Cogitations of a Bookworm part II

Today’s controversial opinion: The Last Battle is my favourite book of the Chronicles of Narnia. For quite a long time, I didn’t consider this to be anything unusual. To understand my frame of mind on this, think of Philomena Cunk’s censored monologue on Islam. It is uncensored only in time for her to conclude, “I, for one, don’t think any of that is controversial at all.” Such was my position. Now, however, I have realised that various people have seriously disliked the book for a variety of reasons. Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, and his own reasons; nonetheless my own have remained mostly unchanged. Why, then, is it that The Last Battle still captures my imagination so much?

It’s certainly fair to say that the general mood of The Last Battle is significantly different to earlier books, which were much more focused on the grand adventures had by English children in Narnia. The felling of the dryads, the false Aslan, the plots of Shift and the Calormenes – all this makes for reasonably dark reading. Understandably, this is not to everyone’s taste. I am nonetheless of the opinion that it is not gratuitous suffering and serves sufficient narrative purpose. It brings to mind the book of Revelation, thereby reminding us of the allegorical nature of the tale. And of course, the darkness does not comprise the totality of the book – more on that later.

But what about Susan? Truly I tell you, this was not a problem that had occurred to me until I saw someone else writing about it. Probably I filed it away as theologically plausible – Lewis is clearly making some theological points here – and didn’t stop to consider whether it was fair within the narrative context. Nor, I might add, did I find it emotionally distressing. (This is perhaps a reflection on my own personality rather than a reflection on the way Lewis handled this element of the story.) But let us ask the question regardless: how did Queen Susan the Gentle abandon Narnia so entirely? And in favour of lipstick and nylons? Is this not a manifestly unjust ending for her? I think it is critical to point out here that this moment in time is not necessarily the end of her story. The Pevensies have died in England, but Susan remains alive; ample opportunity exists for her to change her mind. Perhaps the deaths of her family provide the impetus for a conversion: we do not know for certain, but we are free to imagine. And yet, even if Susan never has a change of heart, what is it but a reflection of the fact that some people deliberately turn away from the truth? Certainly, this is a saddening phenomenon, but its sadness does not negate its existence.

Others hold that it is a cheap blow by Lewis to make such typically feminine concerns as clothing and makeup the false idols for which Susan walks away. Perhaps there’s truth in that. However, to focus on this is to miss the point: the distractions could be anything. Imagine that Lewis had written of Susan’s pursuit of a legal career, and Jill and Eustace’s remarks instead centre on Susan being too busy networking, keeping late hours at the office, and neglecting a personal life in favour of succeeding at work. The effect is the same – Narnia is relegated to childhood memories. Faith is replaced by knowledge of the world. Recall the parable of the sower, wherein there are many kinds of worldly hardships (and indeed worldly pleasures) that result in the failure of a Christian to thrive. To expend too much energy disparaging Lewis’ particular choice of worldly temptation is to commit the classic debating mistake of refuting the example rather than the point itself.

And now on to the more pleasant material: the eschatological imagery that has embedded itself in my mind since I first read it. My overwhelming impression of The Last Battle is of the beauty of the final scenes. The general feeling is comparable to Revelation 21 and 22, with its description of the new heavens and the new earth. I think the reason that this part of The Last Battle carries such weight is that it is supremely tangible. I’ll happily show my hand and admit that N T Wright’s Surprised by Hope has been influential in my thinking on this point, but the concreteness of the new heavens and the new earth is a surprisingly joyful prospect. Ideas of eternal existence as disembodied souls that vaguely float around and perhaps pluck at harps are neither especially intuitive nor immediately appealing. The description of Aslan’s country is vivid, however, and completely real. On this latter point of realness, the Professor remarks that all this is in Plato, and interpreting Aslan’s country as the world of ideal forms is plausible, if not quite orthodox. But this does touch neatly on the idea that stewarding what is good and lovely in this present world is not futile: it will not be simply dissolved and that’s the end of that. Rather, it is possible for God, in whatever way he sees fit, to reflect the goods of the present creation in the new creation. Have we any idea how that might come about? No, but Lewis’ description here of Aslan’s country is one intriguing idea.

Finally, a further point as regards death and the afterlife. In The Last Battle, Lewis declines to portray death as any kind of bogeyman. As Roonwit the centaur says, while fatally wounded: “Remember that all worlds draw to an end and that noble death is a treasure which no one is too poor to buy.” There are the faintest echoes of Tolkien and courageous Norse fatalism, but by the end of the novel we realise that it is the sure hope of something beyond death that enables one to look death so squarely in the face. All worlds draw to an end – except one, and that is the one which matters.

Rereading The Last Battle was a delightful experience and ultimately very uplifting. There is much more that could be said about it (this little piece has not even touched on Emeth, for instance) but that can just be considered a reason to return to it. For now – night falls on Narnia.