The Lamp-post: the Way to the World of Men

In our last, we asked how the White Witch knew that the door back to the 'World of Men' was past the lamp-post. The truth is, we could have asked the opposite question, why, of all possible places in the Narnian world, does the wardrobe open to the area of the lamp-post? 

But I think the answer is clear (like Michael commented on the last post). The lamp-post is the object in Narnia most belonging to our world (the World of Men), while the wardrobe is the object in our world, most belonging to Narnia. The connection between the wardrobe and Narnia is made explicit at the end of The Magician's Nephew. Digory takes the core of the apple he received from Aslan, plants it, and eventually uses the wood from the tree that grows from the core to construct a wardrobe. Lewis proves that the tree never forgot its Narnian roots by the fact that Lucy goes through the wardrobe back to Narnia.

The connection between the lamp-post and our world is just as explicit. The White Witch had ripped off part of a lamp-post in our world and, during the creation of Narnia, threw it at Aslan. The piece of lamp-post hit Aslan, fell to the ground and grew into a fully mature lamp-post. However, unlike the wardrobe, Lewis does not explicitly tell us that it retains any connection to our world. But it seems to - because when Lucy comes through the wardrobe the first thing she sees is the light of the lamp-post which she follows until she reaches the lamp-post itself. 

It seems that there is a resonance between the wardrobe and the lamp-post that between the two is the link between the worlds. Does this matter? Well, maybe, let's think about two more things and see if that helps.

1) The seed of the wardrobe was brought from Narnia to our world for the purposes of good - healing a dying woman. After that good was accomplished, the seed was honorably buried and even when the tree that grew from the seed was knocked down, it was cared for and built into something that would always be cared for. 

The seed of the lamp-post was plucked for evil, as a weapon for the White Witch. In Narnia it was used to attack an innocent being - who happened to be the creator of Narnia. It fell unceremoniously and no one took notice of it until it actually became a fully grown lamp-post. A forest grew around it (except for the small patch where it stood), and it remained, lit, apparently forgotten until a young girl from our world rediscovered it.

2) Edmund comes through the wardrobe and also sees the light. He too follows it until stepping out into an open place in the woods. But Lewis never says that Edmund saw the lamp-post! It may be that Edmund assumed the light was from the open area, but the lamp-post itself he never even notices - not at least until the White Witch points it out to him. 

I think it's worth pondering over this one and perhaps thinking of another strange light that appeared to a wandering individual on the cusp of a great redemption.    

Photo by Spencer Bergen on Unsplash

Narnian Ba'alei Teshuva: Digory Kirke

What is complete repentance [teshuva]? A person who confronts the same situation in which he sinned when he has the potential to commit [the sin again], and, nevertheless, abstains and does not commit it because of his teshuvah alone and not because of fear or a lack of strength.

(Maimonides Mishneh Torah, Laws of Repentance 2:1)

Maimonides in his magnum opus defines one who has achieved full repentance. Namely, it is one who finds themselves in the same exact situation in which he once fell prey to sin and this time holds back. 

I think this type of repentance was achieved by Digory Kirke. Recall, that upon visiting the world of Charn, Digory and Polly enter a hall of figures sitting in rows of chairs. In the middle of the room was a bell which promised danger to the one who rang it, but unrelenting curiosity to the one who did not. Polly was not interested in the danger and was ready to leave. But Digory exclaimed, "We can't get out of it now. We shall always be wondering what else would have happened if we had struck the bell. I'm not going home to be driven mad by always thinking of that," and physically restrained her.  

We all know what happened next. Digory did ring the bell awakening the Queen Jadis who, in Narnia, was to become the White Witch. Of course, Aslan turned the situation into a positive one. The same witch was to bring King Frank into Narnia and Aslan would eventually sacrifice himself to save Narnia. But what about Digory himself?

Unlike the Edmond who betrayed his family requiring Aslan's sacrifice, Aslan arranged a different (better?) means of repentance. Digory is given a task - to retrieve an apple from a faraway garden. With Polly and Fledge he reaches the garden only to find the same witch urging yet again. For, as we know, the apple is "the apple of youth, the apple of life," and all Digory has to do is take it, give it to his mother who is now laying on her death bed, and all will be well. " 'Oh!' gasped Digory as if he had been hurt, and put his hand to his head. For he now knew that the most terrible choice lay before him." 

A terrible choice, but perhaps one that he's seen before. Carry on with his mission or wonder forever whether things could have been different. The same situation, the same stakes (if not higher). But this time Digory holds back. He escapes and returns to Alsan.

Throughout the Chronicles, Aslan is reticent to let characters know what might have been. But this time he actually says so quite clearly. "Understand, then, that it would have healed her; but not to your joy or hers. The day would have come when both you and she would have looked back and said it would havebeen better to die in that illness." Why would Aslan reveal to Digory the might have been, but not to anyone else?

Perhaps because, at least in this way, Digory stands above them all. He is a true repentant, the one who faced sin knowing he had previously lost, but overcame. He deserves to know that his decision was right, not only morally, but on all planes. 

Narnian Ba'alei Teshuva: Uncle Andrew

 Ours, my boy, is a high and lonely destiny
(The Magician's Nephew)

There are few characters in the Chronicles of Narnia as detestable as Digory's uncle Andrew. His arrogance reigns supreme through the beginning of "The Magician's Nephew," climaxing in the above statement that enables him to trick a young girl into travelling to an unknown world. Upon meeting the Witch he becomes a sickening sycophant allowing her to ruin him financially. And when he enters Narnia he becomes a heartless entrepenuer willing to sell all of Narnia to make a buck. His mind and soul are so closed to God and spirituality that he hears Aslan's songs as a lion's roars, the kind words of the talking beasts as yelps and barks. 

Yet, by the end of the book, "Uncle Andrew never tried any Magic again as long as he lived. He had learned his lesson, and in his old age he became a nicer and less selfish old man than he had ever been before." After all the hardships he suffered he reevaluated, he changed. True he did not become a great man, maybe not even a good one, but he improved, he changed direction towards the light. 

Well, at least to a point... He still had one connection to that magician past:

But he always liked to get visitors alone in the billiard-room and tell them stories about a mysterious lady, a foreign royalty, with whom he had driven about London. "A devilish temper she had," he would say. "But she was a dem fine woman, sir, a dem fine woman."

Does this matter? Is looking back at the evil witch with some semblence of nostalgia reasonable or should he look back at that time only in horror and embarrassment? 

On the one hand this reminds us of the lizard on the shoulder of the ghost in The Great Divorce who promises sweet, fresh, innocent dreams. And Uncle Andrew is still left with that, his daydream that the Witch actually liked him. He cannot fully face that she was evil and he sinned, and therefore he cannot be fully forgiven. 

On the other hand, maybe in this world we just need a coping mechanism. Can we ever fully understand the evil of our ways? Would it not stymie us from being able to move forward. Perhaps Uncle Andrew was just being realistic. He knows what he did was wrong, but cannot face the ultimate truth, so he "harmlessly" whitewashes the situation. No one is hurt by a story of foreign royalty, Uncle Andrew gets some respect and interest from his listeners and everyone just goes on with their day. 

Clearly the first option seems more just. But at times, it is sin that is used as a stepping stone to finally come to God - our Sages at times have sins transformed into merits. 

I think this needs another post to further consider. 

Jokes and Justice (Part 1)

Laugh and fear not, creatures. Now that you are no longer dumb and witless, you need not always be grave. For jokes as well as justice come in with speech.
(The Magician's Nephew)

Too often the homo religiosus is assumed to live a life of seriousness and gravity. After all, what could be funny when standing before God knowing that any wrongdoing may condemn a person to eternal punishment? Lewis dismisses this perspective immediately upon the creation of Narnia. 

It is the dumb and witless who must always be grave, for they lack the capabilities of making (or understanding) jokes. Dignity and austerity must never be compromised in Hell (Screwtape Letters Chapter 11), but on the path to heaven laughter and jokes help pave the way.

The Talmud itself hammers home with point by recording the following story. Rabbi Beroka of Bei Hoza'i frequented the market of Bei Lefet. Many time he was joined by Elijah the Prophet. One day as they're walking through the market, R' Beroka asks Elijah if there is anyone in the market worthy of eternal life in the World-to-Come? Elijah looks around at all the people and points out an individual with whom R' Beroka is not familiar and does not dress in the garbs of a Jew, let alone a religious leader. Later, however, R' Beroka learns of all the heroic acts this man performs on behalf of the Jewish people. In the meantime, two brothers walk into the marketplace and Elijah points them out as well. R' Beroka goes over to them and they says they are jesters who cheer up people who are depressed. 

Of course, as Lewis explains in The Screwtape Letters, there are different types of jokes and laughter may be provoked from both positive and negative catalysts. In the beginning of Narnia the joke is the Jackdaw. In assuring Aslan that they will not return to the ways of the Dumb Beasts, the Talking Beasts assure, "No, Aslan, we won't, we won't." The Jackdaw alone continues (in a loud voice), "No fear!" 

Surely, all of us have been in similar situations and of course the Jackdaw is rather embarrassed and hides his head in shame as the other Talking Beasts attempt to stifle their laughter. Aslan, however, encourages them to let loose and thorough the mirth that follows, the Jackdaw happily realizes that he will forever be remembered as the First Joke. 

Now one might counter that this is somewhat cruel. It's one thing to laugh at a made-up story or a clever turn of phrase. It is quite another to laugh at someone else's embarrassment. Why did Aslan give his stamp of approval for this laughter and this type of joke?

I think the answer gets to the heart of why a religious person must laugh, while the minions of Hell cannot laugh. We'll get to it in our next post. 

First Possible Jewish Approach to Not Returning to the Ways of the Dumb Beasts

After a bit of a tangent, it is now time to return to Aslan's command at the beginning of Narnian time. We recall that the command has a positive and negative aspect, "Treat [the Dumb Beasts] gently and cherish them but do not go back to their ways..." We spent a significant amount of time attempting to determine what (if any) particular actions or values are included in this command. We also noted that there does not seem to be much attention paid or centrality given this command. There is no warning to remember the command and precious few mentions of it outside of almost throwaway lines in various ones of the Chronicles. 

(Note that this is unlike the Signs given to Jill in The Silver Chair where, parallel to the Shema declaration, she is commanded to "say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night.")

I've always found this quite difficult. After all, if you heard a direct command from God, wouldn't you want to make sure you always remembered what He said and consider His words more precious than diamonds? Wouldn't you ensure there were written texts, rituals, reminders, and holidays so that for generations God's word would endure? To me that would be a given, but it doesn't seem to have happened in Narnia. 

With that in mind, I would like to do a quick thought experiment. Let us imagine a Jewish Narnia, in which the Talking Beasts mimicked a Jewish approach to Law and ritual, and to whom the same command was given. What would happen? 

Actually, I think there are a couple of models: the Shabbos (the Sabbath) model and the Love Your Neighbor model. We'll take each one, explain it, and then apply the model to Aslan's stated prohibition against returning to the ways of the Dumb Beasts. 

Let's start with the Shabbos model. On the seventh day of the week God commanded the Jews not to do work, "but the seventh day is a sabbath of your God, you shall not do any work..." (Deuteronomy 5:14). However, outside of an explicit prohibition against burning fire (Exodus 35:3), there is no explanation as to what constitutes work.  Nonetheless, following the given rules describing how to derive laws from the text of the Torah 39 different categories of work are defined! On top of that there are numerous rabbinic injunctions to (1) ensure that one does not unknowingly come to violate Shabbos, and (2) retain the aura of Shabbos as a day or rest.  

In fact, the definitions of the categories and their rules are so strong that there is little undefined wiggle room left in the unvarnished statement prohibiting work. Should someone suggest that an action violates the prohibitino of work on Shabbos, the immediate question would be, which of the 39 categories includes this action. And if it does not fit any of the 39 categories, it's not (biblically) prohibited. Similarly, with further categories enumerated by the Sages. One may decide, and even promulgate, the notion that a certain activity that does not fit into one of the 39 categories is not Shabbos-dik (meaning it is not in the spirit of Shabbos) and that may be correct. But no one would suggest that this newly defined activity violates the biblical prohibition. 

Instead, we have well-defined categories of work with a myriad of rules and details. 

Is it too easy to lose the forest for the trees? Perhaps, but I would counter that attention to details demonstrates Judaism's love, care, and seriousness about the word of God, and that the lived experience of Shabbos is easily and respectfully done without loss of forests. 

So, what happens when we apply this model to Aslan's command?

We'll try to guess in our next post. 

Into Them You Can Return

For out of them you were taken and into them you can return. 

The Magician's Nephew

In the beginning, Aslan chose from amongst the beasts he created, a few to be endowed with consciousness and understanding. He gave the land of Narnia over to his chosen Talking Beasts and ordered them to care for the unchosen, Dumb Beasts. Furthermore, the Talking Beasts were warned against returning to the ways of the Dumb Beasts which, in previous posts, we have understood to mean placing instincts before morals. 

Once so defined we can understand the "punishment" to be meted out against those Talking Beasts who do return to the ways of the Dumb Beasts: they will cease to be Talking Beasts. As we have seen, this is precisely what happens to the Ginger the Cat, who joined with the Calormen to promote Tashlan. Perhaps, however, this is not simply a punishment but also a consequence. 

The Talking Beasts are chosen and given, at least implicitly, a moral framework which includes believing in Aslan, remembering and respecting the past, treating others with dignity and respect, defending those who are weak, and in general maintaining a code of honor. What happens when one breaks from that moral framework? Such an individual has, on their own volition, returned to the ways of the Dumb Beasts and, more so, has lost the uniqueness of being chosen. Thus, this individual once again becomes a Dumb Beasts.

This same moral underpinning of the chosen underlies the Exodus from Egypt that we just celebrated and commemorated on Passover. The Children of Israel were "freed" from the slavery of Pharoah only to become slaves of God. One may question whether anything was gained, are the Children of Israel not still slaves? 

The answer of course, is yes. The Exodus enabled the Children of Israel to fulfill the mission set for them by God when He chose Abraham to father the Chosen People. The midrashic literature tells that a large number of Jews were lost during the plague of darkness because they were not interested in leaving Egypt. Usually this is understood that they were killed, but perhaps they simply chose to become unchosen. They returned to the pagan ways of Abraham' father and were thus returned into them.    

A Problem of Dwarfs

My apologies for not posting in quite a while.

While I've been generally happy with our current analysis of the Narnian Creation story I'm hesitating before pushing forward with Aslan's first words, which end with the first command, "Narnia, Narnia, Narnia, awake." The reason is because following the thought process I've started with this line brings up a point of confusion which I'm not sure what to do about. Let me try to explain... 

To what or whom is Aslan's command "awake" directed towards? 

I think there are a number of possibilities.

A priori, one may think that the command is aimed towards the (soon to become) Talking Beasts whose creation process we have spoken about in great detail. The problem with that approach is that immediately after Aslan's first words a number of other sentient beings suddenly appear: gods and goddesses of woods, Fauns, Satyrs, Dwarfs, the river god and the Naiads. They respond to Aslan's commands in the same way as do the Talking Beasts. And so their arrival suggests that Aslan's command to awake is focused not (or at least not only) on the Talking Beasts, but on the water and land, on Narnia itself. These new creatures (and presumably others like mermaids) are personifications of Narnia's earth and sea when awoken. 

OK, so awake refers to multiple sentient creatures not just the Talking Beasts. 

So far so good, except for this. My approach to Narnia, and certainly the implication from its story of Creation is that the Talking Beasts were in place of the humans in our world. True, the Talking Beasts are supposed to be ruled by a Son of Adam, nonetheless, they are the true heirs of Narnia. 

Actually, the Beasts appear to have a deep mistrust of humanoid figures. Mr Beaver says it most explicitly, in a conversation with his wife:

"I've known good Dwarfs," said Mrs Beaver.

"So've I, now you come to speak of it," said her husband, "but precious few, and they were the ones least like men. But in general, take my advice, when you meet anything that's going to be human and isn't yet, or used to be human once and isn't now, or ought to be human and isn't, you keep your eyes on it and feel for your hatchet."

And the actions of human-like creatures, specifically dwarfs, supports Mr Beaver's claim. The dwarfs (or at least a good number of them) joined the White Witch. After the great battles with Telmar it is the dwarfs who are willing to disguise themselves and assimilate into the victorious Telmarines. Even those who do not assimilate forget Aslan after 10 generations of Telmarine rule. And, of course, the dwarfs rebel against Tirian in The Last Battle and shut off any hope of redemption. 

The fact that the dwarfs can mate with humans and are, in the words of Trufflehunter, "As forgetful and changeable as humans," suggests that the Talking Beasts are not the most human-like creatures in Narnia. The dwarfs are! They are called Sons of Earth, just like in our world Adam is called Adam for he was taken from the ground (adamah). 

If that is so, why are they not part of Aslan's deliberate, multi-step creation process?  

The Creation of Narnia: A Swift Flash

Then there came a swift flash like fire (but it burnt nobody) either from the sky or from the Lion itself, and every drop of blood tingled in the children's bodies… 

(The Magician's Nephew)

With the breath of life being blown into the sentient beasts of Narnia and having been welcomed to the great story of Aslan by the singing of the stars, a flash causes the children’s (and presumably the Talking Beasts’) blood to tingle. Dr. Ward already notes that “tingle” when used by Lewis is “loaded with astrological significance.” What happened here? 

Lewis posits two possible origins for the flash. Of course, as Lewis is the author of the story, Lewis could have told us where he wanted the flash to come from. The fact that he doesn’t suggests that he wants either the ambiguity or that both possibilities are (at least symbolically) true. 

The first possible origin of the flash is from the sky, likely meaning the stars. This logically connects with the previous sentence describing the stars’ song. Before the song becomes inaudible, they (as it were) reach out in friendship and solidarity to their fellow-creatures about to begin their service of Aslan. 

This is supported by the only other time Lewis uses the word tingle in the Chronicles, “She went up to the desk and laid her hand on the book; her fingers tingled when she touched it as if it were full of electricity.” Lucy is preparing to find the spell to make the Dufflepuds visible. This requires reading a spell from the Magician’s Book. Unbeknownst to Lucy, the Magician is actually Coriakin, a star. Upon touching the Book of the star, her fingers tingle, for that is the result when the heavenly and earthly connect.

The second possibility is that the flash comes from the Lion. As we remember the Lion (either during or right before the stars’ singing) had breathed out, presumably breathing his spark into what are about to be the sentient creatures of Narnia. How does a swift flash come from the Lion’s breath? 

Perhaps one can suggest that the flash comes at the completion of Alsan’s blowing. The reason for this is as follows. A slow steady breath suggests that the Talking Beasts gain sentience in a slow, incremental manner. The difference then between the Talking and Dumb Beasts, one might think, is incremental, quantitative, they have greater intelligence and insight, nothing more. 

The swift flash upon the Talking Beasts receiving the divine spark demonstrates this is not true. The Talking Beasts are qualitatively different. They can connect with God; they are part of the Great Story. The Dumb Beasts are not. 

(Perhaps that is why Lewis says a “swift flash,” after all, isn’t a flash swift by definition? One might suggest that the flash is described as swift in contrast to the slow breath of Aslan. The build-up is slow, but the divine spark is instantaneous.)

The Talking Beasts are now fully sentient. They are infused with a divine spark. Even so, a sentient, talking being is no better than a non-sentient, dumb one without order, civility, and morality. There must be a command, and we thus wait for Aslan to speak.

The Stars' Song

Far overhead from beyond the veil of blue sky which hid them the stars sang again; a pure, cold, difficult music

(The Magician's Nephew)

In our last post we saw that, upon awakening of sentient beings in Narnia, the stars welcome them to the great Symphony of Creation. Before going on in the Creation story let’s take a few moments to consider the song of the stars. Lewis describes the song as “pure, cold, and difficult.” What is the song as described by these three adjectives?

We have previously discussed that the Heavenly luminaries sing praises to God, the music of the spheres, by following His laws (what we call the laws of physics). Perhaps it is these laws, and not a tune per se, that Lewis is referring to. Let us see how relevant this description is.  

From our earthly perspective, we observe the stars move as governed by the laws of gravity. While not a priori obvious, Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation is surprisingly simple depending only on the mass of the objects involved and the distance between them (moderated by the gravitational constant). This simplicity perhaps is what Lewis refers to as "pure." Lewis rarely uses the adjective pure in the Chronicles. When he does, in phrases such as “pure gold,” or “purest of blood,” it appears defined as unadulterated, not mixed with anything else. So too here: the law governing the movement of the stars is clear, unadulterated, not tinted with anything else.

The term “cold” has regularly been applied to science as in uncaring and immutable. The scientific laws do not care about feelings or effort. They are independent of the goodness or evil of a person. Should someone touch an electrified fence, the righteousness of the individual does not change the shock he or she receives. Even in a religious approach to astronomy, the Heavenly spheres and their music are generally cold and uncaring. It is only with rare exceptions (such as at Joshua’s request for the sun to stop, the destruction of the Temple, or the cataclysmic events of the flood) that the spheres pause or alter their song. The religious approach to the presence or consistency of the music of the spheres, is whether one pays enough attention to hear is sensitive enough to hear and contemplate it.

Finally, Lewis describes the song of the stars as difficult. Indeed, the simplicity of the laws of gravitation should not suggest that the evolution of the spheres guided by these laws is simple or straightforward. It took centuries for humanity to transition from epicycles to gravity and even gravitation can cause complex and intricate dynamics. Hence, while the song of the spheres is simply described, the complexity it leads to may hide the purity of the music.

The song of the stars bids the sentient beings of Narnia to join in the Great Story of Aslan. Furthermore, the song calls out for analysis and contemplation. In our world, humanity has always looked to the stars in awe and wonder. Understanding their song, in the words of Maimonides, enables man to “behold through them His wonderful, matchless and infinite wisdom.” And thus, “he will spontaneously be filled with love, praise and exaltation and become possessed of a great longing to know the Great Name.”

The Creation of Narnia: Aslan's Song

The Narnian creation begins with Aslan singing. 

Aslan’s singing creates the physical Narnian universe, from the stars above to the flowers and creatures below. The stars blaze forth and sing with Aslan. The beasts are created and add their voices, “cawing, cooing, crowing, braying, neighing, baying, barking, lowing, bleating, and trumpeting.” 

All the noise of the creatures drowns out Aslan’s songs and Aslan stops singing. He goes amongst the creatures choosing the few who would become Talking Beasts. Those not chosen leave Aslan. The noise fades and, finally, there is a pregnant silence. 

In previous posts we discussed two kinds of silence: (1) the silence of absence and terror, and (2) contemplative silence, the silence that enables thought and learning. The first silence arises when one no longer hears the music of the spheres, when man loses connection with creation and the Creator. The second silence enables one to hear the music of the spheres and engage in reflective and spiritual contemplation. In the Narnian creation story, Aslan's song infused creation with the music of spheres. Upon completion he stops. Creation itself now sings the music of the spheres, but there is no one to discern, understand, and be inspired by the song. 

The chosen beasts stand in contemplative silence eyes fixed on Aslan. 

The song is sung, the audience awaits. 

The Harvest Thanksgiving Hymn

He struck up at once a harvest thanksgiving hymn, all about crops being "safely gathered in". It was not very suitable to a place which felt as if nothing had ever grown there since the beginning of time, but it was the one he could remember best. (The Magician's Nephew)

After bringing the witch from Charn into our own world, Digory is finally able to maneuver her first to the Woods between the Worlds and finally into a random pool to Nothingness. Unfortunately, in doing so, he brings along his Uncle Andrew, and a London cabby with his horse. Not being aware of magic and other worlds, the cabby assumes that they have either fallen into some underground diggings or are dead. Either way, he feels that singing a hymn seems like a positive thing to do and starts one as described above. 

As Lewis notes, the cabby's choice of hymn is questionable. After all they are in complete Nothingness and though the Nothingness will soon become Narnia, it is not as of yet. Furthermore, no doubt a hymn of salvation would be far more appropriate for the situation they find themselves.

However, perhaps we are not giving Frank, the cabby and soon to be first King of Narnia, enough credit. King Frank, as the first human inhabitant of Narnia, is an Adam-like figure in the Chronicles. Indeed, when Tirian is brought before King Frank and Queen Helen at the end of "The Last Battle" he, "felt as if you were brought before Adam and Eve in all their glory." And the harvest hymn, far from being inappropriate, is necessary for the creation of Narnia.

One of the primary apparent differences between the Creation stories of Genesis 1 and Genesis 2 is the role of Adam. In Genesis 1 Adam appears at the end of Creation and is given rulership over, "the fish of the sea and the birds of the sky..." In Genesis 2 Adam is mentioned right at the beginning. The bible explains that, though there is land, there is not yet any vegetation, "for God has not caused it to rain on the ground and there is no man to work the land." Rashi, based on the Talmud, explains that without man there is no one to recognize the goodness brought by rain. It is necessary for man to be created and then pray for rain in order for things to grow. In fact, Frank's ability to grow food is one of Aslan's first criteria needed to be a proper king of Narnia. 

It is true that the cabby (soon to be turned king) remembered the harvest hymn best and sung it for that reason. But prayers, even Thanksgiving prayers, are more than just thanks for the past. They can point to a new future in which there will be even more to be thankful for.  

The harvest hymn sung by the cabby, Digory, and Polly, is the prayer that sparks the creation of Narnia. 

Forbidden and Permitted Apples

At the center of the garden of Eden there were two trees (unless you think there was only one tree): the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The Torah relates to us that the serpent seduced Eve to eat from the Tree of Knowledge and she eventually fed the same fruit to Adam. As punishment (amongst others) the pair were exiled from the Garden lest they eat from the Tree of Life.

The two trees of the Garden make their appearance in two of Lewis’ fiction works: the Tree of Knowledge in Perelandra and the Tree of Life in The Magician's Nephew. As the Tree of Knowledge was at the root (pun intended) of the Original Sin, Perelandra recreates that scenario. The sin of eating from the Tree of Knowledge is replaced by the prohibition of sleeping overnight on Fixed Land. The Devil (the serpent), played by Weston, attempts to seduce Tinidril (Eve) to sin. The main thrust of the Devil’s argument is that in fact God wants Tinidril to disobey His command and act godly by demonstrating independence from Him. We discussed this here. 

The Tree of Life makes its appearance in The Magician's Nephew. There we find an actual garden surrounded by a gate with the Tree of Life at its center. The gate no doubt parallels the biblical cherubim and fiery sword used to guard the pathway to the Garden of Eden. However, unlike the biblical Tree of Life which appears to be impossible to get to, the Narnian Tree of Life is easily reachable. Actually, it seems anybody can come in and take from the fruit and, if one takes from the fruit for others, is even permitted to do so.

Why? 

Why does Lewis not adhere to the biblical story and essentially make the Tree of Life unreachable?

(To be continued when I figure out an answer. Feel free to make suggestions) 

The Wood between the Worlds

As I was reading "The Magician's Nephew" this weekend I started thinking about the Wood between the Worlds and its connection to Aslan's country. Let me explain: 

Aslan has created numerous worlds (we would now say numerous universes) which have no a priori connection between them. As described in The Magician's Nephew, the Wood between the Worlds is like a long attic that spans the top of several townhouses. Every townhouse can access the attic though there are no other connections between the townhouses. The attic itself is not part of any one townhouse so not much goes on there. Presumably it may be necessary for a worker to go in there sometimes, but really, it's just there. 

In the attic that is the Wood between the Worlds there are pools of water which lead into each world, and there are trees who appear to be soaking up the water setting the timeline for each world. That's it. Nothing happens unless for some reason someone manages to find their way into it.

(I should note that the Chronicles of Narnia reveal to us that there are other connections between our world and that of Narnia, the Wardrobe for one, but also the connection used by the ancestors on the Telmarines and perhaps others. Why this should be the case we'll try to figure out some other time.)

At the end of The Last Battle, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy see their parents in England and would like to join them. How to do so is explained to them by Tumnus:

That country and this country - all the real countries - are only spurs jutting out from the great mountains of Aslan. We have only to walk along the ridge, upward and inward, till it joins on.

England, of course, is not in the same world as Narnia, but one need not travel through the Wood between the Worlds. Both are spurs in Aslan's mountain range.

How do we reconcile these two pictures? 

The mountain range of Aslan is, of course, how things truly are. All of Creation, that which we know and that which we do not, is under his rule. If we ourselves cannot perceive or join some part of Creation, it is because we are not yet close enough to Aslan. We must go further up and further in. 

The Wood between the Worlds is much more facilitatory and therefore neutral. One with the proper means (rings in The Magician's Nephew) can use it to travel between worlds for good or evil. There is no foundational truth, no unmistakable signature of God, it is simply there. 

Nonetheless, Digory's curiosity is commendable. He wants to see other worlds, experience new ideas and concepts, see more of creation. True it does not always turn out well, but Digory's childlike fascination and curiosity, to see more than is there, is what allows one to come close to God. Indeed, it is this same argument he will eventually use to counter Peter and Susan so that they too will eventually see the true nature of the wardrobe. 

In this way I think there is a parallel to be made right within our own world. Thanks to modern science humanity can now explore previously unimagined aspects of the universe. One might view this as utilitarian. Perhaps these observations can give us further understanding of basic science that will eventually be used for improved technology. Maybe (adding some sprinkle of science fiction) there are planets there they will be fit for human habitation. But these observations can be used in another way. They reflect the glory of Creation and thus the greatness of the Creator. 

The truth, of course, is Aslan's country. All of Creation sings the praise of God and points us to Him. All of Creation is unified in a way that can be fully experienced only in the World to Come. Nonetheless, in the meantime we can use our curiosity and fascination sparked by modern inventions and ideas to see His wonder and glory.  

The Sound of Silence: Building Walls

The Silence described in Simon and Garfunkel’s “Sound of Silence,” is a silence of absence, not a silence allowing something to be heard. People are depicted as silent, apathetic, and disinterested in interpersonal relationships in favor of newfound technology; the ‘neon gods.’ The song’s rendition by Jew in the City vividly portrays how this silence is built up and promulgated by instant communication and social media. These methods of information exchange discourage strong relationships and deep conversations in favor of multitudes of Facebook friends, superficial tweets, and gaining likes. People are shown sitting or walking with their real friends and family, but ignoring them in favor of their social media “friends.”

Why? Why would anyone ignore real relationships in favor of their social profile? Why are these platforms so ubiquitous and ingrained? Why do people bow and pray to the neon god? It is not that  technology is our Maker, but perhaps we believe technology is our Savior. On social media we can attain all of our daydreams: we can show ourselves to be always smiling and happy, always beautiful, always having perfect friends and family. To keep our perfection from being marred by our actual situation we build a wall of silence around us. We want no one to come in and tell us that our true selves are not what is seen on social media. We become mesmerized and in awe of ourselves, and bow to the neon gods in self-worship. 

The wall of silence we build to protect ourselves comes at the cost of ignoring the very real people around us. And not only people, but God Himself. The people around us know we are imperfect, and God even more so (as Lewis talks about in The Screwtape Letters #22). Only our avatar can be perfect. So, rather than face the challenges of improving ourselves, broadening our understanding, and working on our faults so we can improve our reality, we would rather perfect our avatar and construct a wall of silence so that no one can compare the avatar to the true person. As we build more we become trapped by the silence. Captured in its grip, we no longer hear anything outside our social media bubble. In that bubble we do not hear what we do not want to hear nor see what we do not want to see.

However, what starts as a daydream quickly fades. As our Facebook friends and followers become more numerous, our relationships become more shallow, our tweets more vapid and our thrills less thrilling. The real people, problems, and God we have so long ignored flash before us in harsh reality; what we thought was a daydream is transformed into a real dream, a nightmare.

The human ability to not hear, to construct a cone of silence around us is already described in The Magician’s Nephew. Uncle Andrew easily convinces himself that the witch is a 'dem fine woman,' and would certainly want to marry him. In the new land of Narnia, Uncle Andrew further convinces himself that Aslan is not singing and not creating, the animals are not talking. Despite all evidence to the contrary Uncle Andrew cannot wake up to reality outside of his bubble. That unwillingness becomes so hardened, even Aslan cannot undo it. Uncle Andrew is trapped. He can only wake up when struck with the harsh reality back in London. 

This is what happens on the Dark Island. It is the island where dreams come true. Lord Rhoop landed on the island ready to find the perfect Lord Rhoop. But the island does not present reality and truth, rather the darkness ‘plants visions in people’s brains’ where everyone sees what they think they want to see. Like those who wasted away before the Mirror of Erised, people are mesmerized by how great these visions make them look; how happy they are. They worship the visions because they worship themselves. But by concentrating on visions, reality slips to the wayside. The visions become less engaging, the happiness less achievable, and the dreams become nightmares.

As the Dawn Treader sails into darkness, the passengers lose sight. As they are enveloped by silence they lose hearing. They are warned of the dangers of the island by Lord Rhoop, himself ready to grab onto reality and escape, but the visions begin. The visions are not reality because no two visions are alike:

Everyone knew it would be better not to listen, not to strain his ears for any sound from the darkness. But no one could help listening. And soon everyone was hearing things. Each one heard something different.

"Do you hear a noise like . . . like a huge pair of scissors opening and shutting .. . over there?" Eustace asked Rynelf. 

"Hush!" said Rynelf. "I can hear them crawling up the sides of the ship." 

"It's just going to settle on the mast," said Caspian. 

"Ugh!" said a sailor. "There are the gongs beginning. I knew they would."

Can the walls of silence be broken down? Can light dispel the darkness and the visions? Can one escape the confines of one’s own cone of silence?

We’ll see in the next post.