As I grew older, I put these books aside for more mature fantasy, seeking solace in the likes of Tolkein and Lawhead, along with many, many other types of fiction. It wasn't until a few years ago (I'm now pushing the venerable age of 33) that I started to reassess some of the more poignant moments in C.S. Lewis' grand fantasy series (as well as critique those moments which were poorer).
All this to say, it was probably a mistake to watch the movies.
Now, being a somewhat curmudgeonly individual, I have a tendency to view movies stemming from prestigious novels much in the way one views rattlesnakes, bears, and dentists: healthy respect for the sheer amount of destruction they can cause, along with a dash of pure, unadulterated fear of an underlying unspeakable horror associated with them. All told, I think these two reactions have pretty well validated themselves: my opinions on the abomination that was The Lord of the Rings as well as the Jason Bourne movies will have to wait for another time.
Meanwhile, I'd like to highlight a few of the more egregious moments from this particular movie/disaster.
Temptation and Inner Struggle
To be perfectly fair, one of my close friends acknowledged a very important point about this particular episode in the Chronicles of Narnia. It is, by far, the hardest to make a movie out of. The book itself doesn't have a cohesive overarching plot, but rather is an aggregation of several mini-plots and grand adventures, culminating in one small creature's pursuit of the land of his liege. The children are given new insights into who they are, along with [admittedly less-developed] an understanding of who Aslan is, and how insufficient their knowledge of him (in light of his true identity) is.How one builds a movie which would appeal to the masses out of this is somewhat beyond me. Hence, the expansion of the "dark island" chapter into a larger plot. Here (in the movie) is the center of all things evil (kinda), and it is up to the crew of the Dawn Treader, along with Lucy and Edmund's help (we'll get to Eustace shortly), to seek seven magical swords which will, through some means the audience is not privy to, defeat it.
Plot holes and contrivances aside, I'd like to narrow down on one more the more insipid moments in the movie.
Throughout the crew's voyage, they are continually confronted by glowing, green mist. This mist stealthily slithers its way on scene during those pivotal moments when individuals are being confronted with their greatest temptations. The mist seems to act as an intensifier for these temptations, allowing them to take on a near-corporeal form, of some kind, bearing full force against those in conflict.
Each time, the temptation aspect is greatly emphasized. Lucy is tempted with her own insecurities; Edmund is tempted by his past and his longing for primacy. Eustace is tempted by...well, a lust for gold, apparently. I would expect the director is trying to portray something more significant with Eustace, but...well, it likely fell victim to the editing crew and the cutting room floor. Again, we'll get to him in a bit.
In short, the director zooms in on a very common trend in today's gnostic spiritual climate: pseudo-psychology and narcissistic self-justification. Lucy is portrayed not as a common, everyday little girl caught up in a grand adventure whilst bearing a sinful nature in all its self-serving glory; instead, we are shown a misunderstood and overlooked young woman who idolizes her older sister and wishes beyond all hope for someone to notice the beauty in her. Her problem, we're told, isn't jealousy as much as poor self-worth. Now, the movie doesn't overlook, nor does it necessarily condone, her overwhelming desire for physical attention. But it completely justifies it, violently wresting the narrative from the original author and psychoanalyzing it according to our enlightened age. Of course Lucy is jealous and insecure, the movie instructs, how could she not? She has a beautiful sister who is always noticed over her; she is passed by time and again. She's a young, courageous, and spirited girl who can't seem to see the beauty inside herself. Now, having acknowledged this as egregiously overstanding Lewis' original portrayal of his character, what can we learn from this?
Well, that when temptation hits, we're confronted, not by a tendency to hate God and neighbor (Q&A 5), but rather with a woefully inadequate sense of self. What Lucy needed to defeat this temptation was better self-esteem. The danger of this temptation wasn't violation of a good and holy law, but rather, to paraphrase the lion, losing herself!
Let's turn now to Edmund. When confronted with temptation, we get two distinct views of his internal struggles. Again, we're not faced with sin in all its wretched rebellion (Q&A 7). Instead, we can hearken to the post-postmodern cry of American spirituality: Edmund is allowing himself to be defined, just like Lucy, by both his own inadequacies and his past. Longing for his brother's approval, he confronts King Caspian and nearly starts a monarchical war over a treasured pool. Whilst in the mist at "dark island" he is tempted by the White Witch and her siren's offer of power and authoritarian rule. Edmund is both the brother who wants to be loved and revered, as well as the perpetrator who wants to put his past to rest.
Again, the mist that acts as a conduit for temptation does nothing more than bring out the psychological troubles the characters struggle with. Of course, their negative responses in light of temptation, the movie kindly reminds us, isn't necessarily right, but we ought not take it out on the characters. After all, they're just reacting to every hurt and pain they were subjected to all their lives. We ought not judge, we're told, but rather sympathize.
Purpose-Driven Dragons
On now to Eustace. Throughout the book, Eustace shows us something very few of us want to admit: as human beings, we are really all quite wretched. When faced with a grand adventure, and sights unseen, Eustace criticizes, demeans, steals, undermines, and disrespects. When confronted with loyalty, he mocks and derides. When observing nobility and honor put into motion, he cowers and gibbers. In short, he's what every single one of us is. Eustace (as is Edmund in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe) is a very inconvenient mirror put before our eyes, forcing us to realize we are not good, as we think. And when finally given a glimpse of wealth beyond all imagination, his dragon-ish mind and dragon-ish thoughts take on form: he becomes the dragon he already was inside.And yet, this isn't how the movie portrays Eustace at all. Instead, we see, during his duel with Reepicheep, a slight smile and pleased heart at the mouse's kind words. The duel itself was inspired more by misunderstanding than by wretchedness. To clarify: in the movie, Eustace, being a somewhat ignorant lout, decides to steal down into the ship's hold and have a snack. Of course, not being acquainted with seafarers and the strict regulation of provisions, he acts primarily out of ignorance when he attempts to take more food than he deserves. Reepicheep stops him with a firm scolding. During this time, Eustace accidentally grabs his tail, a dire insult to the mouse, whose tail was given him by Aslan himself. At this point, the duel breaks out, not as an attempt to regain honor, but as a period of instruction and discipleship. At the end, Reepicheep's eyes twinkle as he promises to make a fighter out of Eustace yet. And, momentarily, we see Eustace light-up at the mouse's kind words.
Now, our culture might struggle a bit with the concept of honor and its defense. But, the difference between this scene and its two correspondences in the book are striking. First: in the book, Eustace sneaks down into the hold to fetch himself more water, knowing the rules against stealing. When he's caught, the King rightfully recalls everyone to the rule at sea: anyone caught stealing will be severely punished. Of course, his reaction is the same as our own, when confronted unwillingly with our rebellion: Eustace harbors hatred and resentment in his heart. His actions are not out of ignorance, but out of sheer self-interest and disregard for any rule but his own.
Moreover, the duel with Reepicheep is completely misunderstood. In the book it takes place differently: Eustace spies the mouse sitting at the bow of the ship singing softly a lullaby to himself, and decides to have some "fun." He grabs the mouse by the tail and swings him around several times. Now, the narrative would likely agree with the movie writers that Eustace ultimately didn't realize what he was doing: but the question we must ask ourselves is why? At the point in the book this happens, Eustace is well aware of Reepicheep's touchy sense of honor. What's more, he's aware of the high-regard everyone on the ship has for Reepicheep, and how closely they guard his honor. Reepicheep, while being mysterious, is by no means a mystery. What Eustace doesn't, nay, can't understand, is honor itself. To him, the mouse is nothing more than an oversized rat playing at being human-like. He doesn't grasp that there is an fundamental understanding of the world which is different from his. On top of this, the mouse reflects back to us everything Eustace is not. So when he grabs his tail and swings him around, he is doing nothing more than lording himself over the smaller creature, blatantly spitting on his honor.
Moving on, we come to the dragon. Ahh, the dragon. What in the original narrative becomes a pivotal change in Eustace's understanding of his own wretched nature, the movie turns into a journey of self-discovery and affirmation. Eustace falls prey to his own temptations, urged on at the siren's call of the green mist. We aren't given much insight into the technicality of this transformation, but one moment Eustace is greedily feasting his eyes on riches beyond his wildest dreams, the next he is flying Edmund to a shelf of rock-encrusted lava where fiery words spell out his demise.
Eustace's transformation doesn't take him from being a dragon inside to being one outside. Instead, we are told by the venerable Reepicheep, instead it is offering him the chance to fulfill a great destiny. He has a grand purpose ahead of him, and this momentary affliction is just one more step on the road to living it out. And, of course, we see this play out in the movie. Eustace continues as a dragon until the climactic confrontation between the sailors of the Dawn Treader and the evil at "dark island." Here we see Eustace battle a vile sea serpent, eventually bearing, in his flesh, the final sword which would disrupt the evil forces. His transformation was not a curse, as it seemed, but a gift given with foreknowledge of a great and seemingly impossible task he was to undergo.
So now...let's see where I've seen these types of themes before...ahh yes:
"Your #history isn't your #destiny. "I've suffered so much Lord.Give me a NEW LIFE just as you promise." Psalm 119:107" -- Rick Warren
"We are all intentionally flawed to make us unique." -- Rick Warren
"Yesterday's failures have no place in your future. Your destiny is defined by what you DO...not what you DID." -- Steven Furtick
""You are not who people say you are. You are who God says you are. Nobody can stop your destiny." -- Joel Osteen
Hopefully you get the point.
Rather than being given a clear, unambiguous view of the wretched person he is, Eustace is, rather, pacified and affirmed that, though he might appear ugly, there is goodness waiting to burst forth from within. Moreover, when this purpose is fulfilled, Aslan removes the covering from him, not by touching it (nothing so earthy in this tale), but by symbolically scratching it away in the sand.
Let's review the narrative a little, shall we? In the book, Eustace indeed experiences a change of heart. When confronted with the reality of who he is, we see a form of repentance and turning away. Now, leaving aside the implication of the existence of some good underlying Eustace's wretched heart, what the author conveys by his return to human form is quite poignant. Aslan appears and leads him to a pool. In this pool, there is water for healing (he had borne a wound for some time, brought about by placing a gold armband on his upper arm which swelled greatly when he became a dragon), and he need only step into it to be soothed and healed. And yet, in his current, dragonish form, he could not. So Aslan instructs him to "undress" himself. Eustace, realizing that as a great reptile he can, in essence, shed his skin, begins an undertaking of casting off sheets of his form. And yet each time he removes a layer, another is there to trouble him. This repeats time and again, eventually resulting in despair. At this point, Aslan steps in and "undresses" him. The lion digs deeper than Eustace could ever have imagined and literally peels the horrifying skin from Eustace's body. And when he is done and the shell of the dragon had been cast off, Aslan throws Eustace into the water. Eustace does not enter in himself, he is passively placed in the healing waters present for his renewal.
Okay, if this isn't bludgeoning you over the head with its salvific and sacramental imagery, I'm not sure what will. So let me spell it out:
- Eustace is a sinner
- Eustace can do nothing to cease being a sinner
- Eustace can do nothing to heal himself as a sinner
- Eustace must rely fully on the providence of Christ to cleanse him from his sin
- Eustace is washed and renewed passively in the waters of baptism
Conclusion
So where do we go from here? I've complained enough about this movie and its pop-psychological interpretative violence, its purpose-driven presentation of sin, and the abysmal overstanding it has assumed. All I can think of is to leave with the 23rd article of the Belgic Confession:We believe that our blessedness lies in the forgiveness of our sins because of Jesus Christ, and that in it our righteousness before God is contained, as David and Paul teach us when they declare that man blessed to whom God grants righteousness apart from works.
And the same apostle says that we are justified "freely" or "by grace" through redemption in Jesus Christ. And therefore we cling to this foundation, which is firm forever, giving all glory to God, humbling ourselves, and recognizing ourselves as we are; not claiming a thing for ourselves or our merits and leaning and resting on the sole obedience of Christ crucified, which is ours when we believe in him.
That is enough to cover all our sins and to make us confident, freeing the conscience from the fear, dread, and terror of God's approach, without doing what our first father, Adam, did, who trembled as he tried to cover himself with fig leaves.
In fact, if we had to appear before God relying-- no matter how little-- on ourselves or some other creature, then, alas, we would be swallowed up.
Therefore everyone must say with David: "Lord, do not enter into judgment with your servants, for before you no living person shall be justified."
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