Fragments from Narnia – Part 13: On the Fear of Doors

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“I will put enmity between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and her offspring;
he shall bruise your head,
and you shall bruise his heel.'”

-Genesis 3:15

“I—I opened a door and just found myself here, your Majesty,” said Edmund.
“Ha!” said the Queen, speaking more to herself than to him. “A door. A door from the world of men! I have heard of such things. This may wreck all. But he is only one, and he is easily dealt with.”

-C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Articles in this Series

See the first article for the list.

On the Fear of Doors

As I mentioned in the last article, the White Witch is “taller than any woman Edmund had ever seen”, with a “proud and cold and stern” face. To the reader, she seems frightening and invincible. But, before the passage I quoted above, she inquires whether Edmund is a “Son of Adam” or “human”. Upon Edmund’s confirmation, she remarks that there is “A door from the world of men” which “may wreck all”. The first chink in the Witch’s armour and the first weakness that readers should detect is a fear of doors. But why is that the case? The answer is that she knew the ancient rhyme, recounted by Mr Beaver: “When Adam’s flesh and Adam’s bone / Sits at Cair Paravel in throne, / The evil time will be over and done.” When Adam’s children are enthroned in Cair Paravel, the Witch’s reign will be shattered. In this article, I want to examine our immediate passage in light of Christ’s incarnation. Yes, Christmas has recently passed, but reflection on the incarnation should not to be restricted to Advent or Christmas. In later articles, we will surely be able to look at different nuances of this theme of enthronement.

There are at least two ways (and these ways are not mutually exclusive) in which we can theologically understand the prophecy recounted by Mr Beaver. The first option is that when Christ, who took on flesh in the incarnation, sits enthroned at the Father’s right hand, then Satan’s dominion will be shattered. The ascension follows after Jesus’ incarnation, life, death, and resurrection, and the result of all these actions in His ministry is Satan’s defeat. The second option is that when the children of God are “seated… in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus” (Eph. 2:6), Satan’s rule is defeated. It is this strange idea that is echoed in passages like the Spirit’s words to the church in Thyatira: “The one who conquers and who keeps my works until the end, to him I will give authority over the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron, as when earthen pots are broken in pieces, even as I myself have received authority from my Father.” (Rev. 2:26-27). Note that the first option is causal. Namely, the cause of the Witch’s defeat is Christ, the God-man, enthroned at Cair Paravel. The second option is indicative of a cause. Namely, the enthronement and reign of God’s people is not the cause of Satan’s defeat but indicative of what causes this defeat, namely the person and work of Jesus Christ, which enabled this enthronement in the first place. This article will focus on the first option.

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On Christmas: Reflections on Homelessness

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Audio reading of the following article

“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seem them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.”

Hebrews 11:13

“In speaking of this desire for our own faroff country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you…”

C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

Homelessness

Home is a valued thing. Think about it. We all know John Denver’s Take Me Home, Country Roads, where he sings: “Country roads, take me home / To the place I belong”. In nostalgic homesickness, the narrator1 describes West Virginia, where “Life is old there, older than the trees / Younger than the mountains, growing like a breeze”. He is constantly reminded of this home: “The radio reminds of a home far away / Driving down the road, I get a feeling / That I should have been home yesterday…”. Even the Bible speaks of home, for in Psalm 137, the Psalmist says: “By the waters of Babylon, / there we sat down and wept / when we remembered Zion.” When the Israelite’s captors demanded that they sing, their reply was: “How shall we sing the LORD’s song in a foreign land?” They were not home. They could not sing.

Or, ignoring the blasphemy and the terrible lyrics, observe how Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes casts home in a romantic light: “Home is wherever I’m with you”. Loving You’s Like Coming Home by Don Williams echoes this sentiment: “It’s a lonesome and endless highway I’ve been searching for so long / After all the miles I’ve travelled loving you’s like coming home”. Moving to Augustine’s Confessions, the African bishop describes his friendship with a childhood friend, “sweet to me above all the sweetness of that my life”. The friend was close to death and was baptised when unconscious. When he regained consciousness, Augustine attempted to joke with his friend about the baptism, but “he shuddered at me, as if I were his enemy”. The melancholic punchline hits: “A few days after, during my absence, he had a return of the fever, and died”. The friend died without reconciliation. Augustine’s world was rocked: “My native country was a torture to me, and my father’s house a wondrous unhappiness; and whatsoever I had participated in with him, wanting him, turned into a frightful torture.”2

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Fragments from Narnia – Part 12: The Ambiguity of Evil

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“…for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”

2 Corinthians 11:14

“On the sledge, driving the reindeer, sat a fat dwarf who would have been about three feet high if he had been standing. He was dressed in polar bear’s fur and on his head he wore a red hood with a long gold tassel hanging down from its point; his huge beard covered his knees and served him instead of a rug. But behind him, on a much higher seat in the middle of the sledge sat a very different person—a great lady, taller than any woman that Edmund had ever seen. She also was covered in white fur up to her throat and held a long straight golden wand in her right hand and wore a golden crown on her head. Her face was white—not merely pale, but white like snow or paper or icing sugar, except for her very red mouth. It was a beautiful face in other respects, but proud and cold and stern.”

C. S. Lewis, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe

Articles in this Series

See the first article for the list.

The Ambiguity of Evil

In this passage, Lewis describes the first appearance of the White Witch. She will be this book’s main antagonist and will reappear in later books (later in publication order, not in chronological order). His description is striking because he describes her face as “beautiful”. She is “great”, “taller than any woman that Edmund had ever seen”, adorned with “white fur”, a “golden wand”, and a “golden crown”. Her face was “white like… icing sugar”, and her mouth was “very red”. This description is almost positive. The first encounter that the readers have with the White Witch is ambiguous. If Lewis had not said she was also “proud and cold and stern”, we might be tempted to consider the Witch a benign queen or a kind benefactor. Or, anyhow, her beauty may entrance us into diminishing her pride, coldness, and sternness. She could not be that bad, after all.

Peculiarly and similarly, the Scriptures also describe what I will call the ambiguity of evil. Evil, of course, is not morally ambiguous. Evil is morally bad, and that is that. But evil is aesthetically ambiguous insofar as it can sometimes allure and other times repulse. Note this aesthetic ambiguity in Proverbs 5, where the immediate focus is on adultery or sexual temptation. Solomon says that the “lips of a forbidden woman drip honey” and that “her speech is smoother than oil” (Prov. 5:3). That is one side of the ambiguity. “[B]ut in the end she is bitter as wormwood, / sharp as a two-edged sword. / Her feet go down to death; / her steps follow the path to Sheol; / and she does not ponder the path of life; / her ways wander, and she does not know it” (Prov. 5:4-6). That is the other side of the ambiguity. Although the forbidden woman superficially possesses sweetness and smoothness, in reality, she is bitter, sharp, and destined to damnation.

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Fragments from Narnia – Part 11: Just Like a Girl

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“You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder!”

James 2:19

“She’s angry about all the things I’ve been saying lately,” thought Edmund. And though he did not like to admit that he had been wrong, he also did not much like being alone in this strange, cold, quiet place; so he shouted again.
“I say, Lu! I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I see now you were right all along. Do come out. Make it Pax.”
Still there was no answer. “Just like a girl,” said Edmund to himself, “sulking somewhere, and won’t accept an apology.”

C. S. Lewis, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe

Articles in this Series

See the first article for the list.

Just Like a Girl

This article will examine Edmund’s disingenuous repentance and the lessons we can learn from his false repentance. In a previous article1, I already detailed some things that we can learn about forgiveness from Narnia. Here, I will detail more. One of Lewis’ brilliancies was his insight into the human condition. Just read his The Screwtape Letters2 to see what I mean. The man understood things, especially people, and could express this understanding in a simple yet deep manner. He said, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen, not only because I see it but because by it, I see everything else.”3, and he was not lying. He saw “everything else” sharper than most Christian writers do.

The clearest indication of Edmund’s disingenuous repentance is his statement, “Just like a girl”. When Lucy gives no response to Edmund’s apology, his immediate reaction is to insult her and assume that she is “sulking somewhere, and won’t accept an apology.” Contrast Edmund’s plea with Tumnus’ genuine repentance when the Faun asks Lucy, “can you ever forgive me for what I meant to do?”. While Tumnus recognised that Lucy may be so angry that she did not want to extend forgiveness, Edmund thinks he is owed forgiveness. Of course, Lucy would be required to forgive Edmund, for the Scriptures adjure us into “forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you” (Eph. 4:32). But when we ask for forgiveness, we should not use this requirement as leverage. We should not say, “Well, I may or may not be genuinely sorry, but I guess you have to forgive me anyways. It is Biblically mandated.” As if that would work.

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