisroc, for the price of Narnia and Archenland. Unlike Aravis, Rabadash requested the sale, but, as with Aravis, the sale was never consummated. This should have opened his eyes to the truth of Aslan, but instead he settles for fear of Aslan as a demon rather than belief in Aslan as a god.

Finally, there is the Lapsed Bear of Stormness. We know practically nothing of his regression to wild bear behavior, but he too becomes a reformed character.

Perhaps this wide array of characters with their background stories is meant to teach us that there is no one road to travel to come to the service of the one God. 

We’ll discuss all of them over the next series of posts.

Gaiety and Valiance

Lucy, though grownup at the end of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, remains “gay and goldenhaired,” and is thus called Queen Lucy the Valiant. Therefore, if are to understand valiance in the character of Lucy, we must first define “gay.” 

Lewis uses the word “gay” 16 times in the Chronicles (and the word "gaiety" once). Six of those times are in The Silver Chair upon Puddleglum, Eustace, and Jill's discovery that the giants plan to eat them. Puddleglum directs the children to act “gay,” and gives us something of a definition: “Gay. As if we hadn't a care in the world.” Of course, as Lewis notes, Puddleglum, and Marsh-wiggles in general, are absolutely horrid at acting gay. In fact, they may be the exact opposite of "gay" given that Marsh-wiggles always expect the worst and act in direct opposition of carefree. 

Three times gay is used in the context of clothes. Perhaps clothes can also be carefree, but it’s difficult to imagine that Aravis, for example, when trying to trick her father into thinking how happy she was being engaged to Ahoshta, put on “her most carefree clothes.” Rather gay in this context presumably means the brightest, fanciest, and most merry clothes. This definition does not contradict the previous one, rather it explains that forces us to redefine carefree. Carefree does not mean not caring, but it means having an affectation of not caring because one is cheerful and optimistic. 

In Prince Caspian, the word gay is twice used with respect to flora: the rowans surrounding Aslan when he awakens the trees are called gay, and the hedges that Bacchus causes to sprout moments before they take down the bridge in Beruna are "gay with hawthorns." Both of these flora are colorful and bright and it would appear that “gay” here is used in the same way as with respect to clothes. 

Lewis also uses the word gay to describe wind (The Voyage of the Dawn Treader) and sound (The Horse and His Boy). The ship in the picture on the wall of Aunt Alberta’s back room (which becomes the Dawn Treader) runs before a “gay wind,” and King Lune’s hunting horn is “gay and merry.” In both of these cases the items in question presumably cause gaiety: the ship appears joyful as it sails along the waves, and the hunt is done with festivities and merriment. 

The final two occasions of the use of the description “gay” are connected with two of Narnia’s most important characters. Reepicheep, the most valiant of all beasts, is introduced as “a gay and martial mouse.” Finally, when Aslan reveals himself to Shasta in the Horse and His Boy he says “Myself,” in a voice that is “loud and clear and gay.” 

As a whole these examples suggest that “gay,” as used by Lewis in the Chronicles, means joyous, optimistic, and ready to face the future. Yet, this should not be conflated with frivolous or without seriousness (though Puddlieglum and the children likely tried to behave that in that way before the giants). After all, one would certainly not characterize Reepicheep, let alone Aslan himself, as frivolous. 

Lucy’s gaiety is what makes her so attractive to princes who value joy over graciousness, and optimism over courtliness. It is what made her so charming in the eyes of the people who saw gold in her hair. And it is what made her so beloved to Aslan in whom she placed the complete faith and devotion of a young child for a parent. 

However, “gay” alone is insufficient to characterize valiant. We see this because the two terms are also contrasted. The sound of the trumpets before King Edmund’s army on their its way to defend King Lune was “not huge and solemn like the horns of Tashbaan nor gay and merry like King Lune's hunting horn, but clear and sharp and valiant.” From this it appears that valiance has an aspect of sharpness, perhaps immediacy, that is lacking in gaiety. 

We will examine this further in our next post. 

Retaining Childhood

In our quest to define valiance we have temporarily shifted our focus from Reepicheep to Lucy. The adult Lucy was called Queen Lucy the Valiant it seems, because she always “remained gay and golden-haired.” Perhaps unlike the other Pevensies she did not change as she grew older, she retained childhood. This, I claimed, displays her valiance. However, to demonstrate this we must examine whether retaining childhood is desirable for religious man. 

The adult is too clever. Utility is his guiding light. The experience of God is unavailable to those approaching it with a businesslike attitude. Only the child can breach the boundaries that segregate the finite from the infinite. Only the child with his simple faith and fiery enthusiasm can make the miraculous leap into the bosom of God... When it came to faith, the giants of Torah, the geniuses of Israel, became little children, with all their ingenuousness, gracefulness, simplicity, their tremors of fear, their vivid experiences and their devotion to them... Whenever [Moses] fell before God, he cried like a child. Who can fall before his father, raise his eyes to him alone, to seek consolation and salvation, if not the child! ... The mature, the adult, are not capable of the all-embracing and all-penetrating outpouring of the soul. The most sublime crown we can give a great man sparkles with the gems of childhood. (Divrei Hagut Ve-ha'arakha, pp.159-160; in English: Shiurei Harav, pp.63-64)

In the above passage. R’ Joseph B. Soloveitchik speaks of the childlike nature necessary for one to truly trust, pray to, and devote themselves to God. An adult is too practical, too sophisticated. Only one with emotional purity and unbridled enthusiasm can reach out to the Infinite. 

And, indeed, Lucy’s childness reveals itself in just those occasions. When seeing Aslan for the first time in Prince Caspian, Lucy, “Never stopped to think whether he was a friendly lion or not. She rushed to him. She felt her heart would burst if she lost a moment.” Similarly, when Aslan reveals himself to Lucy in the Magician’s house in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader Lucy, “Ran forward with a little cry of delight and with her arms stretched out.” And finally, when unable to escape the Dark Island Lucy (and only Lucy) prays a childlike prayer, “Aslan, Aslan, if ever you loved us at all, send us help now.” Like a child demanding the purchase of a toy saying, “If you don’t buy it for me, it shows that you don’t love me.” 

But Aslan listens. Aslan rejoices in Lucy’s unbridled love, trust, and hope as a father rejoices in every action of his children. Therefore, at the end of time it is Lucy who, “was drinking everything in even more deeply than the others.” It was she who could integrate more fully into the true Narnia. 

Lewis himself notes the importance of retaining childhood at the end of the Silver Chair. In a parenthetical comment he notes, “Even in this world, of course, it is the stupidest children who are most childish and the stupidest grown-ups who are most grownup.” He expands on this in Mere Christianity:

[Christ] wants a child's heart, but a grown-up's head. He wants us to be simple, single-minded, affectionate, and teachable, as good children are; but He also wants every bit of intelligence we have to be alert at its job, and in first-class fighting trim. 

In An Experiment in Criticism Lewis enumerates other positive characteristics of childhood:

If we are to use the words ‘childish’ and ‘infantile’ as terms of disapproval, we must make sure that they refer only to those characteristics of childhood which we become better and happier by outgrowing. Who in his sense would not keep, if he could, that tireless curiosity, that intensity of imagination, that facility of suspending disbelief, that unspoiled appetite, that readiness to wonder, to pity, and to admire?”

Like R’ Soloveitchik, Lewis provides a list of childhood characteristics that have value, and should be held on to, even by a grownup. While not exactly the same, and perhaps disagreeing on R’ Soloveitchik’s tremors of fear, the lists appear to complement each other. 

Lucy, by not changing as she has grown up, presumably retains these characteristics. And indeed, we see manifestations of these characteristics even in the short time the Chronicles relate to Lucy as an adult. For example, in The Horse and His Boy it is Lucy who is willing to give Rabadash another chance and it is Lucy who retells the adventures of her and her siblings entrance into Narnia. In The Last Battle, it is Lucy who pities the dwarfs who cannot see the grandeur that surrounds them, and Lucy is the one described as “drinking everything in even more deeply than the others.” 

Our next step is then to determine how to concretize these characteristics into “valiance.” For this, we need to define one more term. In the context of her being titled Queen Lucy the Valiant we are told that she remains, “gay and golden-haired.” So, our next step is to understand how Lewis utilizes the term “gay.” 

Sefirot (Part 5)

The final Sefirah is that of Malchut or Kingship. Malchut is the ultimate synthesis of all of the Sefirot and the link which connects God to the finite world. The Kabbalists further identify Malchut with the Shechinah, the feminine mode in which humanity experiences God. It is the Shechinah that accompanies Israel throughout its long exile just like a mother who would never abandon her children. Indeed, while Kingship is inextricably tied to the House of David, it is our mother Rachel whose tears, midrashically, convince God to ultimately redeem her children, who is a Shechinah-like human manifestation.

The concept of God’s accompaniment of those in exile clearly demonstrated in The Horse and His Boy in Aslan’s accompaniment of Shasta: as a lion forcing him to join with Aravis, as a cat by the Tombs of the Ancient Kings outside of Tashbaan, and as the spirit who comforts Shasta as wanders into Narnia. God is close, personal, and a fellow wanderer, the One on whom we can unburden ourselves and will always be there to listen.       

Exile, however, is not merely a punishment for not following God’s word, despite trials and tribulations exile is yet another stage for our ultimate quest: to be a Nation of Priests bringing true enlightenment to humanity. From this perspective God is not only a fellow wanderer but a Comrade-at-Arms. R’ J. B. Soloveitchik makes this point explicitly in “Emergence of Ethical Man.” God is our leader, the leader of a small band of rebels attempting to revolutionize humanity and bring about knowledge and fidelity to the true God. As a mark of our appreciation for His Leadership we crown him our King. 

Of course, that is only one aspect of the King-subject relationship we have with God. God is very much the universal, cosmic King, creator of the universe and all it encompasses. Humanity, Israel, or any particular human, is simply one subject in His vast kingdom. From the first aspect we follow God’s commands because of our trust in His leadership and out of gratitude for His Friendship. From the second aspect we follow God’s commands for He is the ultimate ruler of all and we are mere subjects. Either way we must follow God’s commands irrespective of our understanding. 

This thought is clearly demonstrated in the Chronicles by Puddleglum the Marshwiggle. In the Silver Chair, the final sign given to Jill is that she will know the lost prince as he will be the first on her travels to ask you to do something in the name of Aslan. When that person actually appears to be a madman, Jill hesitates. But Puddleglum makes the following point, “Aslan didn't tell Pole what would happen. He only told her what to do. That fellow will be the death of us once he's up, I shouldn't wonder. But that doesn't let us off following the sign.” 

God as King suggests that the final installation of the Jewish Narnia explore this duality perhaps as follows. On the one hand our main characters understand that God is on their side. He has a stake in their quest and encourages them to succeed. On the other hand, God’s Will is not to be challenged. What happens when these two ideas clash is the theme of the final book.   

  

The final book in the Chronicles of Narnia ends with the death of every main character, the destruction of Narnia, and the curtain fall on the physical world. Of course, the story continues in the spiritual world which, in line with Lewis’ concept of transposition, of which the physical world is simply a shadow. A Jewish Narnia should not share the same fate. While martyrdom all too often found its place in Jewish history, and even appears to be an aspiration of R’ Akiva, there is ample evidence that the Jewish ideal is to live a meaningful life rather than to die an (even meaningful) death. Redemption, and the victory of good over evil, occurs in this world, not only the spiritual world. 

Rosh HaShana (the Jewish New Year) is the day when we assemble to coronate God as King and accept His judgment for the coming year. The utopian future, as captured in the prayers of the day, provides the universal vision I would expect from the end of a Jewish Narnia, 

“And all of creation will worship You, and they will bound all together as one to carry out Your will with an undivided heart.” 

Narnian Scripture

Thursday evening starts the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, commemorating the revelation at Sinai. That revelation is a singular moment in Jewish history. It was at Sinai that the Ten Commandments were given. It was at Sinai that the Jews heard from God directly. It was at Sinai that God made a covenant with the Children of Israel and they became a Kingdom of Priests and a Holy Nation.  

Many Jews have a custom to stay awake the entire first night of Shavuot studying Torah. While it is incorrect that the entire Torah was given at Sinai (some of it had not happened yet!), it is the Torah that binds together the Jewish nation, a nation that for centuries was divided into a myriad of subgroups due to geography, language, and culture. 

I find it striking then, that there is no scripture in Narnia. There is no written divine law. There is no record of the great Narnian heroes (the Narnians never read The Chronicles of Narnia). There is no central work that binds together all Narnians. Caspian may have rediscovered the “ancient” Narnian religion but there was no hidden scroll a la the Judean King Josiah. 

Now, perhaps I am incorrect. After all there are at least two epic Narnian poems: one about Fair Olvin and his battle with the Giant Pire, and the other is “the old tale of Prince Cor and Aravis and the horse Bree, which is called The Horse and his Boy.” We also know that Caspian’s nurse told him stories of Old Narnia. While such poems and stories do certainly teach (and one may argue teach better than students having to sit and study in school), it is difficult to say they are scripture. 

So, I do not have an answer as to why there is no scripture in Narnia - perhaps it reflects on the different outlooks between (my) Judaism and (Lewis’) Christianity. 

Either way, I hope all those celebrating Shavuot have a wonderful holiday and take the opportunity to learn some Torah!

Emeth and the Worship of Evil

In our last post we attempted to learn the true nature of the Calormene god Tash. We saw that Tash is not simply an imaginary chieftain god in the made-up mythology of Calormen. Rather, Tash is an actual being who is Aslan’s opposite, evil incarnate. Speaking from the perspective of other works of Lewis, we would say that Tash is the Chief devil, occupying the lowest rung of the Lowerarchy. He is the dark Oyarsa who rebelled against God, and transformed the world into a battleground between good and evil. Our question was, if so, how were the Calormenes to know that what they thought was a god, was really the devil? 

Let us begin our analysis with Emeth. We will have much to say about Emeth (whose name translated from Hebrew means Truth) in future posts, but for now we would like to understand how he finds his way into the Narnian post-world paradise. Emeth is a Calormene and a devoted servant of Tash. Yet, because his worship of Tash was not vile and because he strove to find truth, he is called a servant of Aslan and attains salvation. Understandably, this has caused much consternation especially amongst Evangelical Christians (see for example here and here) who believe that salvation is attainable only through faith in Christ and not through works. Nonetheless, the existence of someone like Emeth demonstrates that one can have been fooled into thinking that Tash, evil incarnate, is actually good. Evil can and will pose as good and develop arguments as to why he is good, while all the time subtly promoting evil. 

When evil poses as good it will ensnare and sometimes trap innocent lives. In the That Hideous Strength, N.I.C.E. poses as a source of law and order while at the same time torturing innocents, brutally enforcing police law, and murdering dissenters. What posed as good, was actually the worship of evil - and not just in these actions. But as we learn later in the story, the core of N.I.C.E. is the true worship of Satan. 

The worship of Tash presumably started in a similar way. By mixing in some good morals with the evils of human sacrifice and the like, Tash convinced common folk to worship him, while actually leading them towards the side of evil. Some, like Emeth, do not succumb to the temptation of evil and believe that they worship a kind and just god. Such people are eventually shown the truth (as Emeth's name suggest) and are accepted by Aslan. Others, like Aravis, see the evil and escape. Most, however, eventually fail. Arsheesh adopted the foundling Shasta, certainly a moral and righteous deed, but later sold him into slavery. 

Shift also attempts to pose evil as good. He convinces innocent Narnian citizens to kill the dryads. He argues that the selling of Narnians to Calormen as slaves is for their own good, He declares that, “True freedom means doing what I tell you.” All in the name of the good Aslan! However, he is actually serving Tash. It is no wonder Shift eventually declares Aslan and Tash are one. For Shift, the antichrist, is attempting to merge the two so that worship in the name of Aslan will actually be worship of Tash. 

Were evil obviously so, most people would simply reject it. It is when evil poses as good that it becomes such a danger. Unfortunately, and throughout Lewis' writings, we see that this strategy is successful and by the time evil is recognized as such, many have been completely corrupted. 

Tash the Irresistible, the Inexorable

The Calormenes worship, bless, curse, and swear in the name of the “god” Tash. The first we hear of Tash is in The Horse and His Boy when Aravis introduces herself as a descendant of Tash. Whether this truly happened (in the history of the Narnian universe) or whether this was a ploy by which the Tisrocs ensured they could keep power is unclear. Either way, we see plenty of invocations in the name of Tash in The Horse and His Boy, but not much to tell us of the true nature of Tash. For all we know, Tash is simply the chief god in an imaginary construct of Calormene mythology, similar to Greek and Roman mythology. Of course, such theological heresy would be denied by all true Narnians who would regard Tash as simply imaginary. 

In fact, denial of Tash’s existence does appear to be the general belief of the Narnians. This is stated explicitly by the Lamb (perhaps not coincidentally) in The Last Battle, “I don't believe there's any such person as Tash. But if there was, how could Aslan be friends with him?” Interestingly, the Calormenes do not deny the existence of Aslan. When, at the end of The Horse and His Boy, Aslan appears in Archenland, Rabadash, the prince of Calormen does not even seem surprised. Rather, they consider Aslan a horrible phantasm who supports Narnia and thus an enemy of Tash. 

One of the major theological surprises in The Last Battle is that Tash is real. Upon seeing Tash, Tirian, Jewel, and even Eustace and Jill are shocked. This forces us to change our entire approach to the spiritual powers that are at play in the Narnian universe. Tash is not the imaginary leader of pretend gods, but an actual being upon whom the sun does not shine and who emits a foul odor strong enough to kill natural vegetation. The question, of course, is if Tash is real, who or what is he? How does he exist in a world ruled by Aslan’s father the Emperor over the Sea? 

Our answer comes from Aslan himself upon being questioned by the Calormene Emeth. As we will recall, Emeth enters the paradise of Aslan thinking it is the country to Tash. When he meets the great lion, Emeth assumes that his time is up, for he has been a faithful servant of Tash, not of Aslan. Yet, Aslan accepts all the service Emeth has done for Tash as having been done for him. Why? Aslan explains:

Then by reasons of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore, if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted.

Tash, then, is the incarnate of evil parallel to Aslan who is the incarnate of good. The Narnian universe is inhabited by an evil being that promotes and rewards wickedness, cruelty, and falsehoods. This being, Tash, is not a god as imagined by the Calormens, but Aslan’s opposite. This is why Tash is the enemy of Narnia. For it is the country that worships Aslan.

This revelation, however, raises even more questions. Did the Calormenes realize they were worshipping evil? Is it their fault if they did not know? Could they simply have assumed Tash is a just and righteous god? The answer to this question I believe is key to understanding Lewis’ belief on the identity of the true enemy of a religious person and a religious nation. It is not another religion worshipping God in a different way, but a sect of people (religious or not) who worship evil.

Calormene Poetry: Questions

Those who ask questions that do not concern them are steering the ship of folly towards the rock of indigence.

In a number of previous posts we have attempted to show that while, superficially, the apophthegms and maxims of Calormene poetry seem reasonable, in fact they are always inaccurate, or incomplete is some way. Either they are brought up slightly out of context, emphasize a point too much or too little, or simply miss the mark in a sometimes subtle way. The above verse is very much in line with our previous studies.

No doubt everyone knows or remembers the child (or adult?) who has a million questions, none of which concern the subject at hand. Facing such a person we would all like to hammer home Arsheesh’s lesson to Shasta, keep your mind on your work and do not pester me or anyone else about things that are irrelevant! However, we soon learn that the reason Arsheesh is not interested in answering Shasta’s question of, “What is there beyond that hill?” is not necessarily because it is irrelevant, but because he does not know. This demonstrates that Arsheesh’s invocation of the poetic verse is inappropriate. How does Arsheesh know whether or not Shasta’s question is irrelevant? Perhaps there is something of importance beyond the hill. Perhaps there is another village there that would buy his fish for a higher price or an inlet from the sea from which it is easier to catch fish. Certainly, those would be facts that should concern both of them!

Arsheesh’s utilization of the poetic verse now takes on different light. Arsheesh uses the verse not only to force Shasta to keep him mind on his work, but also to stave off questions that might force Arsheesh himself to rethink his chosen path in life. Questions open vistas to new possibilities and create doubts concerning the current situation. Arsheesh “had a very practical mind,” one that was not interested in thinking in new ways.

While the Talmud does report certain questions that are not to be asked, the silencing of questions is an anathema to Judaism. Our Sages taught:

“One who is shy will not learn” (Ethics of Our Fathers 2:5)

With this statement, the Sages highlighted not only the acceptance of questions, but their primacy. Only one not afraid to ask, will be able to learn. A true religion, honest philosophy, or constructive government is not afraid of questions. Only one who has something to hide, or is ashamed, or simply does not know is unwilling to address the curiosity of a student.

The Torah itself places questions in the mouths of future generations as they ask their parents about their People’s history. The Passover meal, the seder, centers around these questions. The Talmud goes a step further and institutes various rituals at the Passover seder designed to specifically to engender even more questions. The goal of Judaism then is not to squash curiosity but to peak curiosity, not to silence questions but to encourage them.

Why are questions so important? Why not simply insist to our children this is how it is, and that is final!? One possible reason is practical. Barring questions is simply not a good way to keep adherents. While some people may be satisfied with accepting as gospel whatever they are told, others are not. The danger inherent in questioning religion and authority is outweighed by the risk of losing followers who cannot then give voice to their doubts and queries.

However, I believe the real importance of freedom to question is a positive one. The Talmud insists that just as no two people have the same physical appearance, so too no two people possess the same intellect. Each individual has their own view on a myriad of concepts and their own ideas about a variety of issues. This is true even, and perhaps especially true, when it comes to forming a relationship with God and shaping our lives around His word. Each person must form a unique relationship with God and design their life in fulfillment of His word. In fact, to truly comprehend the most we can about God, for the maximum number of different perspectives, we must perceive how each individual uniquely fulfills these tasks. Individuality, however, comes about only when questions are encouraged and original thought is valued. The silencing of questions represses individuality and leads to uniformity.

Shasta asks questions. His adopted father attempts to stifle these questions for he is uninterested in individuality but only that the necessary work be completed. Even when on the verge of selling Shasta he cares only that he is paid enough to hire another boy. The other boy will do his work and thus be just as good as the baby Arsheesh saved from death and raised to a young man. Despite his father, Shasta continues to ask questions. And these eventually bring him to know the true God.

The Sound of Silence: Addendum

Previously, we defined two types of silence:

(1) Silence as a lack of hearing,

(2) Silence allowing for hearing.

We have seen that characters is Narnia experience both types of silence. At times, such as on the Dark Island, they are unable to hear the music of the spheres. Even though there is other noise that their ears of sensitive to, this noise cannot conceal the silence they experience. At other times the silence serves as a means of hearing the music of the spheres. In the silence following the dwarf’s whipping of the White Witch’s reindeer, Edmund is able to perceive the music of the spheres in the spring that has blossomed around him. In both of these definitions the subject him or herself is listening.

The Psalmist, as interpreted by the Sages, speaks to the appropriateness of silence when praising God:

Praise befits You in Zion, O God; vows are paid to You (Psalms 65:2)

The rabbinic reading of this verse differs from the translation above. Specifically, the focus is on the word “befits” (in Hebrew: דומיה), can also be translated as “silence” (in Hebrew: דממה). With that change the first part of the verse becomes:

To you, O God, silence is praise.

The Talmud quotes the words of the Psalmist in the context of limiting the amount of praise one can offer to God. The Talmudic logic is as follows. It is impossible for finite humans to recite all of God’s praises. As formulated in the prayers of Shabbat morning, “Though our mouths were full of Song like the sea… we would be unable to praise You sufficiently...” We must always fall short. However, falling short in praise of the King of Kings borders on blasphemy. Therefore, at least at times, the best strategy is silence.

The importance of silence in Lewis’ work in general, and in the Chronicles of Narnia in particular, is highlighted by Dr. Michael Ward in his monumental work Planet Narnia (of which we will have much more to say in future posts). Ward (page 21) also defines two types of silence: the bad and the good. An example of the bad silence is an astronomical body that does not sing the music of the spheres (Earth, in Lewis’ novel Out of the Silent Planet). The good type of silence is encompassed in the Chronicles of Narnia itself which, as is Ward’s thesis, manifests its most important themes in ways that are not stated.

In Ward’s construction of the Chronicles of Narnia, silence comes to the forefront in The Horse and His Boy the chronicle that manifests Mercury, the god of eloquence and communication. In that book, we find much about language including Narnian and Calormene poetry (of which we have spoken often about on this blog), Calormene storytelling, and Aslan describing himself as “One who has waited long for you to speak.”

Ward notes that in this book Aslan teaches the heroes of the Chronicle, “to speak in a new way, a way that encompasses silence.” This is demonstrated in reaction of Shasta and the other heroes upon meeting Aslan. Shasta “gaped with open mouth and said nothing.” Aravis and the horses, “felt no inclination to talk to one another about his after he [Aslan] had gone.”

Their reaction is similar to the Talmudic one when faced with the responsibility of praising God: silence. This, in Lewis’ description, is a good silence. In our description it is a silence which allows one to contemplate and pay more careful attention to the music of the spheres. When faced with the infinite God, finite humanity (or Narnian horses) realize that no praise or description is appropriate.

Calormene Poetry: On Prosperity

Application to business is the root of prosperity, but those who ask questions that do not concern them are steering the ship of folly towards the rock of indigence

The first piece of Calormene poetry introduced to readers of The Chronicles of Narnia comes at the beginning of The Horse and His Boy. Shasta (the protagonist of this story) often wonders what lies to the north of his home deep in Calormen. Occasionally he formulates his wonder into a question for his step-father Arsheesh. However, Arsheesh "had a very practical mind" and, as what lay to the north in no way affected him, he neither knew, nor cared. If he was in a good mood Arsheesh would discourage Shasta’s curiosity and questions by quoting the above, or some similar, verse of poetry.

We should note that Arsheesh's practical mind, does not appear to be very much appreciated by Lewis. We will have to return to this in a future post.

As we have seen from our previous explorations of Calormene poetry, the poet seems reasonable and practical. If one were to spend all of their time wondering about what was unimportant and irrational rather than concentrating on their work, they would indeed fail. In fact, the bible says something similar:

From all toil there is some gain, but idle chatter is pure loss. (Proverbs 14:23)

Similarly,

He who tills his land shall have food in plenty, but he who pursues vanities is devoid of sense. (Proverbs 12:11) 

From these verses, and others, we see the importance of work, not wasting time on trivialities, and paying attention to what one is doing. The poet seems to have gotten at least the first part of the verse correct: without application to business there will not be prosperity.

However, the poet, or Arsheesh, only tells half of the story. Hard work and diligence are necessary for prosperity, but they are not sufficient for prosperity.

Other verses in Proverbs describe the requisite component:

Fear of God is a fountain of life, enabling one to avoid deadly snares. (Proverbs 14:27)

And,

Entrust your affairs to God, and your plans will succeed. (Proverbs 16:3)

Arsheesh does well to encourage Shasta to pay attention to his work, and not to chase fantasies. However, this alone is insufficient to guarantee prosperity. One cannot succeed without God. Trust and reliance on God are necessary. The importance of God is not conveyed to Shasta at all. It is up to Shasta to learn it on his own.

In the next part of the verse, Arsheesh encourages Shasta not to ask questions. In the godless environment of Asheesh's hut questions, imagination, and dreams are at best irrelevant and at worst dangerous. We will explore in a future post.

Calormene Poetry: On Carbuncles and Olive Trees

In our last post on Calormene poetry we analyzed the verse that compares affection towards one's children to soup. Continuing our study, we now analyze the second part of the poet’s verse which bespeaks the value of children, “Offspring are more precious than carbuncles (assumed to be the red precious stone).” Once again this maxim seems reasonable, what can be more valuable than our children? Even precious stones are less valuable than our own offspring! Nevertheless, such an equation is not found in the bible. The bible does utilize precious stones, gold and silver as comparisons for valuable commodities, including wisdom, a good reputation, God’s commandments, and the Torah itself, but not to children.

Before answering why, and analyzing what the bible does compare children to, let us see how this maxim of the Calormene poet is carried out in practice. How do Calormenes treat their children? The Horse and His Boy provides us with a number of examples. Most strikingly we have Aravis, the only daughter of Kidrash Tarkaan, and great-great granddaughter of Ilsombreh Tisroc. Aravis was betrothed by her father to the Grand Vizier of Carolmen, Ahoshta Tarkaan. Ahoshta is far older than Aravis, is ugly (at least according to Aravis), and appears to already be married (or at least has children from another woman). While, perhaps, some Calormene girls would accept this marriage, Aravis is not interested and decides to escape to Narnia. Why did Kidrash Tarkaan agree to marry Aravis to a man she clearly does not desire and even despises? Obviously to align himself with Ahoshta who holds a powerful position and is very wealthy. Is Aravis more precious than carbuncles in the eyes of her father? Likely yes, but while carbuncles and daughters are valuable, they both have a price. In the mind of Kidrash Tarkaan alignment with Ahoshta is a price worth paying for a daughter.

Second, we have Rabadash, the crown prince to Calormen. As his father’s heir we presume that he is certainly valuable in his father’s eyes. Yet, when presented with a plan that will expand the Tisroc's kingdom to Archenland and perhaps Narnia, but at the risk of his son’s life, the Tisroc accepts. After all, he notes, he has eighteen other sons. Apparently the Tisroc’s son also has a price, the possibility of expanding the power of the Tisroc.

Finally, we have Shasta himself. While not a biological son to Arsheesh, only a truly cold-hearted man could not love a child he raised from the time it was a baby. Yet, neither the Tarkaan Anradin nor Arsheesh himself seem too concerned about pricing Shasta. Arsheesh explains that he saved Shasta first because, “the gods never fail to reward those who befriend the destitute.” Only after that does he note that he is a compassionate man. Anradin responds to this assertion by declaring that the gods have rewarded him and that Arsheesh has, “had ten times the worth of his daily bread out of him in labour.” Thus, he can now part with the boy. The conversation continues but the message is clear, no one, not even Shasta himself, feels too badly about Arsheesh pricing his adopted son and negotiating over him as if he was a carbuncle.

To what does the bible compare children? The psalmist (Psalms 127:4) regards children as arrows in the hands of a warrior, and (Psalms 128:3) as olive saplings around one’s table. The comparison to arrows accentuates that children will assist a parent in battle against their enemies. In this view, children are not simply precious items, but a parent’s most loyal partner and reliable defender. Whether the battle is physical or spiritual, children represent, in the most concrete way, an assurance that the truths and ideals being fought for will continue to live on.

The comparison of children to an olive sapling emphasizes that children grow, mature, and bear fruit like a young tree. This continued evolution of children is unlike carbuncles and other precious stones which are static and only increase in value when acted on by outside forces (market forces or a jeweler). Carbuncles thus have a set worth and can be sold for a given value, though it may be high. Children have infinite worth because they bring joy, happiness, and eventually grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

The Carlomene poet who authored the verse declaring offspring more precious than carbuncles sounds reasonable. However, once again the poet gets it wrong. First, the comparison of children to precious stones is misguided. Calormene behavior in The Horse and His Boy demonstrate that children may have value more than carbuncles, but are still sold for the right price. Second, the poet invokes an incorrect comparison. Wisdom and a good name are items that can be acquired (and lost) by properly (or improperly) utilizing money. Children have value of a different sort. They are at the same time self-perpetuating sources of joy and happiness and also a continuation and defender of one’s values and ideals.