If you haven't read these books, I highly recommend them. Not only are they wonderfully entertaining stories, but they also offer brilliant illustrations of spiritual/biblical truths. The way Lewis uses his character of Aslan the Lion, especially, to demonstrate truths about God's character and the way he relates to us has brought me to tears several times this year.
As I was reading The Silver Chair a few weeks ago, one chapter in particular really struck me as so relevant to and reflective of the world we live in today. So, this blog post is mostly going to be one long excerpt from Chapter 12 of that book.
As a quick recap, the plot follows two children from our world (Jill and Eustace) who are brought into Narnia and sent on a mission by Aslan to go in search of the long lost prince (Prince Rillian). They are joined in their quest by a "marsh-wiggle" named Puddlegum, and eventually discover that the prince has been put under a spell and is being held hostage in Underland by an evil queen. After the spell has been broken and they try to make their escape while the queen is away, the queen returns to her castle. Instead of using brute force to stop them, this is how the queen tries to keep them trapped in Underland:
"Narnia?" she said. "Narnia? I have often heard your Lordship utter that name in your ravings. Dear Prince, you are very sick. There is no land called Narnia."
"Yes there is, though, Ma'am," said Puddleglum. "You see, I happen to have lived there all my life."
"Indeed," said the Witch. "Tell me, I pray you, where that country is?"
"Up there," said Puddleglum, stoutly, pointing overhead. "I - I don't know exactly where."
"How?" said the Queen, with a kind, soft, musical laugh. "Is there a country up among the stones and mortar of the roof?"
"No," said Puddleglum, struggling a little to get his breath. "It's in Overworld."
"And what, or where, pray is this... how do you call it... Overworld?"
"Oh, don't be so silly," said Scrubb, who was fighting hard against the enchantment of the sweet smell and the thrumming. "As if you didn't know! It's up above, up where you can see the sky and the sun and the stars. Why, you've been there yourself. We met you there."
"I cry you mercy, little brother," laughed the Witch (you couldn't have heard a lovelier laugh). "I have no memory of that meeting. But we often meet our friends in strange places when we dream. And unless all dreamed alike, you must not ask them to remember it."
"Madam," said the Prince sternly, "I have already told your Grace that I am the King's son of Narnia."
"And shalt be, dear friend," said the Witch in a soothing voice, as if she was humouring a child, "shalt be king of many imagined lands in thy fancies."
"We've been there, too," snapped Jill. She was very angry because she could feel enchantment getting hold of her every moment. But of course the very fact that she could still feel it, showed that it had not yet fully worked.
"And thou art Queen of Narnia too, I doubt not, pretty one," said the Witch in the same coaxing, half-mocking tone.
"I'm nothing of the sort," said Jill, stamping her foot. "We come from another world."
"Why, this is a prettier game than the other," said the Witch. "Tell us, little maid, where is this other world? What ships and chariots go between it and ours?"
Of course a lot of things darted into Jill's head at once: Experiment House, Adela Pennyfather, her own home, radio-sets, cinemas, cars, aeroplanes, ration-books, queues. But they seemed dim and far away. (Thrum thrum - thrum - went the strings of the Witch's instrument.) Jill couldn't remember the names of the things in our world. And this time it didn't come into her head that she was being enchanted, for now the magic was in its full strength; and of course, the more enchanted you get, the more certain you feel that you are not enchanted at all. She found herself saying (and at the moment it was a relief to say):
"No. I suppose that other world must be all a dream."
"Yes. It is all a dream," said the Witch, always thrumming.
"Yes, all a dream," said Jill.
"There never was such a world," said the Witch.
"No," said Jill and Scrubb, "never was such a world."
"There never was any world but mine," said the Witch.
"There never was any world but yours," said they.
Puddleglum was still fighting hard. "I don't know rightly what you all mean by a world," he said, talking like a man who hasn't enough air. "But you can play that fiddle till your fingers drop off, and still you won't make me forget Narnia; and the whole Overworld too. We'll never see it again, I shouldn't wonder. You may have blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more likely. But I know I was there once. I've seen the sky full of stars. I've seen the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night. And I've seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn't look at him for brightness."
Puddleglum's words had a very rousing effect. The other three all breathed again and looked at one another like people newly awaked.
"Why, there it is!" cried the Prince. "Of course! The blessing of Aslan upon this honest Marsh-wiggle. We have all been dreaming, these last few minutes. How could we have forgotten it? Of course we've all seen the sun."
"By Jove, so we have!" said Scrubb. "Good for you, Puddleglum! You're the only one of us with any sense, I do believe."
Then came the Witch's voice, cooing softly like the voice of a wood-pigeon from the high elms in an old garden at three o'clock in the middle of a sleepy, summer afternoon; and it said:
"What is this sun that you all speak of? Do you mean anything by the word?"
"Yes, we jolly well do," said Scrubb.
"Can you tell me what it's like?" asked the Witch (thrum, thrum, thrum, went the strings).
"Please it your Grace," said the Prince, very coldly and politely. "You see that lamp. It is round and yellow and gives light to the whole room; and hangeth moreover from the roof. Now that thing which we call the sun is like the lamp, only far greater and brighter. It giveth light to the whole Overworld and hangeth in the sky."
"Hangeth from what, my lord?" asked the Witch; and then, while they were all still thinking how to answer her, she added, with another of her soft, silver laughs: "You see? When you try to think out clearly what this sun must be, you cannot tell me. You can only tell me it is like the lamp. Your sun is a dream; and there is nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real thing; the sun is but a tale, a children's story."
"Yes, I see now," said Jill in a heavy, hopeless tone. "It must be so." And while she said this, it seemed to her to be very good sense.
Slowly and gravely the Witch repeated, "There is no sun." And they all said nothing. She repeated, in a softer and deeper voice. "There is no sun." After a pause, and after a struggle in their minds, all four of them said together. "You are right. There is no sun." It was such a relief to give in and say it.
"There never was a sun," said the Witch.
"No. There never was a sun," said the Prince, and the Marsh-wiggle, and the children.
For the last few minutes Jill had been feeling that there was something she must remember at all costs. And now she did. But it was dreadfully hard to say it. She felt as if huge weights were laid on her lips. At last, with an effort that seemed to take all the good out of her, she said:
"There's Aslan."
"Aslan?" said the Witch, quickening ever so slightly the pace of her thrumming. "What a pretty name! What does it mean?"
"He is the great Lion who called us out of our own world," said Scrubb, "and sent us into this to find Prince Rilian."
"What is a lion?" asked the Witch.
"Oh, hang it all!" said Scrubb. "Don't you know? How can we describe it to her? Have you ever seen a cat?"
"Surely," said the Queen. "I love cats."
"Well, a lion is a little bit - only a little bit, mind you like a huge cat - with a mane. At least, it's not like a horse's mane, you know, it's more like a judge's wig. And it's yellow. And terrifically strong."
The Witch shook her head. "I see," she said, "that we should do no better with your lion, as you call it, than we did with your sun. You have seen lamps, and so you imagined a bigger and better lamp and called it the sun. You've seen cats, and now you want a bigger and better cat, and it's to be called a lion. Well, 'tis a pretty makebelieve, though, to say truth, it would suit you all better if you were younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without copying it from the real world, this world of mine, which is the only world. But even you children are too old for such play. As for you, my lord Prince, that art a man full grown, fie upon you! Are you not ashamed of such toys? Come, all of you. Put away these childish tricks. I have work for you all in the real world. There is no Narnia, no Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan. And now, to bed all. And let us begin a wiser life tomorrow. But, first, to bed; to sleep; deep sleep, soft pillows, sleep without foolish dreams."
The Prince and the two children were standing with their heads hung down, their cheeks flushed, their eyes half closed; the strength all gone from them; the enchantment almost complete. But Puddleglum, desperately gathering all his strength, walked over to the fire. Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn't hurt him quite as much as it would hurt a human; for his feet (which were bare) were webbed and hard and coldblooded like a duck's. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough; and so it did. With his bare foot he stamped on the fire, grinding a large part of it into ashes on the flat hearth. And three things happened at once.
First, the sweet heavy smell grew very much less. For though the whole fire had not been put out, a good bit of it had, and what remained smelled very largely of burnt Marsh-wiggle, which is not at all an enchanting smell. This instantly made everyone's brain far clearer. The Prince and the children held up their heads again and opened their eyes.
Secondly, the Witch, in a loud, terrible voice, utterly different from all the sweet tones she had been using up till now, called out, "What are you doing? Dare to touch my fire again, mud-filth, and I'll turn the blood to fire inside your veins."
Thirdly, the pain itself made Puddleglum's head for a moment perfectly clear and he knew exactly what he really thought. There is nothing like a good shock of pain for dissolving certain kinds of magic.
"One word, Ma'am," he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a playworld which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say."
You'll have to read the rest of the story to find out what becomes of the children, the prince, and the marsh-wiggle.
I could not help but see this passage as a cautionary tale to us not to simply drift with the flow of the culture in which we live. As believers, the world would make us out to be fools. But is it possible that we who believe that this world is not all there is--that, in fact, the things of this world are but shadows of the Real Thing--are the wiser ones? Is it possible that we are being lulled to sleep by the siren song of culture? That we might have an Enemy who is doing all he can to dull our hearts and minds to the Truth?
Is it, at least, worth considering? Does this passage not at least give us incentive to wake up and take note of the air we're breathing and the messages we're hearing? What if there's something--of Someone--out there who really doesn't want you know to why or how or by Whom you were created...who doesn't want you to know that there's hope...that there's more.
What if there is a Truth that could be discovered (or remembered?) if we were to fight against such a seductive enchantment? And, if we're honest, isn't the belief that there's more, in fact, better than believing this brokenness is as good as it's ever going to get? And if you believe things are just fine here, thanks, what if there were a Reality that put even the greatest ecstasy of our present reality to shame? Isn't that a hope worth at least your honest examination and consideration?
What if it took the leap of faith it takes to believe such "children's stories" to break the spell and realize the Truth behind them?
We were not made for the dank darkness of Underland. We were made for more. And we have a real, living Aslan who, as Aslan did in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, paid the price traitors like Edmund (and you and me) owed and broke the witch's wintry curse.
Do you believe this? If not, what do you really believe?
What if you're wrong?
And do you think there's even a shred of a chance there might be something at work that wants to keep you from believing what is actually True (if what you believe is not true)?
Like I said, I think it's at least worth considering.
May we as Christians, like Puddlegum, even though it may cause great pain and sacrifice on our own part, do our best to stamp out the sweet aroma of that which would lead us and those we love astray.
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