The ‘If Onlys’ and ‘What might have beens’ in Lord of the Rings

“If only,” “what might have been!”  Sometimes we make it into a game of speculation, like a time travel story where we can change the present.  At other times we’re overcome with regret at past choices, imagining that somehow life would have been better “if only.”  We even find examples and teaching in the Bible on such matters.  David asked and received an answer from God, as to what the men of Keilah would do, if they would give David up to Saul.  It was a contingent event that never happened, since David then acted on that possibility by fleeing from Keilah.  The book of Ecclesiastes (7:10) warns against the negative thoughts that come with regret about past choices:  Do not say, “Why were the old days better than these?” For it is not wise to ask such questions.

As noted at the Lenten Lord of the Rings, the first chapters of Return of the King bring us to a rather depressing point in the story:  Frodo has been captured by Orcs, Sam yet to rescue him; Pippin  and Merry have been separated, and each feels the loneliness of being away from their best friend.  When we reach the chapter on The Pyre of Denethor, this post from the Lenten LOTR looks at some of the “What ifs” in the story.

It is an amazing aspect of Tolkien’s work, the level of detail and consistency within the story, that we can find many such plot points at which choices are made, and we can think of “alternate realities,” such as this idea:  what if Pippin had not been taken with Gandalf to Minas Tirith?  Then Theoden would have dismissed the service of two halflings; Dernhelm/Eowyn could handle one hobbit on her horse, but not two.  Likely, both Merry and Pippin would have been left behind, together.  Yet, without Pippin in Minas Tirith, Denethor would still have gone mad with despair, but without a hobbit to speak up for Faramir; Pippin saved Faramir’s life.  Gandalf would not have known of Denethor’s madness, and would have gone out to the battle, to the slaying of the Lord of the Nazgul.  If Eowyn had gone alone with the company, then Merry would not have been there to assist, and Eowyn would have died there on the battlefield – unless of course, Gandalf (not knowing about Denethor’s doings) had intervened there and possibly saved both Eowyn and King Theoden.  In that alternate series of events, Theoden might have lived, though Faramir died.

Interestingly enough, “What ifs” are played out even within Lord of the Rings — by Denethor, which provides us a strong reminder about wisdom and folly, and the danger of dwelling too much on the past –on how things could have been different and turned out more to our liking.  For it is Denethor in particular who has this mental/emotional/spiritual malady.  Denethor would have preferred that Faramir would have gone up to Imladris (Rivendell) instead of Boromir; that Boromir would not have died.  He then wishes that Boromir had been in the place of Faramir; Boromir would have brought the ring to him.  Gandalf responds with the wisdom and foreknowledge of God, telling him what would have happened to Boromir.  Denethor insists that Boromir would have not changed but been dutiful to him.

‘Do you wish then,’ said Faramir, ‘that our places had been exchanged?’ ‘Yes, I wish that indeed,’ said Denethor. ‘For Boromir was loyal to me and no wizard’s pupil. He would have remembered his father’s need, and would not have squandered what fortune gave. He would have brought me a mighty gift.’ …

‘Stir not the bitterness in the cup that I mixed for myself,’ said Denethor. ‘Have I not tasted it now many nights upon my tongue, foreboding that worse yet lay in the dregs? As now indeed I find. Would it were not so! Would that this thing had come to me!’

‘Comfort yourself!’ said Gandalf. ‘In no case would Boromir have brought it to you. He is dead, and died well; may he sleep in peace! Yet you deceive yourself. He would have stretched out his hand to this thing, and taking it he would have fallen. He would have kept it for his own, and when he returned you would not have known your son.’

The face of Denethor set hard and cold. ‘You found Boromir less apt to your hand, did you not?’ he said softly. ‘But I who was his father say that he would have brought it to me.

What happened to Denethor, is a strong reminder to us, not to fall into such negative thinking, and playing what ifs, agonizing over past wrong choices and thinking how it could have been so much better.

But we can only live in the now, the present. We cannot undo the past, but must live with what we have now, which includes the consequences of past choices.   Above all, we must conform ourselves to God’s will, what it is now and for the future, trusting that – often in spite of ourselves – God in His Providence has brought us to this place, to this path (and not to some other).  Denethor finally despaired, answering to Gandalf what he really wanted (and could not have):

‘I would have things as they were in all the days of my life,’ answered Denethor, ‘and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard’s pupil.  But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated.’

As C.S. Lewis well said, “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, “Thy will be done,” and those to whom God says, in the end, “Thy will be done.”

 

 

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George Sayer’s Friendship with J.R.R. Tolkien

I read George Sayer’s biography of C.S. Lewis, Jack: C.S. Lewis and His Times, many years ago.  I’m now reading Joseph Pearce’s Tolkien: A Celebration, a collection of 15 essays that begins with Sayer’s “Recollections of J.R.R. Tolkien.”  While reading, I was reminded of George Sayer’s great writing style, straightforward and conversational, with lots of anecdotes and character descriptions.  This essay provides a portrait and life sketch of J.R.R. Tolkien, from one of his friends –and thus a much more engaging and positive view than that of Humphrey Carpenter’s biography from the 1970s.

I have come across online references saying that Humphrey Carpenter really did not like J.R.R. Tolkien.  That distance comes out in the overall tone and the lack of friendliness regarding his subject, in J.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography – a very objective read with lots of biographical information, but not as heartwarming as what Sayer shared.  It’s also interesting to see that in the collection of The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, Tolkien himself mentioned his friend George Sayer, on three separate occasions — whereas Carpenter was a brief acquaintance near the end of his life, and never mentioned in Tolkien’s letters.  Yet it happened that the family asked Carpenter, soon after Tolkien’s death, to do a biography; Carpenter had his own biases, against Tolkien’s religion for one thing, but the family wanted someone who could write an official biography.  Sayer apparently did not then have the writer-publisher experience that was desired; his biography of C.S. Lewis, the only book he is really known for, was published years later, in 1988.  Yet I think a Sayer biography of Tolkien would have been much better than Carpenter’s.  What George Sayer shares in his essay is in agreement with much of what I already knew about Tolkien, but comes across in a way that endears the man to us, as someone that Sayer really cared about as his friend.

Describing a time he went on a hike with the Lewis brothers and Tolkien with wit and humor, we hear about C.S. Lewis’ opinion of Tolkien:

“He’s a great man, but not our sort of walker. He doesn’t seem able to talk and walk at the same time. He dawdles and then stops completely when he has something interesting to say. Warnie finds this particularly irritating.”

I soon found that the brothers liked to walk hard and fast for half an hour, a period which Warnie would time, for Jack never worse or, as far as I know, owned a watch. Then they would have what they called a ‘soak’. This meant sitting or lying down for the time it took to have a cigarette. Then the other man would shoulder the pack, which was their name for the rucksack, and they would go on walking hard for another half-hour.

[The arrangement for Sayer to walk with Tolkien] It worked really well. Tolkien seemed glad to be left behind by the Lewis brothers, whom he described to me as ‘ruthless walkers, very ruthless indeed’. … He also liked to stop to look at the trees, flowers, birds and insects that we passed. He would not have suited anyone who, like the Lewis brothers, walked partly for health, in order to get vigorous exercise. But it delighted me. He talked so well that I was happy to do nothing but listen. …. He talked faster than anyone of his age that I have known, and in a curious fluttering way. …. He knew more natural history than I did, certainly far more than the Lewises, and kept coming out with pieces of curious information about the plants that we came across.

Sayer even remembered a couple examples of the plant information Tolkien gave him.  Later recollections from Sayer fit well with what comes out in The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien from the early 1950s, when Tolkien was trying to get Lord of the Rings along with The Silmarilion published.  Tolkien was focused only on that, his own troubles, and for a while become quite depressed.  Sayer and his wife spent some time with Tolkien, and found that introducing Tolkien to an early-technology tape recorder helped Tolkien snap out of his depression.  Sayer noted the risk he took in his friendship, since he knew how Tolkien hated technology, but Tolkien was so depressed that he took the chance.  Tolkien first recorded The Lord’s Prayer in Gothic–“to cast out the devil that was sure to be in it since it was a machine.”  This was not just whimsy.  All of life for him was part of a cosmic conflict between the forces of good and evil, God and the devil.  I played it back to him.  He was surprised and very pleased.  He sounded much better than he had expected.  He went on to record some of the poems in The Lord of the Rings.  Some he sang to the tunes that were in his head when writing them.  …. The more he recorded, and the more often he played back the recordings, the more his confidence grew.

It was after this visit that Tolkien apparently considered George Sayer as a close friend.  Tolkien’s letter 134 (August 29, 1952) notes the tape recording event:

I have recently made some tape-recordings of parts of the Hobbit and The Lord (notably the Gollum-passages and some pieces of ‘Elvish’) and was much surprised to discover their effectiveness as recitations, and (if I may say so) my own effectiveness as a narrator, I do a very pretty Gollum and Treebeard. Could not the BBC be interested? The tape-reel is in the possession of George Sayer (English Master at Malvern) and I am sure he would forward it for your or anyone else’s trial. It was unrehearsed and impromptu and could be improved.

Sayer also shared delightful anecdotes of Tolkien in his Catholic worship, showing him as a devout Catholic during these years:  the pre-Vatican type of Catholic that did not see the need for the 1965 Vatican II changes, and always went to confession before Mass.  Tolkien attended church with the Sayers at this time, and George Sayer shared Tolkien as one who was very friendly with young children.  I noted this similar quality while reading Tolkien’s Letters from Father Christmas, that magical quality of story telling and kindness to his own children.

I went back and found him kneeling in front of the Lady Altar with the young children and their mother, talking happily and I think telling stories about Our Lady.  … he loved children and had the gift of getting on well with them. ‘Mummy, can we always go to church with that nice man?’

and

The last time I met him was after his return to Oxford. He was with children (perhaps great-grandchildren), playing trains: ‘I’m Thomas the Tank Engine. Puff. Puff. Puff.’  That sort of thing.  I was conscripted as a signal.  This love for children and delight in childlike play and simple pleasures was yet another thing that contributed to his wholeness and the success of his books.

Sayer’s essay is delightful, and an excellent start to this book of essays, great reading for the many of us who love Tolkien’s Middle Earth and care about Tolkien the writer and the man.

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Further Up and Further In: Narnia, C.S. Lewis, and the V-Shaped Christian Conversion Experience

I’ve seen Hillsdale College advertisements on Facebook over the years (along with mention of it by a few online friends), but since it seemed that mostly their offerings were about American history and political related issues of American government, I had not tried it out.  A new offering from them, though, caught my eye: C.S. Lewis on Christianity.  The format is simple and straightforward — listen to several video lectures (this course has seven), and answer some multiple choice questions after each lecture.  Since I’m already familiar with C.S. Lewis, though it’s been many years since I last read his non-fiction, the lectures are a good overview of the major ideas in his non-fiction, such as Lewis’ Abolition of Man and Mere Christianity, and include some things that I had either forgotten or not come across before.

The third lecture talks about C.S. Lewis’ conversion to Christianity, and Lewis’ view of conversion as V-shaped: we must first go down, then further down, hit bottom and experience initial conversion, then gradually come back up, in the new life.  We can observe this pattern in much of Lewis’ fiction writing.  The lecturer mentions the number of steps into and out of the wardrobe, though I’m not sure if that is a really clear example; nothing in the text says that Lucy or the others stepped down and then stepped up, just that there were a certain number of steps.

However, other examples certainly do make the point.  The Silver Chair‘s overall structure is certainly that of a V: starting at the school Eustace and Jill attended, then to a very high cliff place above Narnia, then down to Narnia itself.  Then falling down into the giant-made letters of “Under Me” then down to Underland.  Puddleglum, Eustace and Jill finally accomplish the mission from Aslan while in Underland.  Then the return trip, back to Narnia, then back to Aslan, and then returning to the where it all started, at Jill and Eustace’s school.  The other Narnia travels from our world — The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Prince Caspian and following — certainly have the beginning and end same, since that was in the nature of the travel itself — a point really noted in the first two stories, not so much in Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  Yet The Silver Chair especially makes the V-shaped story in a very literal, geographical way.

Voyage of the Dawn Treader especially gives a picture of Christian conversion.  Eustace started out a real twit, then quickly worsened as he was put into difficult situations that revealed his bad character.  The downhill slide continued, until he ended up down in a valley, then became a dragon.  Upon finally becoming a dragon, the rock-bottom point of the V, in a great narrative account Eustace finally came to his senses:

his first feeling was one of relief.  There was nothing to be afraid of any more.  He was a terror himself now and nothing in the world but a knight (and not all of those) would dare to attack him. …

But the moment he thought this he realised that he didn’t want to.  He wanted to be friends.  He wanted to get back among humans and talk and laugh and share things.  He realised that he was a monster cut off from the human race.  An appalling loneliness came over him.  He began to see the others had not really been fiends at all.  He began to wonder if he himself had been such a nice person as he had always supposed.  He longed for their voices.  He would have been grateful for a kind word even from Reepicheep.

But then it was still a long way back up the “V”: he first became nicer and more helpful as a dragon.  After some time, then he met Aslan, and even then he first tried removing his own dragon skin, which still revealed more dragon skin under; then Aslan removed all the dragon and restored him back to a human boy.  Afterwards, as Lewis notes, Eustace began to be a different boy.  He had relapses.  There were still many days when he could be very tiresome.  But most of those I shall not notice.  The cure had begun.  The upward climb of that V had begun and would continue for the rest of his life — the “further up and further in.”  What a great picture of salvation is provided here: not merely a one-time event back in the past.  That was the cure that began.  Salvation then continues in the present life, and to the future glorification and perfection.

Then of course comes the glorious ending to the Chronicles of Narnia, with the idea of “further up and further in” in its fullness with the ushering in of the New Narnia, leading to the real, new England and New Earth.

The Hillsdale College lecture mentions a few other examples of a V-shaped experience, such as in  Lewis’ last novel, Till We Have Faces:  the heroine goes down into a green valley, a picture of the conversion experience — descent and loss, but such descent into greenness and fertility — which signifies gain and new life.  The bottom of the V is the “turn” — the “cure begun” in Eustace, also what J.R.R. Tolkien referred to as the eucatastrophe (see previous post link:   ).  Other examples of this bitter-sweet conversion, where the turn occurs, can be found in The Great Divorce (a character with a lizard on the shoulder), and also in the third volume of the Space Trilogy, That Hideous Strength, with the conversion of Jane:  It was a person (not the person she had thought), yet also a thing, a made thing, made to please Another and in Him to please all others, a thing made at this very moment… And the making went on amidst a kind of splendour or sorrow or both.

I’ll continue through this set of C.S. Lewis lectures, and then on to more lecture series from Hillsdale, for further insights into particulars of Lewis’ writing and then other topics such as classic literature.  Hillsdale also offers an introductory course on C.S. Lewis with another nine lectures.

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The Books That Eustace Had Not Read (Chronicles of Narnia)

In Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C.S. Lewis makes quite a point in describing Eustace, that he had read all the wrong books.  From the first page of the story we learn that Eustace liked books if they were books of information and had pictures of grain elevators or of fat foreign children doing exercises in model schools.  Then, after Eustace ran off by himself and then ran into the dragon’s cave, this special note:  Most of us know what we should expect to find in a dragon’s lair, but as I said before, Eustace had read only the wrong books.  They had a lot to say about exports and imports and governments and drains, but they were weak on dragons.

A similar plot scenario comes up in the sequel, The Silver Chair, though implied rather than directly stated.  Since that adventure only happened within 2-3 months of Eustace’s return from Narnia, and he still lived with his parents and still had to attend that progressive school, it could not be reasonably expected that Eustace would have had the time to acquire and read enough of the right books to prepare him for his second visit to Narnia.  Jill, likewise, by the fact of attending the Experiment House, no doubt had parents similar to Harold and Alberta, who had not allowed her to read the right type of books.  Thus we find that both Eustace and Jill think it would be a great idea to visit the “gentle giants” and apparently had no clue of the possible danger of being eaten by giants.

All of this raises an interesting point: what books should Eustace have been reading, to have been prepared for entering a dragon’s lair?  Voyage of the Dawn Treader was published in 1952 (and The Silver Chair a year later), but the England side of the story is set during World War II, the summer and fall of 1942.  On an Amon Sul podcast that I listened to recently  (episode #022), the guest Richard Rohlin mentioned Eustace not having read about dragons.  He then said that a few people he knew had looked at this question and concluded that the only book of that type that was around, that the children in Lewis’ day could have been reading that would have told them about dragons, was The Hobbit.  Thus, Rohlin saw this mention in Lewis’ book as a coded reference to his friend Tolkien’s writing; and then to follow the chain, Tolkien himself of course, in The Hobbit, had allusions to Beowulf.  (In this previous post I mentioned one interesting allusion to Beowulf, from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.)

That is an interesting idea, and could be true to a point.  Certainly elsewhere C.S. Lewis included references to Tolkien’s works, and much more direct ones.  The main character in his Space Trilogy, Ransom, after all, was a philologist.  And C.S. Lewis mentioned “Numinor” in his Space Trilogy — a reference which Tolkien said (in The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien) came from the audible sound of the word as Lewis had heard Tolkien’s writings, when Tolkien would read aloud to the Inklings — and thus a misspelled version of Numenor.  But in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C.S. Lewis mentions Eustace reading “the wrong books” and that is “books” (plural), which would indicate that Lewis knew of many other books that Eustace could (and should) have been reading.

Certainly the general books of pagan mythology have been around, though school children in mid-20th century England may not have been reading those.  A look at Goodreads and its lists of popular children’s fantasy books, by decade, gives us additional possibilities from the 1930s list.    Yes, The Hobbit is on that list, along with familiar titles including Mary Poppins, and a King Arthur collection, T.H. White’s Sword in the Stone; this Arthurian legends book includes one reference to dragons, the legend of “St. George and the Dragon.”  Earlier that decade, though, another book was published, The Book of Dragons: Tales and Legends from Many Lands.  Since this book was an anthology of existing tales, it may not have become as popular over the years, but no doubt it served its purpose for that generation of children: retelling the existing dragon lore, to the next generation of English-speaking children.

So, while it’s nice to think that C.S. Lewis intended a reference to The Hobbit in his description of Eustace not reading the “right” books, it seems that in this case C.S. Lewis was thinking in more general category terms.  Certainly The Hobbit would be included, as a book published just 5 years before Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace had their adventure.  But a school boy in that era would have had at least a few other choices of books, so that he could have learned something about dragons.  Sadly, though, Eustace’s parents had kept such books away from him, and also thoroughly brainwashed the kid so that he did not even have the desire to read them.

Readers, are there any other fantasy books that you are familiar with, published in the 20th century, to add to the list of books that Eustace should have been reading?  Any further comments about the books that Eustace and Jill ought to have read?

 

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Enchantment in a classic-style Fairy Tale: The Horse and His Boy (Chronicles of Narnia)

In my re-reading through The Chronicles of Narnia, it strikes me that the stories involve a great deal of action and travel and places outside of Narnia itself.  Only three out of the seven Narnia tales actually have the majority of action taking place in the land of Narnia:  the first two (The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, and Prince Caspian) and the very last one (The Last Battle).  In between, Lewis first introduces the islands at sea (Voyage of the Dawn Treader), then the land to the north of Narnia, as well as under Narnia (The Silver Chair).  The next installment takes us back to the “golden age” of the rule of High King Peter along with King Edmund and Queens Susan and Lucy — and to lands south of Narnia.  In The Horse and His Boy we are introduced to Archenland and especially Calormen.

Nearing the end of The Horse and His Boy, the wonder and enchantment are back, and appreciation for the story.  The plot is more complex than the earliest books, and introduces more human characters in Narnia’s neighboring countries — extra details not in the first books.  In this enjoyable story, we have several themes intertwined:  a variation on Greek classic literature (Oedipus),in a positive spin, and the rags to riches motif as well, for Shasta/Cor (somewhat like Charles’ Dickens tale of Oliver Twist, though much briefer and with the fantasy elements of another world with talking animals) combined with other characters who start out high and noble and must learn what it is to be humbled and abased.

In this story also we especially see God’s hand of Providence, and Aslan’s purpose in directing the lives of the two human children and the two talking horses:  the lion that appears (seemingly two lions) for the purpose of forcing the two traveling groups to meet and work together (Shasta with Bree, and Hwin with Aravis); the cat that comforts Shasta alone at the tombs, which later turns into a lion to ward off the jackals; and then especially the great scene in which Shasta rides slowly along on the dumb (non-talking) horse, left behind and alone, yet with the Presence of Someone, the great Aslan.  Here we also have the recurring theme of each individual’s story, and to be content with that.  Just as Aslan had rebuked Lucy for eavesdropping (by means of magic) on a conversation between two of her classmates in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, so here Aslan tempers Shasta’s curiosity as to why Aslan the Lion had attacked Aravis and whipped her back:  “Child,” said the Voice, “I am telling you your story, not hers.  I tell no-one any story but his own.”  As we later find out, of course, Aslan does tell Aravis her own story.

Modern critics no doubt find much to criticize in The Horse and His Boy, especially the “racist” treatment of the dark-skinned people of Calormen, who are presented as the stereotype of uncouth Arabians. For C.S. Lewis of course, the characterization of the Calormene also, and significantly, is that of a pagan nation, spiritually dark, without hope, without God, and thus showing the fruits of such a world: slavery, cruelty, and sadness.  Some of Lewis’s writing style and words now appear dated, in part due to the corruption and perversion of some of our English words in the years since Lewis wrote in the 1950s.  Yet Lewis’ main point throughout is a contrast between a pagan land (which bears some similarities to our folk tales of Arabians and dark-skinned people of the Middle East and Africa) and Christian lands (of the North, which was Lewis’ primary love as well, things of a northern quality).  The scene of the Narnian rulers entering Tashbaan, indeed, provides the stark contrast, of the joy and happiness of the Narnians.

Their tunics were of fine, bright, hardy colours–woodland green, or gay yellow, or fresh blue.  Instead of turbans they wore steel or silver caps, some of them set with jewels… instead of being grave and mysterious like most Calormenes, they walked with a swing and let their arms and shoulders go free, and chatted and laughed.  One was whistling.  You could see that they were ready to be friends with anyone who was friendly, and didn’t give a fig for anyone who wasn’t.  Shasta thought he had never seen anything so lovely in his life.

More could be said, regarding the many plot points in The Horse and His Boy, such as the contrast of wisdom with folly and the foolish characters, as well as the pride in Bree and Aravis.  How does this world have such thriving communities of humans, with a clear history of many years, in a world that (according to The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe) has mostly talking beasts and was under a spell of 100 years of winter until only a few years ago (15 years ago at most)?  The answer of course is provided with the creation of these other lands Archenland and Calormen.  Only Narnia had been under the winter spell all those years, and thus it is now becoming a power to be reckoned with  (according to the leaders of Calormen).  Narnia’s past of endless winter is well integrated into this story, with references to it from Aravis’ city friend Lasaraleen.

This, the 5th published book in The Chronicles of Narnia (and the third book according to Narnian chronology), is an enjoyable story, escapism with a lot of elements that make a great fairy tale story.  It would be nice to see a movie or stage dramatization of this; apparently it has been done in some places as a stage production.  It was not included in the BBC mini-series.  Apparently something of a movie has been made in recent years, or attempted at least.  But usually, it seems, movie efforts at the full Chronicles of Narnia series get stalled after completion of the earlier books.

 

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The Silver Chair (Chronicles of Narnia): Praying to Aslan, Facing East

After many years, I’m rereading the Chronicles of Narnia.  Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and The Silver Chair, are the stories I best remember, in large part due to the BBC dramatizations from the early 1990s, of which I especially appreciated The Silver Chair.  So, to this day, I still have mental pictures of the young teenagers who played Eustace and Jill, and of course Tom Baker (who I remembered and loved from my earlier Dr. Who fandom days, in his 7 years as the 4th Doctor) as Puddleglum.  The BBC versions were low-budget compared to Hollywood movies, but quite faithful to the original stories, and provided 3 hour renditions of both The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe and The Silver Chair, giving short shrift of only 1 hours to Prince Caspian and 2 hours to Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  The last one in this BBC mini-series, The Silver Chair, was the best quality in my opinion.

Reading the books again is a good refresher, to include parts omitted or slightly changed in the 3 hour BBC version; the audio book of The Silver Chair is slightly over 5 hours, so at least the 3 hour dramatization gets relatively close, as compared to most movie dramatizations of popular books.

The descriptions of The Experiment House are classic C.S. Lewis comments against the problems of modernism and progressivist, anti-Christian thought, that was one of Lewis’ key focus throughout his fiction and non-fiction writings.  I’m also noticing how Jill, early in the adventure, complains a lot and desires the comforts of home such as a bed with blankets and hot baths.  That strong desire for comfort indeed becomes a major failure and plot point, how they end up at the giants’ castle and then have to escape from it.  This same desire for comfort and dislike for adventure, of course, is also brought out regarding Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit — though not to the extreme exhibited by Jill and even Eustace, to the point of wrong, sinful choices made in order to achieve the desired comfort.

Another interesting point I had forgotten, but now note the significance of:  behind the gym, when Eustace in conversation with his classmate Jill considers formally asking Aslan if they can go to Narnia, he makes a special point about the proper position for making such a request.  Their request is in effect a type of prayer, though Lewis never uses the actual term prayer.  But a petition is certainly a large part of what is involved in prayer.    How Aslan should be asked, included hands stretched forward with palms down — as Eustace had observed done on Ramandu’s Island near the end of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader — and facing to the east.

As an aside, this scene also is one of the examples cited by modern feminists and secularists, of the supposedly sexist dialogue in C.S. Lewis’ writing:  Eustace’s line to Jill, that girls don’t know their direction on a compass.  Not mentioned by these critics, is Jill’s retort that Eustace himself obviously didn’t know — at that particular location they were at — which direction was east; and later in the story, the narrator author admits that he does not know if such lack of compass directions is true of all girls, but that it was true for Jill in particular.

In all my years growing up as a Protestant Christian, then coming to saving faith as a Protestant (Evangelical) Christian as a young adult and the many years since then as a Protestant Christian, I had never known the significance of facing east in prayer.  (I had heard this about cemetery plots, but nothing else.)  In prior readings of The Silver Chair I probably attributed this point to the internal plot of the Narnia story itself, since in the previous book, Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the characters did indeed quite literally sail East to Aslan’s country.  However, as I recently learned, as part of my study of Eastern Orthodox Christianity (the faith of the early church and its adherents to this day), it has always been a significant part of Orthodox Christian practice to pray facing this particular compass direction, of East.  Just as in Judaism before it, synagogues would face the direction of Jerusalem and the direction of East was held in high regard, and as the men of Gondor in Middle Earth turned in the specific direction of West toward Numenor in their prayer and moment of silence (link: previous post), the early Church saw significance of praying to the East.  As St. Basil observed in the 4th century (in his work, On the Holy Spirit):

For example, let us especially make note of the first and commonest thing: that those who hope in the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ should sign themselves with the Sign of the Cross. Who taught this in Scripture? Which Scripture instructed us that we should turn to the east in prayer? …Is this not the silent and secret tradition?   … Is it not from this unpublished and unspoken teaching which our Fathers have preserved in a silence inaccessible to curiosity and scrutiny, because they were thoroughly instructed to preserve in silence the sanctity of the Mysteries [i.e., Sacraments]? For what propriety would there be to proclaim in writing a teaching concerning that which it is not allowed for the unbaptized even to behold?

For further explanation of why the early Church (and Orthodoxy to this day) face East in their prayers, here are two helpful articles:  Why Orthodox Churches Face East and Why do the Altars of Orthodox Churches Face East? 

Returning to C.S. Lewis and this story detail (the children facing East when making their petition to Aslan):  I find this interesting, as another piece fitting quite well into the picture of C.S. Lewis as being closest in his beliefs to Eastern Orthodoxy, as I also have recently learned from other online sources.  For further reference, here is a podcast episode and an article regarding C.S. Lewis’ beliefs and Eastern Orthodoxy.

I’m still re-reading The Silver Chair, and looking forward to finding even more story incidents that allude to early church practices.  I already know about this one (near the end of The Silver Chair), mentioned in this free online book Know the Faith: A Handbook for Orthodox Christians and Inquirers:

In C.S. Lewis’s The Silver Chair, from his Chronicles of Narnia series, we encounter a beautiful description of a most natural, God-inspired act of icon veneration. Finding his formerly blackened shield now immaculate and revealing the blood-red image of the lion (Aslan, Lewis’s Christ figure), Prince Rilian addresses his small band of fellow travelers: “Now by my counsel, we shall all kneel and kiss his likeness, and then all shake hands one with another, as true friends that may shortly be parted.” The solemn act of love and reverence for the one who had delivered them from the delusion of the green witch was appropriately followed by acts of reconciliation and forgiveness.

I welcome any reader thoughts here — your thoughts about the Narnia movies (either the BBC series or other versions), as well as your comments about the overall story.

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