A nightmare on Thursday

 

G. K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday has baffled readers since its publishing. Even such great literary minds as C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien could not deciphers its intentions. It is the sort of book which leads one to believe there are intentions behind the story, a message that motivates the story. I must urge the one who has not read the book for themselves to leave this blog, and go and read the book, and then return. I further urge the reader of this volume to leave any introduction alone till he/she has finished the story itself. The reasons for these requests will become clear in a moment. Seriously, though go and read it for yourself.

            There is something intriguing about a mystery, and here is a mystery wrapped in a mystery. Chesterton’s masterful writing, and engaging style serve to draw a reader further in, and aid him in continuing on despite possible confusion. The confusion, especially about the ending, would ordinarily be off-putting, at least to me, but here it seems utterly appropriate for this is a book all about anarchists.

            Our introduction is fairly brief and to the point, we have man who has apparently stumbled into an anarchist conspiracy as double agent. He is trying to figure out the plot, and if possible, stop it. The plot continues straight-ahead as the main cast is transported across international borders, and begin encountering stiff resistance. Then comes a series of twists and turns that one simply must read for themselves.

            I will note that one of the great moments of the book comes when Thursday encounters an ally, and muses on significance of having just a single compatriot. This moment alone is worth the read, especially for those who have grappled with loneliness.

            The work’s full title is, “The Man Who Was Thursday; a Nightmare.” And that last word is particularly descriptive. This is not story one would want to live out. It is best viewed, and not participated in: much like anarchy itself. Thursday as a character does a good job of standing in for us, as he rather average. Too often a story like this has a hero, someone extra-ordinary in some way that allows them to cope and overcome the situations they encounter. Thursday barely manages to hang on. There is never a moment where this man has a firm grip on events.

            The events are held in another hand, and the man that hand is attached to is the main source of mystery in the whole work. Who is he, and what is he meant to represent? We know he must represent something for he tells us so at the end, but his words are cryptic enough to keep us guessing.

            In his autobiography Chesterton reports that the books were apparently helpful in restoring the mentally ill. Elsewhere the authors give us a clue as to how such a book could be helpful, by drawing attention 9as we have done) to the subtitle. It is a nightmare, a very specific nightmare of a very particular sort of mind. An unsettled mind, a doubtful mind, a mind which sees the dark forces of chaus advancing everywhere and feels itself very much alone in a desperate stand for order.

            It is not real; it is in both cases a nightmare from which we can wake-up. I can say this now with some confidence; but I cannot say the book in question gave me any help. I was led astray by a straying introduction to look for something like a commentary on reality, rather than a commentary on a distorted commentary on reality. Introductions can be helpful, or hurtful, and it is hard to say which they will be till we have left them well behind.

            Adam Gopnik writing in the New Yorker in 2008, places this work of Chesterton at a pivotal moment in English literature between the happier fantasies that came before, and the darker works that followed, seeming to imply that Chesterton drove the change. I do not think so, rather I think he anticipated the change and tried to head it off.

            In some the man at the center of the whole tale is Chesterton himself. Only the real man could never exercise the level of control his fictional mastermind could. The story seemed to evoke some unexpectedly positive effects, but also many negative effects. It is as if the story became too big, and had a life of its own away from its authors designs. A nightmare indeed; and one which any writer, even the humble writer of this blog, might face.

            Well, I have hazarded my guess as to what the mystery is really all about. I don’t expect the nightmare will end anytime soon. If it does it will only be that we have entered into a fresh nightmare…  

           

 

The Chronic-What-Cals of Narnia

 

Like a lot of young boys growing-up in Christian homes I was introduced to the Chronicles of Narnia early on. The whimsical setting caught my imagination as it had so many others, though perhaps to a lesser extent than others. They were enjoyable, and I read them through several times. And that would have been it for me…

Then in high-school I began to encounter those who had read the Chronicles of Narnia, and seemed to believe that in doing so they had reached the pinnacle of theological literature. Given my context it wasn’t all that disappointing, but still disappointing enough. Why were children’s stories expected to hold vast wealth of doctrinal riches? Expecting such in Lewis’ nonfiction, or even his adult fiction is understandable as he was by all accounts a staggeringly intelligent man; but couldn’t children’s stories simply be children’s stories?

Years later as I awaited the beginning of a seminary lecture, I overheard a conversation between two peers regarding the implications of the climactic scene of the Last Battle to Lewis’ overall theology. I will not attempt to reproduce the argument here, but the general notion appeared to be that the Narnia stories should be discarded as they presented a distorted picture of God through a very distorted eschatology: among other distortions. What are these Chronicles of Narnia?

The discussions about the books caught my interest more than the books ever did. Every book, and series has its devotees who discuss, and debate, and philosophize about the stories and their meanings; but this was something else. The Chronicles of Narnia seemed to be under interrogation by people who were looking for something beyond the stories. It seemed as if these children’s books had something to hide.

I never felt this suspicion. To me the books never suggested there was something behind the narrative. I never felt there was a covert agenda. Lewis’ intent appeared to be telling the stories of this make-believe world from his own childhood. The influence of his faith is present to be sure, as is his mastery of literature particularly the tropes of fairy-tales, folklore, and mythology. Indeed, Lewis’ appears most to be working within the realm of fairytales.

I would not call these Christian fairytales any more than I would label the Brother’s Grimm, or Hans Christian Anderson’s work as such.  I think the label gets the words out of order, these are fairytales (or if prefer fantasies) first, and Christian second. The story is being told for its own sake, not for the sake of Christianity per se. Lewis did write other fictional works that are truly Christian fiction; The Screwtape letters, The Great divorce (though it is hotly debated), and to a lesser extent That Hideous Strength. These are more worthy of interrogation. Most worthy of interrogation are Lewis’ non-fiction works in which his theology is clearly in view.

With all these other more explicitly theological works available for questioning, why did Narnia keep coming up? I think one answer is that it was made for children, and is often encountered in the formative stages of childhood, when stories can make deep and lasting impressions upon us. The Chronicles of Narnia stand out in the field of children’s literature, and especially the field of Christian children’s literature because, it is intelligent, well crafted, and just big enough to capture and hold the imagination without overwhelming it. Narnia is a gateway to the wider worlds of fantasy. So, it easy to see how these particular books might come to occupy a special place for their readers. Especially when we consider that parents, and grandparents might pass them down to the latest generation.

Then there is that Christian label which leads us to expect certain things from the books, which perhaps the books were never meant to contain or convey. We want a message behind the story, a doctrinal lesson in every installment; and we don’t really get that in Narnia. There are some clear analogies particularly in The Magician’s Nephew; and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. However, they are not precise analogies. Aslan’s relationship with the various personifications of evil is not quite in-line with orthodoxy. The moral lessons of Edmund, and Eustice Scrubb do fit the Judeo-Christian ethic, but such lessons are not always so easy to pick out of the works: at least not that I remember. So, if we came here looking for instruction, it appears we must either go away disappointed, or else read into the text.

Lewis has written about the Narnia books, just enough to guide readers expectation; but I wonder if Lewis’ own expectation of readers failed to account for modern developments? There have always been stories told to instruct. There have also been stories meant to persuade, and I wonder if this sort of story-telling is on the rise. It surely feels as if 7 out of 10 stories these days are trying to convince us of something. The story is a means to an end, and not an end in itself. As if we start with an agenda and craft a story. From what I understand C. S. Lewis started with a story, and whatever agenda there was it was made to fit the sorry. This is speculation, but perhaps we have become so accustomed to agenda stories that we do not trust stories anymore? We expect every story is here to sell us something, trying to get a foot in the door of our thinking. Have we got to a place where one does not simply tell a story?

What if we set aside expectations of doctrinal substance and examined the Chronicles of Narnia simply as children’s fantasy novels? This is the question I have wanted to ask since that day in seminary. The assertion I have wanted to make since high-school is simply this, these books are not theological treatises. I do not even believe they are pure illustrations of the faith like Bunyan’s allegories. They have a Christian overtone, and really that is all I would expect from them.

As Children’s fantasies from a Christian writer there are some questions, we might rightly ask of he Chronicles of Narnia. What are the responsibilities of Christian children’s literature? How should Christian’s work within the genre of fantasy fiction, or should we be in the genre at all? Is it acceptable for a Christian writer to employ magic in his narrative? These are questions I have not yet heard, but I hope someday I will.

These stories need to be approached with some discernment to be appreciated. That same discernment should protect against distorted theology. The main reason I might encourage someone to read these volumes is because they are well crafted and historically significant. I could not recommend them for any other reason.

I really don’t have anything more to say, and so shall leave the Land of Narnia behind. Onward!

On the Pilgrim's Progess and other allegories

 

            One of the books I most frequently reference, and recommend is the Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan, a classic of Christian literature that has been much loved since its writing. Charles Spurgeon claimed to read the books once a year, and urged others to read it regularly also. Bunyan possessed an insight, and gift for communicating those insights simply. John Owen, a contemporary of Bunyan and the foremost puritan theologian, greatly admire the tinker’s ability to make profound truths accessible.

            The story begins with a man living with his family in the City of Destruction. His life there is described in enough detail for us to see it isn’t much of a life, and our protagonist is beginning to see this as well. Eventually he is compelled to seek the Celestial City, leaving his family (who could not be persuaded to go with him) to walk a narrow road. A man named evangelist sets him on the path, and gives him a book to help him along the way.

            Christian is followed by two men of the City of Destruction who try to convince him to turn back, but instead one of the two, named Pliable, is convinced to go with Christian. It is not long till Christian encounters the Slough of Despond, Pliable turns back, while Christian forges ahead only to become trapped in the boggy marsh. Help arrives to save Christian from the slough. Awhile later Christian is misdirected by Mr. Worldly-Wiseman to mount Sinai where Evangelist appears to lead him back to the right path.

             Christian reaches the Wicket Gate where the narrow path begins, and asking about relief from the terrible burden he carries is directed toward the Place of Deliverance.  Christian’s journey continues and he has many encounters along the way. I do not want to give too much away; the book is well-worth reading for anyone. I will advise that the second part of the work is often omitted, but should not be neglected.

            In the Pilgrim’s Progress Bunyan makes many insightful observations about the Christian life, life in general, and theology accessible by allegorizing. Despair becomes a giant, doubt a dungeon, despondency a slough, hope a key, the armor of God from Ephesians 6 becomes literal armor, and so on and so forth. The story depicts the inner realities as outer realities, things we can easily picture and relate to depict things without images which are harder to grasp. Not only does the general concept come across quite readily, but something of the feeling of the actual experience comes along with it. This is important in a work about life, for life is felt as much as it is understood.

            John Bunyan had good deal of experience in life as detailed in his autobiography, Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. He also had plenty of time to consider his life experience in prison. The whole narrative is very well crafted, seamlessly integrating a number of scenes into a coherent and cohesive plot. There is definite purpose to Christian’s journey, and to the work as a whole. This singular purpose makes the allegory fairly transparent. It isn’t hard to know what the Giant Despair is meant to personify. Nor is difficult to see the true nature of Vanity Fair. As we have said the general meanings come across quite readily.

            Allegories have a two weakness. First, they need interpretation which leaves room for confusion. Secondly it is difficult to be precise. Bunyan provides some guidance to the correct interpretation, but it is not always included in reprints. It is clear that the original author intended his work to be read in light of Scripture, and for that holy book to govern the interpretation of his own.  Unfortunately, the scriptures themselves can, and are misinterpreted, and so the problem persist.

            T must be said that Bunyan allegory is quite transparent, and it would be rather difficult to miss the broader meanings. Allegory is not very popular in our day, and so the ways of reading it and understanding it are not well known. If we know what we are reading, and the rules which govern its interpretation there is a good chance we will gain by it. However, if we do not know the rules which govern a literary style, or genre we are like pilgrim without a guidebook.

            So, what do we do with the Pilgrim’s Progress? I say we read it, but only after we have prepared to read it rightly by understanding the conventions of allegory, the intent of the original author, and something of the Bible: the last is necessary due to many direct references such as the Valley of the Shadow of Death, Apollyon, and Demas throughout the book. Even if it isn’t read for edification in the Christian faith, it should be read as classic of English literature.

            Personally, I am not so enamored with this volume as Spurgeon was. I have reread it a number of times, and plan on rereading it a number of times more. I find that as life goes on the book holds more and more resonance, but it would be better if one knew the book well enough early in life that he recognized its contents in his experience’s.  I admire the directedness of the work of fiction. I admire, as did John Owen, Bunyan’s ability to communicate simply and effectively.

            Others have tried to emulate this masterful allegory, but their works lacked the intensity of focus that directed Bunyan’s original. C. S. Lewis penned, The Pilgrim’s Regress, a narrative of walking in circles attempting to map Lewis’s own journey of faith. It has a few good images in it, such as the depiction of sin; but overall, the cyclical nature of the path followed leads to confusing outcome, and the sorts of questions which have surrounded the author in recent years. Randy Alcorn has, Edge of Eternity a more linear allegory for modern times. Alcorn provides a few very powerful moments, his depiction of the Cross is truly brilliant, and his depiction of sin is very apt. However, the work lacks the directness of Bunyan and so is not quite as compelling. The Pilgrim’s Progress remains the best work, and is most worthy of your attention. I do not recommend Lewis pale imitation, but would recommend Alcorn’s.

            I would also recommend that Christian writers and creators in all media reexamine the virtues of allegory in conveying truth. To this end I urge the study of the work, and also Bunyan’s The Holy War. Allegory is a more visual means of conveying truths, and we live in an increasingly visual culture. I’ll leave you with that thought for now.