The Screwtape Letters

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 5 of 5

Apart from the chronicles of Narnia, if I could have only one of the books of C. S. Lewis, the Screwtape Letters would be it.  It's vibrant, exciting, colorful and very precise and clever in the points it makes.

The book centers around two demons; the young, inexperienced Wormwood, and the elder demon named Screwtape, who writes him letters of advice and encouragement.  These letters are much needed, as poor Wormwood keeps screwing up, and letting his human do things like become a Christian, make some new friends when his old ones become a bad influence, take a relaxing walk to clear his head so that he can think straight, etc...  Why, there's a very real danger that Wormwood might even let this particular human make it to Heaven, if he's not careful.

Every perspective in this book is cleverly inverted.  Screwtape praises the ability to sew confusion in the mind of a human being, the use of tiny slogans instead of rational explanations, to convince people of a point, the use of the word "democracy" to discourage people from excelling and so forth.  His advice to his young demon friend reveals, very cleverly, the things that we must avoid, and the kinds of traps we can easily fall into if we're not careful, as well as precisely how to stay on the right track for our lives, and all in a sort of backwards, underworld style of writing which, to be honest, I found very humorous; even largely tongue-in-cheek.

Of course, we know that demons don't really come in "older" and "younger," nor do they learn anything, and they don't really -devour- humans or one another.  Their motives are pure spite.  Still, those slight deviations from actual theology make the story more fun and easier to tell, and perhaps even better.

The mini-sequel, also included in most editions, entitled "Screwtape Proposes a Toast" is just as good as the original book, though it does, of course, have a slightly different premise.  The particularly excellent quotes and points made would simply take too long to outline.  If you haven't read this book yet, check it out.  Even if you've made the mistake of not being a Christian, you'll probably still get a kick out of Screwtape and his bungling "nephew."

The Great Divorce

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

Let me begin this review by making a couple of things about this book absolutely clear.  First, it's not a book about marraige or divorce.  Secondly, it depicts a vision of the relationship between Heaven, Hell and Purgatory which is utterly incorrect.  However, Lewis admits to this second point at both the beginning and end of the book.  It's a work of fiction; nothing else, so with that said, we can move on to the book itself.

In this novel, a soul travels from Hell to Heaven, with a few of his fellow souls, and bit by bit, each discovers just why they don't belong there.  The slavedriving, condescending boss doesn't even want to be around so many miscreants, the apostate is repulsed by the idea of knowing one idea to be true and all the others false, the thief finds he can't steal anything from Heaven, because he has nowhere to put it, etc...  It's a clever little device for a story, although as the book goes on, one is forced to wonder; just what did the narrator do to end up in Hell, and will he be able to overcome it and remain in Heaven?

This, by the way, is the element of fiction that the book makes ample use of; that technically, souls in Hell are given a chance to visit Heaven, change their ways, and remain there.  This is ludicrous, of course; the very idea of Hell implies that people have already chosen not to change their ways, and made their final decision already.  There are no further choices of this sort to be made after Death.  Still, as a basis for a story, it's an amusing little plot device.  It's just a shame that we never really learn anything of substance about the narrator.  I feel Lewis could have fleshed him out and made him an interesting character, rather than a mere cypher for viewing the other occurrances.  Still, it was fun to read, for what it was.

Now, on to specific goods and bads about the story.  I have no major complaints to speak of for the entire first half of the book.  As I said, the premise is absurd, but apart from that, it holds up very well.

However, in Chapter 9, Paragraph 88, one of the saints says that people who drink the waters of Heaven see their works as though they belonged to someone else.  Thank you, but no.  I already know what it's like to watch other people do great things, and I know it's not sufficient.  If I wanted that, I wouldn't need to go to Heaven for it.

This is one of those things that I don't think Lewis ever really understood; the notion that being with God implies the -exhaltation- of man, not his suppression.  In retrospect, many of my problems with his books stem from this basic issue.

Ch9Par100-103, for example, in which the ghost of a painter "realizes" that people receive no recognition in Heaven at all, except from God.  Needless to say, I don't agree.  God grants to the saints all things which are good, and no things which are evil.  Recognition from peers is a good thing.  Therefore...

In Ch11Par14, it's implied that people must never treat God as a means to other good things.  While I admit readily enough that God is the greatest possible goodness, and should not be undervalued, we sorry humans sometimes need to motivate ourselves, which is made even harder for those of us who have difficulty being motivated by something as abstract as true and complete goodness, or as humanoid as the son of God.  In this kind of situation, it would be prudent to seek some other good, so that one might be motivated to make the right decisions and arrive in Heaven to receive it.  Now, this is not relevant to the situation of the woman the saint was talking to in this paragraph, but I feel it should be pointed out.

As the book continues beyond these segments, however, it begins to make a number of very good and interesting points.  First is Ch11Par113, where it essentially says that every aspect of man can be raised to glory, so long as it's killed first.  I personally believe this to be true, since otherwise, the glorified man wouldn't really be a complete "man" at all.

Next is Ch13Par43, which makes the point that those who make others miserable until they choose to be happy on their own terms will be very unhappy in the end.  Still, I think this point needs to be studied just a little more closely.  On the one hand, this point really only applies to those who make other people miserable by their own choices, but on the other hand, it could be misread to imply that there's something wrong with being hard to please, which I don't think is true by itself.

Then, in Ch13Par47, we learn that the action of pity must be elevated, and the passion of pity must be executed.  Mostly correct, I think, and an important distinction to make.  When we become weak and immoral, and let ourselves become victims as a result of feeling pity towards others, we're not helping anyone, and there does need to be some way to correct this.

Finally, I feel I should mention that this book includes George Macdonald as one of its characters.  He shows up as a saint in Heaven, which by this point, I'm inclined to think he is.  Macdonald's biggest problem, aside from not being Catholic, was his universalism, and unless he intended to apostatize, which seems unlikely, I don't think his mistakes were enough to merit eternal punishment.  I disagree with him about some things, but I don't see any reason for supposing that he failed to make it to Heaven.  It did bother me a bit to see him treated like the old mentor there, though.

Ultimately, the book is about the people we observe; the study of the kinds of people who failed to make it to Heaven and why.  Of course, during this study, we examine many types of choices and psychological conditions, and find out what's wrong with them and what kinds of problems they cause for the soul of whoever has them.  This is the real meat of the story, and I really enjoyed it, in spite of all the things I was hoping to see.

On the whole, I found this book to be very enjoyable and very fun, although again, it needs to be treated as the fiction it is.  Take it in that context, and you should be just fine.

The Problem of Pain

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4 of 5

Enjoyability: 3.5 of 5

In the past, I've said that in some of his works, C.S. Lewis almost seems like a professional philosopher, while in others, he clearly comes across as more of a popularizer.  This book, I'm afraid, is of the latter type.  I say this, not because it's a bad book (it deals quite well with all the major problems people have concerning pain,) but because it's non-technical and contains some errors.

There's nothing wrong with using a book to popularize very basic responses to very basic arguments (rest assured, this kind of content is as much as [perhaps more than] most internet atheists will be able to grasp on these issues,) but if you're a really educated seeker, really looking for answers to life's tough questions, or a theology student who wants to know the truth, or even just a philosophically-minded person who's not entirely on board with Christianity yet, put this book down.  In fact, even if you -are- entirely on board with Christianity, there's a chance this book might damage your faith.

Now, as I said, this book is a good book.  Rest assured, I got just as many really good quotes from it as I did bad ones.  That said, there -were- bad ones, and they came in two varieties.  The first variety was weak and illogical arguments in favor of true positions.  The second was defending very questionable, or even clearly-false positions.

At this point, I feel the need to remind you that I am not an atheist.  I'm an orthodox Roman Catholic, so when I say a position is questionable, I mean either that it has been denounced by the church, or else not affirmed by them in any way (not respected in doctrine, discipline, practice, creed or prayers.)  However, my objections to some of Lewis' conclusions will not exist in a vacuum.  I will back up my position with evidence, and a noteworthy, talented apologist like C.S. Lewis deserves, I feel, no less.

First, however, let me cover the weak defenses of true positions.  Fortunately, I only spotted two of these.

Firstly, in chapter 6, paragraph 12, he responds to the well-known Euthyphro dilemma.  The dilemma is "does God command things because they're right, or are they right because he commands them?  If he commands them because they're right, then that 'rightness' must have a source other than God.  If they're right because he commands them, then 'right' and 'wrong' are arbitrarily dependant on the will of God."

Lewis' response to this dilemma is correct.  He says that God commands things -because- they're right.  What he does not do is explain how this can happen without "rightness" originating outside of God; namely, that it is God's nature, not his will, where right and wrong originate, and his will obeys his nature in commanding right things.

Chapter 6, paragraph 18; Lewis wants to prove that pain can be good for people, and cites the claim that old people generally, in his experience, grow better with age, not worse.  However, age is not pain, and it brings many things with it other than pain.  Sometimes, for example, it brings wisdom, which is much more likely than pain alone to improve a person's character.  I think his claim that pain can be good for people is spot-on, but this argument is horribly wanting.

More importantly, however, he makes a number of claims which I think are simply wrong, and which certainly aren't required for Catholics (or indeed, Christians of any sort) to believe.  He keeps going back to these too, so I'll describe these faulty teachings first, then point out where I saw them surfacing.

1.  Competition is a form of evil.

This may not be intentional, but in Ch2Par14, he says that "hostility and competition" are a "grave evil."  Gee.  Should I have confessed my last game of chess to a priest?

I'm sorry.  I don't mean to be snide about this, but only one kind of competition is evil; the hostile kind.  If C.S. Lewis believes this (and I have no reason to think he does not,) the word "hostility" need not have been followed by anything.

2. The self-depreciation of the saints is "scientifically" accurate.

Ch4Par15.  No, it's not.  Science is about measurements, and how rotten you are is not measurable by any method of which we are aware.

3. God -causes- evil and suffering efficiently.

He doesn't use these precise words, but he does seem to imply that God is the cause of evil in Ch6Par8.  He also, in the same place, implies that the human will is evil, but that's a separate problem.

4. The human will is evil, just by being a will.

I really don't know why he would say this, since he elsewhere rejects Total Depravity (which I also reject.)  However, he seems to repeatedly confuse -evil- will with any kind of human will considered as a whole.  In Ch6Par3, he rails at the very idea of desiring anything for the self, and advocates ruthlessly shattering such desires by force.  However, the problem is that a person who -really- desired nothing for the self would also have no reason to associate with other human beings, since they wouldn't desire to be noble or virtuous, which is absurd.  Of course these desires are valid.  So are many other desires, provided they're kept in the proper order.

In Ch7Par3, he again demonstrates a fundamental confusion between the will, considered absolutely, and the will to do diabolical things.

This Error seems to feed into another one; his incorrect understanding of Heaven, which I will deal with in a moment.

5. Free will and its associated dangers are needed in order for people to live.

Ch2Par15.  I agree that free will is needed in order for people to live, but its dangers are not required, or else, it would be impossible for Heaven to exist, since people clearly live there, yet, without danger.

6. Even if there were pains in Heaven, those in the know would desire them.

Ch8Par9.  I don't think he quite understands the purpose of Heaven in saying this.  The purpose of Heaven is to be in the closest possible proximity to God.  To be in the closest possible proximity to God is to have all good things, and no evil things.  However, pain is an evil thing, in and of itself (which I think may be another point of confusion for him.)  Therefore, merely having pain proves that one is not in the closest possible proximity to God, and therefore, not in Heaven.

Believe me, after all we humans have suffered (self-inflicted or no,) a partial victory on an -eternal- scale would never be sufficient, and God knows this.  That's why Purgatory doesn't last forever.

7. In Heaven, there is no beer.

More or less.  He claims that no one can possess anything in Heaven.  Then what, may I ask, is the point of giving up the things that we clearly -do- possess?  This is a poor substitute, if true, and I'm fully convinced that it's false on that basis alone.

Still, I want to fully examine the points he makes on the subject.

Ch10Par5; he seems to recognize that this claim imperils the parable of the pearl of great price (the first objection I would have brought up,) but doesn't really deal with the issue, except to assert that what he's speaking of is "not an experience."

This requires an analysis of what the word "experience" means.  An experience, in a broad sense, is anything which is perceptible, but is still a particular instance, and is therefore not obtainable, since it ceases to occur once the experience is past.  However, a "particular instance" could, in theory, be stretched out into eternity, and therefore remain an experience, while still being imperishable.  However, it would not be obtainable.  This seems to be the common thread.  Experiences are not obtainable things, and obtainable things are more than mere experiences.

Now, rewards come in two types; either obtainable rewards, such as money or candy, or else experiences, such as a vacation, or a trip to the fair.  By merely saying that something is "not an experience," we imply that it is more than a mere perceptible, or even participative occurrance, whether or not it is experienced.  We therefore imply that it is something which can be possessed.  In other words, this paragraph contains a self-contradiction which disproves his claim.

Ch10Pars7, 9 and 10.  Lewis quotes the theologia germanica, which is not doctrine, and heavily inspired Martin Luther, to try to support his claim that not only is there no ownership in Heaven, but no human will either.  This, I think, ties into error #4.  The theologia germanica contained several questionable claims, and this; the denial of the will of the saints, was one of the big ones.  It said outright that the saints in Heaven have no will except for the will of God, but I reject this claim for one simple reason.

If this were true, asking the saints to intercede for us at the throne of God would be a wasted effort, since they would have no will to respond with.  Now, you could say that the will of the saints does not -conflict- with the will of God, but that's not the claim that C.S. Lewis makes.  He seems to have something of a mad-on for human wills and human selves, since he apparently wants both to be annihilated (the will being the highest function of the soul.)  He even claims that human beings can only fulfill themselves completely by repeatedly giving up everything they are.  I assume I don't need to point out that this is a self-contradiction, and therefore, necessarily false.

But the real question is why?  Why hold onto this notion of the self and the will being evil in and of themselves?  Why claim that anything which God made is evil?  Why not claim, with the Church, Saint Thomas Aquinas, myself, and others, that everything which God made is essentially good, but tainted by sin?  Well, it seems to me that Lewis' reason is somewhat evident...

Ch10Par1: "Heaven offers nothing that a mercenary soul can desire."

C.S. Lewis, it seems, either does not believe, or does not want people in Heaven who are only -imperfectly- penitent for their sins.

Let me explain what this means.  In Catholic doctrine, we define two types of penitence.  -Perfect- penitence, in which you're sorry for your sins because you know you've offended God, and don't wish to, and -imperfect- penitence, in which you're sorry for your sins because you're afraid of being punished (like, with the loss of goods or rewards.)

It seems that Mr. Lewis wants to make the point that the Christian God is not morally-inferior to anyone, because he rejects those who do his will out of ulterior motives, but this is problematic for four main reasons.
1. It's contrary to Church teaching, and therefore false.
2. It's contrary to the words of the apostle Paul, who said, in his letter to the Romans, that God will give to each person according to what he has -done.-  Not according to his motives for doing it.
3. It does not, in fact, make God seem morally-superior, but rather, morally-inferior for not showing mercy on those who tried to please him, without really understanding the best reasons why they should.
4. I can only imagine how many modern men may have read these words and said to themselves "forget this.  If this is the best deal I can get out of Christianity, I'm better off being an atheist."  A mere two years ago, I'd have said the same.

The fact is that no matter how much certain Christians may want to thumb their noses at regular Joe Christian for following God, not out of selflessness, but because he wants a happy ending, you're much, much, -much,- better off not doing so.  Jesus didn't say that people needed perfect contrition in order to enter Heaven.  He said people needed faith and humility, and that they needed to be baptised, eat his body, drink his blood, take up their cross... You know...  Catholic stuff.

Just living this way involves a massive degree of sacrifice, to the point where there are days that only the promise of that happy ending gets us through.  This is the kind of understanding of the relationship between this life and the next that Jesus preached.  He didn't claim that God would force people out for not having a perfect motive, or that dangers and life were one and the same, or that God would lobotomize the saints of their human will.  Our Lord wasn't nearly so grim as all that.

He said that any man who has given up lands/cattle/wife/mother/father/etc... for his sake would receive (implying ownership) much more in the age to come.

When you think about it, that's a darn good deal, and I wonder why so many otherwise-holy people want to spoil that.

Again, this review may have come across as just a load of griping.  I'm sorry if it seemed that way.  It's only because these are complex issues, and they take a while to explain.  As I said at the beginning, this book is more than half right.  Its missteps are few and far between, but they do exist.  Just keep your eyes open and proceed with caution, and you'll do just fine.  You might even learn a thing or two about the problem of evil and how to approach it.  Just don't take all of it at face value.

Miracles

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

In some works, C. S. Lewis comes across as a popularizer, while in others, one could swear he was a professional philosopher.  "Miracles" is Lewis at his most deeply-philosophical, and perhaps his most theologically-correct book as well, although that's a tough judgment to make.

The main point of this book is to explain how and why miracles are possible, and why, in fact, they're not just possible, but -must have- occurred in the past, and will occur again in the future.  There's nothing encyclopedic about this approach.  Miracles aren't classified or divided into categories.  Rather, the point is to explain why a resistence to faith in miracles is unjustified.

In this spirit, the first several chapters directly address one of the biggest obstacles to belief in miracles; naturalism; the belief that the universe is all there is.  Lewis does a good job addressing the subject, making several proofs which indicate clearly that naturalism cannot be correct.  He then moves on to misunderstandings of what the term "miracle" means, refutes the arguments of some anti-religious philosophers, then gets rather deeply into the subject of miracles as seen in history, in the context of the Christian faith, and finally ends by addressing the anticipated miracle of the universal resurrection of the dead, and the importance of continuing to believe in this miracle.

I liked it.  Lewis' arguments stand the test of time, and his refutations are as valid today as they were when he was writing them.  Naturalism still hasn't found any way to get around these key points.  In fact, if anything, the case against naturalism has grown even stronger since Lewis wrote this.

For example, one of the philosophers who Lewis addresses most centrally was David Hume, who said that because nature is absolutely uniform, nothing is more unlikely than a miracle, and that therefore, if a reasonable man is asked to guage whether a miracle is a probable explanation for something, he'll always need to answer "no."  Therefore, even if a miracle -did occur,- no reasonable man could justify admitting or recognizing it.

Lewis responded by pointing out that Hume has actually made two claims.
1. That nature is absolutely uniform.
2. That miracles don't occur.
He then used the first to try to justify the second.  The problem with doing this, Lewis said, is that both of these claims mean exactly the same thing, and this is therefore essentially question-begging in favor of miracles not occurring.

Furthermore, Hume doesn't prove that miracles don't occur, even using this trick.

Now, I use this as an example because since Hume's day, probability theory has progressed quite a bit, and there are even stronger arguments against his position now, based on that.  To illustrate this, Hume's judgment was based on the following understanding of probability...

-Each event has an intrinsic probability, which must be taken into account when guaging whether or not we should believe it occurred or might occur.-

While still true, this understanding of probability is not -sufficient- by itself.  There are many other rules to follow in modern probability theory, including...

-In addition to the intrinsic probability of events, one also needs to take into consideration how probable it is that the proposed event might -not- have occurred.-
-Furthermore, one needs to consider how probable it is that, if the proposed event -had not- occurred, we would have the same evidence that we do have.-

The question of what provides the best explanation in terms of its total scope, whether it's a sufficient explanation in degree, whether the explanation covers all the facts...  All of these things need to be considered when guaging the probability of an event, and yet Hume considers none of them; trying to reduce the measuring stick of miracles to only their -intrinsic- probability, and worse yet, and intrinsic probability based on nothing more than his own assertions.

Hume's work seems, therefore, to be utterly obsolete.

Fortunately, though, Lewis' work continues to stand the test of time, though as I said, the arguments in favor of Christianity have progressed since then, and even in the last twenty years.  It's precisely this kind of book, which shows where we came from and where we've headed, which I most enjoy; sound arguments phrased in an accessible language, while still being complex and logical enough to hold the attention of the most distractable of faithful Christians.

Mere Christianity

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4 of 5

Enjoyability: 4 of 5

I had to get to this book eventually.  In apologetics circles, it's considered a classic.  Strong-worded enough to be assertive, and yet still vague enough that it can be used by both Catholics and protestants alike to defend their faith.

I have to say straight-out that I consider most of this book to be a masterpiece, even though I generally balk at anything even the slightest bit vague.  I had a few issues with the book from time to time, but none of them is anything major, and I can deal with them quickly in just a few paragraphs, while also covering the stuff I particularly liked.

Lewis is as much of, if not more of a popularizer than he is a theologian, so his prose and patterns of speech are nice and casual; usually easy to read, even when dealing with very complex subjects.

He first talks about natural law, the difference between right and wrong, and the reason for that difference.  No disagreements here.  Next, he discusses conceptions of God and our relationship with him.  Still no complaints.  Lewis is frequently amusing throughout these parts, as well as edifying.  Many of his comparisons are obviously intended to be humorous, while still being entirely true and correct.

Next, he gets into the meat of morality, and several key sins, such as sins against the virtues, social morality, sexual morality, offenses against marraige and so forth.  All good and important topics.  The one problem I have here is that he describes sexual immorality as one of the "least bad" sins.  It's not.  In fact, it can be one of the most dangerous mortal sins, not because of its inherent severity, but because of its inherent draw, and the complexity of the issue, which often makes it hard to comprehend why it's wrong.  The problem, of course, is that sexual immorality devalues another person for your own pleasure, and when you start devaluing people for pleasure, it's -very- hard to stop, until eventually, you devalue everyone, and the only person you care about is yourself.  Sexual immorality, in other words, can lead to the mentality that other people exist only to give you pleasure or satisfaction, which is as far removed from Christian charity as you can get.

Next, the book gets into more of the virtues, as well as the vice of pride.  I didn't think Lewis sufficiently pinned down just what exactly the sin of pride -is,- what makes it a sin and when, but I'm always looking for greater specificity in things like this.

Book four of Mere Christianity gave me, I think, the most problems.  Let me see if I can outline them.

1. Lewis seems to think being nice is an inherently good thing.  I can think of many situations where this wouldn't be the case, like a drill instructor, or a parish priest during his homilies.  I'd have defined the difference between "nice" and "good" a bit more closely first.

2. There's something of a division within Christianity on the subject of whether the resurrected saints are completely different people, or whether they're the same people; just resurrected with a better chance to live their lives well.  I'm of the latter school of thought.  Lewis, it seems, is not.  Related to that...

3. Lewis seems to imply that we need to sacrifice everything we've ever known, including our personhood, permanently, in order to make room for God.  This is a misunderstanding.  God is infinite.  If we needed to "make room" for him, we could only do it by ceasing to exist.  He seems to go back on this somewhat in the final chapter, but there's still the sense that the sacrifices of Christian life are permanent, not temporary, and that's not how I read Romans 8:11.  I've always taken that verse to mean that all the things we have to give up in this life; "kill" here on Earth for the sake of doing right, will be restored to the saints in paradise, once the risk of sin is past.

Still, as I said, none of these issues is too major, and none really tells too badly against this book.  Additionally, there's an analogy near the end of the book which, in my view, is potentially better than even the book's author seems to realize.  He describes the Christian faith is a sort of seed of evolution, like lumps on the back of a horse, which will eventually turn into wings, and give it the power to outstrip all the other horses in its ability to leap over barriers.  However, until they become functional wings, you won't notice much difference in its ability to leap barriers.

Now, the reason I say this is an even better analogy than he may have realized is that really, if a horse had incomplete, wing-like lumps on its back, it would, for the moment, be -less- capable of leaping over barriers, since it would be weighed down by those lumps.  We often feel ourselves weighed down by the burden of having to do right; the difficulty of moral values in the face of an enemy who cheats repeatedly, and the realization that we can't achieve victory on these terms.  We may even blame our faith for it.  However, if we stick it out, if we wait a while, those burdensome lumps will become beautiful wings, and will become, not a hindrance, but an advantage.  This, I think, shows some of the potential of this analogy.  It's beautiful.

If you want a basic grounding in Christianity, you could do a lot worse that to pick this book up and leaf through it.  It's got a lot of good answers, which you might just need someday when your kids start asking you big questions about life and the faith.

A Grief Observed

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4 of 5

Enjoyability: 2.5 of 5

In addition to authoring the Chronicles of Narnia, C. S. Lewis also wrote a number of other good books about the various aspects of Christian life, and the major issues faced by Christianity in the modern age; most of which are even more problematic today.  Those books are enlightening, clever and informative.

This book, by contrast, is really more of a story about his own spiritual journey through a time of great difficulty for him; the passing away of his wife.  The book is therefore, not as instructive to serious students of theology, or to people trying to discern what the true Christian teachings about God, faith and the afterlife really are.  It does, however, paint a very vivid picture of what can go through the mind of a suffering Christian.

Chapter 1 is the chapter with all the insulting guesses about God.  When one suffers badly, one often does this.  Even very faithful people sometimes question whether God enjoys watching them suffer, or whether it's possible for God to be evil.  This diminishes through chapters 2 and 3, as Lewis continues to reflect on his loss, and to gradually recover from it.  Chapter 4 is clearly meant to end on a ray of hope.

I say "meant to," because I don't really believe that chapter 4 was written after the grief had passed.  Much of what Lewis suggests about souls, the afterlife and our relationship with God in this chapter is, I think, theologically-questionable.  In fact, I overcame many of these same questions and worries only very recently.

In a way, though, I think the fact that I can sympathise with Lewis on his journey of rediscovering the truths of the faith after a shattering tragedy makes it easier for me to appreciate what went into this book.  I just don't feel the finished product should be quoted as instructions on anything.

I've been in tough times, where I agonized over everything, and some of the stuff I wrote back then, I can barely stand to read anymore.  I think our worst writing comes out of the times when we suffer, and while I'm sure this book is a tremendous comfort to many people in their own times of suffering, I found it kind of tough to get through.

This may or may not be a reflection on the quality of the book, however.  Maybe I'm just not in the right kind of mood to appreciate it.  One thing's for sure; the issues raised in the various chapters of this book correspond very closely to the questions that I myself have worried over in the course of my own life; the issues that have gotten between me and the faith.

I guess that's a good point in favor of this book.  It seems to ask all the right questions.  I just wish it offered better answers to them.

The Chronicles of Narnia (Novels)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

Having read and reviewed each of the Narnia books separately, I decided that it would be a good idea to look at the series as a whole, just to bring up a few things that make the books similar, and in some cases, different from one another.

The Chronicles of Narnia is definitely a series that was originally written for children to enjoy.  Its allegories are sometimes subtle, but rarely unclear, and its vocabulary is quite accessible, even to the very young.  There are minor imperfections in a few of its allegories, and I enjoyed some of the stories more than others, but on the whole, it's not a major problem.  They're very fun books.

As an adult, reading them over again, I find that there are levels of depth to them that I just missed as a young kid; especially in the later stories; like the Last Battle, and the Horse and His Boy.  I also noticed, reading as an adult, that the first few books Lewis published in this series make frequent use of the third person omniscient method of storytelling, while later books drop it in favor of a smoother style of narrative.  It's a welcome change, though oddly enough, it didn't really make the stories any better; just cleaner-sounding.

Another thing that I noticed is that Lewis writes more about factions than people in his Narnia series.  The people are certainly given names and rolls in the story, and every so often, one of them even references past events, just like a real person would, but the story isn't really about who the characters are, so much as it is about what they need to do.  It's not too different from real life in that respect.

I think that these stories will be most enjoyable to adults who enjoy reading into complex allegories, and to children and adults who simply have a strong sense of wonder, and love exploring beautiful, magical worlds of fiction, which don't, at the same time, try to crumple up their values and throw them in the dustbin.  Consideration for the Christian values of the public is a rare thing in modern literature, which, I think, is one of the main reasons why these books were and are still so popular.  Whether because of their Christian courtesy, or because of their entertaining adventures, or both, The Chronicles of Narnia deserve the popularity they've gotten.  Thumbs up.

The Last Battle (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4 of 5

The last book of the Chronicles of Narnia, both published and in chronological order, is the Last Battle; the Narnia series answer to the End of the World, where everything finally comes to a head, and the story is finished at last.  However, although no book in this series is really all that bad, I think that this book may be my second least favorite of the series.

I have three reasons for not liking this book as much as some of the others.  The first is that in this book, there are still creatures in Narnia after the final judgment.  I know they're ment to be symbolic of the fire and destruction of the physical world as we knew it, but this is one of those things that too many people have gotten wrong in the past.  Everything gets judged at once.  There's no evacuation before the end.

The second reason I have for not liking this book as much is that the Last Battle isn't won.  I know, you're going to say "Isn't won?  How much more could they possibly win?"  Yes, the good guys won and the bad guys lost.  That's true, but not during the final battle.  All of that happened later.

This second complaint is more of a storytelling one than a theological one.  We know, after all, that mortal man can't win the fight against evil on his own terms, no matter how hard he tries.  Still, half of the point of pursuing Heaven is so that we can be purified, and be useful in some manner, when we're needed the most.  God doesn't crush evil by himself.  He gives that honor to two very special creatures, one of whom crushes the serpent's head, and the other casts him into perdition for eternity.

Creatures are involved in the final defeat of Satan; intimately involved.  It's not our job to just get out of the way, nor to be content with the battles that we lose.  The Last Battle isn't the one we fight while we're alive.  It's the overwhelming thrashing that the saints give the devil from Heaven.  I only wish that stage of the battle had been depicted; the humans, recently-defeated, joining the fallen armies of their comrades from all the ages for one last fight; a fight they can't possibly lose.  From a storytelling perspective, it would have been pure gold to depict such a thing.  The fact that the book could theologically support this in its allegories, yet deliberately chooses not to is, in my mind, a major point against it.

However, once again, I'm afraid that we must get back to the villains for the third point against the book.  Most of the villains in the Narnia series just weren't all that threatening, and in my opinion, the only one who seemed threatening at any point in this book was Rishda Tarkaan.  There were four major villains in this book; Shift, Ginger, Rishda and Tash, and only Rishda really struck me as a sufficient bad guy.

Shift was a petty, uncreative dictator with transparent motives and a somewhat empty head.  Ginger was cunning, but not intimidating, because she never really established herself as anything more than a trickster working behind the scenes, and Tash only really appeared twice.  Neither time was he around for very long, and the second time, he gets shooed off before he could do anything really terrible.  Honestly, I thought the shed that Shift had kept the fake lion in was more threatening than Tash was.

Still, these shortcomings don't make this a bad book.  Its end-of-the-world theology might be a little imperfectly-described, but its understanding of human nature, and of the final judgment are spot-on, and as petty and unthreatening as he is, Shift is a fine allegory for all those who try to squash different religions together in the name of their own greatness.  All such people; anyone who claims that all religions are the same, except with different words and names, are simply wrong, and are following false faiths; or even trying to create them, because they want people to follow them as the messiah, the way that Shift does.  Ultimately, they don't want to save or help anybody but themselves.  They just want to distract people from the teachings that matter, so the public doesn't realize that their "messiahs" are just two-bit peddlers of their own, self-ruled, Earthly kingdoms, none of which will last beyond the current age.  It's a sobering lesson for the rest of us.

Ginger is the type who thinks she can craftily manipulate people with her brilliant, secret knowledge about God and the supernatural not really existing, so she helps the false religions get their start, and doesn't fully realize how much evil she's done until she does the stupidest thing of all; walking right through the doors of Hell.

Rishda is the trusted military, or town government, or public service authority, who deploys his men against the faithful because he personally agrees with the regime that the other two have set up.  He may even have closer ties to the higher-ups than they do, being only the ones who thought of it, after all.  Shift (Lenin) may do the commanding, and Ginger (Marx) may do the thinking, but without men like Rishda, willing to carry a sword in their name, no one ever really gets hurt.  The commander is ignored as the mindless psychopath he is, and the thinker is dismissed as just another nut with a goofy philosophy.  What really gives these people in authority the power to kill is us.  We do.  We fight in their militaries.  We enforce their phony, anti-religious "laws," and we acknowledge their decisions as acceptable, or at least tolerable in polite company.  Rishda is the point where people fight for those who don't deserve it; where the worst harm is done.

As you can see, I appreciate the allegories found in the villains in this book, and there's a very good reason why Rishda was so much more threatening than the others.  I just wish he'd gotten a bit more time in center stage during the story itself.

I was also very impressed by the types of people who wound up in Aslan's Kingdom at the end.  Some follow Aslan, not even realizing it (Emeth,) while others turn away from him, despite the crowns that they once wore (Susan.)  The reason for this is quite clear.  Even a person who doesn't know God can still do their best to do the right thing, and even a person who knows him very well can still turn away from the faith.  Just ask the Galatians.

In retrospect, the theological confusion I experienced near the beginning of this review probably wasn't that big a deal, but I still feel it's worth mentioning.  I suppose the real reason why this book was my second least favorite in the series is that I found it so unsatisfying emotionally; particularly the ending.  Then again, feelings don't really matter when you get right down to it, and mine certainly don't.

All in all, though, I really liked this book, and if you don't identify happiness with excitement as much as I do, you'll probably like it even more.

The Magician's Nephew (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

The sixth book published in the series; the Magician's Nephew, is in some ways, more concrete and understandable than the others, and in other ways, seems to lose its focus for a brief period.  On the whole, however, I consider it one of the better books in the series.

The story takes place years before any of the others, in the childhood of the man who later became the aged Professor Digory Kirke.  If that doesn't remove all the tension from the story...  Well, actually it doesn't.  We know he'll turn out okay, but this story also involves a girl named Polly, as well as several other people we've never met before, and won't see again in the Narnia books.

For greater than half the book, there isn't much allegory.  Digory and Polly get into some trouble, wind up in another world, and get into more trouble, striking a bell when they're not supposed to.  This could easily be seen as an allegory for original sin, and seems to be something of the sort, but it doesn't really get brought up until later on.

It's at this point that we meet Jadis; the White Witch from the first book, who was the last empress of a world called Charn, and most likely the cruelist as well.  She grabs Digory and Polly, forcing her way into our world, where she loses all of her magic, but remains a very powerful psychopath nonetheless.  Digory and Polly brave her wrath one last time, trying to get her back out of our world and into another.  Unfortunately, that world is the newborn Narnia, and having unleashed her upon it, they soon find that they have an obligation to right the wrong to the best of their abilities.

I've heard some people say that this book is allegory for the Adam and Eve story, but it's situations and characters are almost reversed in many ways.  Polly tries to discourage Digory from sinning, instead of tempting him, and the quest for the fruit is the search for redemption; not the sin.  Digory is faced with the age-old temptation for the fruit in the garden, but when it comes time to make that decision, his choice isn't what you'd expect, if you thought this book was going to be a straight-up allegory, like the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

I suppose I could criticize this book for its confusing and sometimes backwards allegories, the way I did with the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and that is a problem to an extent, but it just didn't bother me all that much, because this book has, I would say, the scariest villain in the series, at quite possibly her most threatening.  For this reason alone, I enjoyed it enormously.  Lewis' writing style is hardly tense, nor are his descriptions terribly exciting, but if a seven-foot woman, riding a London carriage like a charriot and knocking down policemen left and right doesn't spook or excite you at least a little, then you don't remember what being a child was like.

Are the allegories in this story a little confusing for children?  Probably.  Still, it's an exciting story, and there's still nothing in here that should offend a strong Catholic, so long as they recognize who the bad guys are supposed to be from the start (a job that's made very easy by the way they talk about themselves as being "above rules.")  If you recognize the bad guys in real life, you'll recognize them in this book.

I really recommend this story, because, as I said, it's one of the best of a very good series.  It's both Christian and reasonably exciting; a rare and delightful combination.

The Horse and His Boy (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

Like the book published before it, the Horse and His Boy is a less constantly-allegorical narrative, focusing more on the personal journeys of the characters than on establishing fresh allegories throughout the story, and it's the only book of the series where the main characters are not Earth children.  It follows the story of a boy named Shasta, raised, and nearly sold by a fisherman.  Shasta goes on a journey to get away from his former master, and in the process, meets Bree and Hwin; two talking horses, as well as a young girl named Aravis, who's essentially calormene royalty.  This means that she hails from Calormen; the large, well-armed country to the south of Narnia.

Shasta and his friends are shocked and haunted by many dangers on their journey, and frequently wind up overhearing the plans of many powerful people.  In this way, they discover that an invasion of Archenland and Narnia is being planned by Rabbadash; prince of Calormen, and race to try to warn the people of the lands to the north.

As I said, the allegories in this story are not intrusive or constant, and generally recurr when they do show up.  The most obvious one is divine judgment.  The actions of lions tend to act as divine miracles in Narnia, and this is basically how it goes in book 5.  Shasta runs into lions quite a number of times in this book, always causing him fear and making him feel miserable, but in the end, he starts to realize that each time he ran into the lion, it always wound up bringing him good fortune, albeit through unpleasant and terrifying means.

Divine judgment is basically like that.  Lots of people today want to ignore its very existence, because it's not always pleasant or easy to cope with, but it's always intended to be for our benefit, even if we don't always make use of it, or even see how we could have.  Just think of how many people ask "Why would God do this to me?"  This book goes out to them.

Another thing worth mentioning is some of Bree's dialogue near the end.  Bree is perhaps the most entertaining to watch the development of, since he thinks, at first, that Aslan can't be "a real lion."  It's somewhat reminiscent of many modern and ancient heretics, who insisted again and again that Jesus couldn't have been a real man if he was really God.

With regard to the flow of the story, I admit that this book almost threw me.  Through the early parts, the story involves a lot of situations where one or more of the characters overhear a piece of backstory or plot development, to the point where, for a while, you wonder if the story is even really about Shasta at all, or if the wrong main character was chosen.  The fact that the main character has virtually no involvment in the big battle near the end is hardly encouraging, for one thing.  Still, by the end of the book, it's obvious that Shasta really was the main character all along.

As Narnia books go, I'm afraid I found this one to be rather on the slow side, since it involves very little magic, and most of the chapters focus more on the human characters than on the Narnians, and include far more human beings than Narnians anyway.  Still, where writing quality is concerned, this is certainly one of the best-written books in the series, only rarely dipping into third person omniscient narrative, which has been kind of a thorn in the side of this series since the very beginning.

Regardless of the dumbed-down fantasy elements, the relatively small-scale conflict, and the even smaller scale protagonists around which this story is based, I found it very enjoyable and even exciting, so I completely reccomend this book.

However, there's one more thing I feel I should address at the end of the review.  The bad guys in this book; the Calormene, have been accused of being too much like muslims, because they have a vast army, live near a desert, have dark skin and beards, and a lot of oils and spices.  Oh, and their money is called "crescents."  That's one most people forget.  Now, I could defend the artistic use of a bad guy race based off the muslim world in a story like this one, but honestly, I don't really think that the Calormene are that.  In spite of all the similarities with the typical muslim stereotypes, it's hard to take them seriously as real muslims when their religion is so clearly polytheistic, and they accept alcoholic drinks so eagerly.  As I see it, they're just bad guys; not muslims.

The Silver Chair (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4 of 5

At around the halfway point in the Chronicles of Narnia (this being the fourth book published out of seven,) the series started to become, I feel, a bit less frenetic with its allegories.  Instead of trying to pack fresh allegories into every single chapter, like the first three books did, the Silver Chair just kind of has a couple of major, recurring allegories in the story, and as obvious as they are, they don't really get in the way as much; a theme that continues through book 5 (The Horse and His Boy.)

Honestly, I couldn't be happier about it.  Not only is it easier to describe in a review, but Narnia really isn't supposed to be a theology textbook, a carbon copy of the bible, hagiography or a church history text with fauns and lions in it.  It's Christian-friendly fiction, and like all Christian-friendly fiction, it's at its best when it focuses on telling a good story, and just sort of tells it from a Christian point of view.

The major points of allegory in this story are two; the signs of Aslan, and the Lady of the Green Kirdle, who for the sake of brevity, I'll refer to as the Green Witch.

The signs of Aslan are clearly the most obvious allegory in the book, and they come into play fairly early on.  Eustace (one of the children from the last book) teams up with a new girl named Jill, and almost at once, Aslan introduces himself to her, and gives her four signs, which she needs to memorize and follow if she wants to complete the quest he's sending them on.  Aslan seems awfully demanding in this book, and doesn't really promise much of a reward for their efforts at first, although he does wind up giving them one anyway.  It's kind of small time, though, considering all the garbage they went through for him.

But anyway, back to the signs.  Aslan gives Jill the signs, and it's her job to memorize them and follow them to success.  Well, for one reason or another, they end up ignoring or screwing up the signs over and over again during the journey, and it always ends badly for them when they do, which is both a lesson on following the commandments given by God, and a pretty good allegory for the history of Israel, but on closer inspection, there's even more to it than that.

You see, Aslan doesn't just give the signs to everyone, and let each of them figure the signs out for themselves, and this is key.  He only gives them to Jill, and then trusts her to be his messenger, and let everyone else know about them.  In other words, we can't get God's message directly from God.  We need to go through intermediaries.  This message is specifically Catholic (or at least Catholic-like,) because it once again goes back to the whole "law, prophets, priesthood" thing that dominates the bible; where God appoints specific people to bring his truth to the world, and continues to do that, to this very day.  Because of the truths they've been given, these people therefore have moral authority that others lack.  As near as I can tell, only Catholics really still believe this, but I could be wrong.

In contrast, the Green Witch is far more short-lived as a plot point, and has much fewer dimensions to her, but nonetheless remains a very amusing allegory, since she tries to use her magic to make the kids believe there's no sun, sky, or Aslan; that it's all just fantasy stuff they've made up because they were in a silly mood, and they're too old to believe such things anymore.  In short, the Green Witch is the embodiment of Atheism.

Now, Lewis' argument against the Green Witch in this book isn't terribly convincing from a logical/philosophical point of view, but I have to admit, it's the one that won me over when I was younger and less logical, and this is a book written for children, after all.  Even for adults, listening to the dialogue of the Green Witch can be amusing, just because of how transparent and ridiculous her arguments are, and what a striking resemblance they bear to the arguments of modern and recent atheists.  The allegory isn't perfect, largely because her followers regain their senses when she dies, but I still found it a load of fun to read.

Now, at the beginning of this review, I said Narnia is at its best when its allegory is unobtrusive, and it focuses on just telling a good story.  Now, the allegory is unobtrusive, but is it a good story...?

Not so much.  Oh, don't get me wrong; it's far and away a better story than Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  At least this book has a major villain, but she doesn't exactly get many appearances, and there's very little forshadowing until they're almost on top of her.  I'd compare her to Miraz from Prince Caspian in terms of how often we see her, and just how threatening she is (not very.)  Her dialogue is more fun to read than Miraz's dialogue was, but that's about all I can say.  That, plus the fact that unlike Miraz, she never really caused any wars or conquered anything sort of makes her the weakest main villain of the series.  It's really kind of a shame, because I wanted to like her as a villain, but the giants of Harfang left more of an impression on me than she did.

The Silver Chair is unquestionably the darkest and grimmest of the seven books; containing all sorts of bizarre imagery; man-eating giants, pitchfork-waving, brain-dead gnomes, underworld dwellers, destroyed kingdoms, a madman tied to a chair, lava flows, mind-control spells and so forth.  Even the main guest character of the book; Puddleglum, though occasionally funny, can be easily misinterpreted as just depressing and an overall pain in the neck.  I don't reccomend skipping over this book, of course, but there's a lot in it that's just kind of annoying and depressing, without really being all that terrifying or anything, and I'm afraid that C. S. Lewis didn't specialize in intense moods; at least not during his Narnia books.

On the whole, I enjoyed this book, but you have to be a certain kind of person.  It's not perfect, but it's kind of simple fun at times.

A word of warning, however.  There was also a movie version of this book produced by BBC.  The BBC Narnia movies were hit or miss, due to their somewhat limited special effects, and the Silver Chair is by far the worst, because far from bad special effects, it seemed to take all the annoying and depressing things from the book, and make them all look a great deal more annoying, depressing and disgusting.  I personally don't suggest watching the movie version.  There's nothing immoral about it.  I just don't think it's any fun to watch.  By comparison to that, the book is a breath of fresh air.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 5 of 5

Enjoyability: 3 of 5

The third book published in the Chronicles of Narnia series is the Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  As with the movie version, the book version of Voyage of the Dawn Treader runs the bases of Catholic moral teaching fairly well.  Each major encounter at sea seems to be at least an examination of one of the major sins that we all believe in.  A couple of them even go to the trouble of showing us what happens to a society that succumbs to the sin in question.

The slaver trader island with the lazy governor and mindless beaurocrasy is clearly sloth, and its inhabitants were too lazy to stop the slave trade that popped up in it, as well as to do anything about it when they were "conquered."  The battle with the sea serpent; only winnable by not fighting, seems like a message about wrath.  Vanity (a close cousin to Lust) dominates the predicaments found on the isle of the monopods, and deathwater is obviously a place of greed.  However, the others are a bit harder to interpret than this.

People are tempted towards the island where dreams come true, out of envy of what others have, and the island with the banquet, where proper conduct around the food is required seems like it might be a message about gluttony.  The lesson about pride, however, is more widespread, and found on most islands.  It could be the dragon island, but that isle seemed to have as much to do with greed as with pride, if not more so, so the allegories are a bit muddled on this point.

Apart from this surface-allegory, the overall flow of the narrative covers a few other things as well.  Reepicheep's quest is to reach the edge of the world, and not return, because he knows that he'll find happiness there.  This is a bit like our own quests to reach heaven, although I admit that it comes off as a bit selfish when translated into fiction, if only because it's not obvious that Reepicheep will still be able to help them from the other side.  This is one of the things that I would probably change about the story if I could.

On top of this, something happens to Eustace on Dragon Island, which involves a bath, which Aslan must help with, in order to cure him of his evil, which is a clear baptism reference.  This pivotal element was left out of the movie, and it's one of the few pieces of the book that I'll say that about.

Here's the problem that I had with this book.  As I said in my review of the movie, there's no overarching villain to the piece, so the nature of the threats they run into are really more disjointed and unrelated than in previous books of the series, and I just didn't find it as exciting.  It just helps for a piece to have a villain, I feel, which combined with some of the more indistinct allegories, accounts for the low enjoyability score I gave it.

I've heard it said, however, that many people liked this book best out of the whole series.  I admit to having a hard time understanding why.  Without the presence of a strong villain to outline what's good about the heroes, the whole flow of the story really loses something important.  You may notice me mentioning this element in some of the other books as an overall weakness, but I'm sorry.  I just can't get over this.  I really do feel that threatening villains are that important to any story.

Did I hate this story?  No.  Did I enjoy it?  Well, not as much as Prince Caspian, but yes; I did.  A few of the problems that the crew runs into are at least interesting, but in my opinion, it's far from the best of the series, nor does it broadcast the clearest messages.  I do suggest you read it, because you might like it more than I did, but it may be a while before I read it again.  I just don't think there was as much to this story as there should have been.

Prince Caspian (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 3.5 of 5

The second published book in the Chronicles of Narnia series was Prince Caspian; and I have to admit, it didn't make much of an impression on me the first time I read it.  That perspective has since changed, though I still feel that there are many weaknesses in the writing of the story, which should be pointed out.

For one thing, the tale is divided into a number of sections, which differ drastically from one another, meaning that the narrative doesn't exactly flow.  There are, I think, five distinct sections, each very different from the others.  The arrival of the children, the backstory of Caspian, the journey towards Aslan's How, the battle with Miraz, and the victories of Aslan; the last being perhaps the most jarring and bizarre of the five, although there's obviously a reason for that.

The first section of the tale; the arrival of the children, is largely set-up for the story.  Not much is said or done of any consequence, other than a brief exploration of the area they've found themselves in, and a realization of where they are.  They eventually meet a dwarf, who initiates the second section.

Caspian's backstory is fairly interesting.  We find out that King Miraz (who's actually a usurper; not the real king,) and his people; the Telmarines (basically human beings,) have pretty much taken control of the land away from its native peoples, and have been trying to erase even the records of their past existence.  It's only through testimony by his nurse, and a half-dwarf that Caspian even learns about the mythical beasts who once peopled Narnia at all.

This section of the story is perhaps the most disturbing if read by itself.  The reason is that a few protestant communities genuinely believe that the real "church" was suppressed by the Catholic Church, and all records of it destroyed; a belief only supported by individual preachers, who arose in the last century and a half or so.  One might easily conclude, at first, that Miraz is meant to be an allegory for the modern Catholic Church, and therefore, that this book is blatantly anti-Catholic, but I don't consider that likely, and I'll explain why in just a moment.

The third section of the book is basically the kids and the dwarf wandering in the wilderness, in search of Aslan's How, where Caspian awaits.  In my opinion, this section drags on a bit too long, but at least its message is quite clear; when Aslan (God) tells you to go someplace, you do it.

The setup is this; to get where they need to be, the children need to get across a gorge, so they try to explore a bit and see if there's some route around it; some place where they could cross.  Aslan wants them to go one way, and Lucy warns them about this, but none of the others saw him.  They wind up getting themselves lost in the woods for a while, and nearly killed by the enemy, before turning back and going Aslan's way; across the gorge by a series of solid rocks that they hadn't been able to see at first.

Sometimes, the answer to our problems is right in front of us, but the path just seems too difficult or dangerous.  We take account of the wind and the waves, and forget to keep our eyes on the one person who truly matters.  In retrospect, this may have been the high point of the story.

In section four, some of Caspian's men betray him, and try to summon the White Witch, but they're killed before they can complete their spell.  Caspian refuses to be a part of any of their black magic, trusting in Aslan, even though he hasn't shown up yet.  Peter and the other kids do show up, however, and Peter offers to fight Miraz in single combat.

This is the point where the anti-Catholic accusations are handily disarmed.  Peter is clearly an allegory for Saint Peter; the first Pope, and all successive popes by extension, and Miraz, as I've said already, is clearly not a real king (not a real pope,) but a usurper (a heretic.)  In many ways, the battle between Peter and Miraz has more of the tone of Athanasius against Arius or the Iconoclast heresy than the Catholic Church vs protestants, but regardless, the fact remains that if Lewis had meant this to be an allegory for an accusation against the church, he would probably have had someone other than Peter battle Miraz, and definitely wouldn't have kept referring to Miraz as a usurper of the throne.  Miraz is a heretic who needs to be put into his place.  That's how I read this allegory, which might as well be a history of the early church.

The victories of Aslan are sprinkled throughout and past the fourth section, but are so drastically different from it, that I list them separately anyway.  Of course, the wrapping up of the story is left to Aslan, as always, but there's also a very strange scene, where he trapses through a town with a crowd of magical folks, and starts magically transforming it back into old Narnia.  Desks and walls turn into bushes and trees, very good people join his side, and very evil people metamorph into brute animals or plants.  The entire scene is simultaneously whimsical and gruesome; a rare feat in a book like this, and the reason for this is obvious; God (Aslan) divides people just like this.  To the just, he's a dream come true.  To the wicked, he's their worst nightmare.

The allegories are harder to read in Prince Caspian than they were in the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and I didn't really enjoy the book as much; the main reason being that it wasn't as exciting.  The White Witch was an everpresent and menacing figure (at least at first.)  Miraz is only in a couple of scenes, and even then, makes only a very small impression on the readers.  Somehow, I just don't think that Lewis enjoyed writing villains, though he could do so competently if he needed to.  I just don't feel he did that here.

Regardless, this book is fair material for Catholics to read, though, as I said, not as good as the first.  It's not all that exciting for the most part, but it has some fairly good things to say.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

I've decided to take some time out from nonfiction works, to talk about a few fiction novels, and in the end, I thought I'd start with The Chronicles of Narnia, going one at a time through them, then providing an overview once I've finished them all.  I'll be proceeding through them, not in chronological order, but in the order they were originally published in, starting with one of the strongest of the series; The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

This is a fantasy book, about a land called Narnia, where all sorts of imaginary creatures live; mythological creatures, magical beasts, talking animals and so forth.  Four children enter it through a magical door in a wardrobe, and are soon drawn into a sort of power play between the supernatural lion Aslan, and the White Witch Jadis, who's been claiming the right to rule Narnia for many years; turning dissenters to stone.  By the numbers, it's clear that Aslan is more powerful, but the Witch is clever, and knows many tricks.  It's the type of story we've heard a number of times before.

In the past, I've said that Narnia is mainly more protestant than Catholic, but I may need to re-evaluate that, because the symbolism in this book is positively sacramental in nature at many points.  When mice nibble ropes off of Aslan as he lies on a stone table, there's a eucharistic image to be seen there, of eating the body of Christ on an altar (since Aslan is clearly Jesus in lion form.)  On top of this, the sacrament of confession is nearly mentioned.  After being rescued, Edmund spends time talking to Aslan in private, and afterwards, everyone is told that there's no need to "talk about what is past."  A discussion with the savior in a private place, and the forgiveness of sins?  What else could it be, but reconciliation?

I also think it's interesting that the oldest boy, and the one who's clearly the group's leader, is named Peter.  This aspect of the bible; the primacy of Saint Peter among the apostles, is only rarely admitted outside of the Catholic Church, and their king and queenship would seem to be an allegory for both heaven, and the church.

Apart from this, the book's storyline seems to be a clear allegory of the passion and death of Our Lord, with Aslan as Jesus, and the White Witch standing in for Satan.  Lucy and Susan are the holy women.  Still, some of the roles aren't as easy to fit in as all that.  Edmund seems to have aspects of both Saint Peter (betraying and being forgiven) and Judas (selling people out for a promised reward.)  However, neither comparison is really precise, which may be for the best.  It gives the story a flavor of originality, which it might not have had otherwise.

In particular, this book's main premise; of a "Deep Magic," which even Aslan must never break is perhaps the clearest allegory of all; representing something that most modern people want to ignore; Natural Law.  Too many people want to just wander off and do their own thing, and forget that even if the law allows them to do certain things, the natural law, and the final judge are still there, and they can still run afowl of them.  Even God's will for our salvation only has so much leeway when it comes to transgressions of the natural law, and that's one thing that Lewis gets absolutely right.

However, there's also one point near the very end, where I sort of winced as well.  It's a few pages into the last chapter, when everyone is seated on thrones.  Aslan uses the words "Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen."

Not only does this prove to be false later in the series, but the phrase itself sounds dangerously like "once saved, always saved," a ridiculous belief held by many protestant denominations, but not by the Catholic Church.  Still, it would have been worse if it had got beyond just being a simple phrase.

As a book of fiction, it's entertaining, but more if you know your myths.  It's good for children, and unlike most books in the series, has a strong, frightening villain, with a major role in the plot, which only makes the rest of the story that much more exciting.  It has some weak points with respect to pure storytelling style, but not much more so than most children's books.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe may be the best fictional storybook out there for Christian children.  It's fun, exciting and packed with the sentiments of the faith.  I highly reccomend it.