As I continue to reflect on Paul’s plea to not be conformed to this world/age (Romans 12:2), it reminds me of a scene from The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis. Given a quest by Aslan to find the lost Prince Rillian and having succeeded in that quest, the two children (Eustace and Jill) along with their Marsh-wiggle companion (Puddleglum - my favorite) find that the Queen of Underland will not let her prisoner go so easily. She begins to seduce their senses through a charm, seeking to convince them that Narnia is not real but only make-believe. To all their protestations, she has a smooth answer, twisting their own arguments against them. It appears as if all is lost and they will fall forever captive to her spell.
That is, until Puddleglum, desperately gathering all his strength, walked over to the fire (the source of the queen’s enchantment). Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn’t hurt him quite as much as it would hurt a human; for his feet (which were bare) were webbed and hard and cold-blooded like a duck’s. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough, and so it did. With his bare foot he stamped on the fire, grinding a large part into ashes on the flat hearth.
His action breaks the spell because the smell of burnt Marsh-wiggle is not at all an enchanting smell. It clears everyone’s head. The witch, for that is what the queen is, is enraged and turns murderous and eventually turns into a giant snake. But before she does (and is ultimately slain by the prince), the pain gives Puddleglum perfect clarity of exactly what he really thought. Because, as Lewis writes, there is nothing like a good shock of pain for dissolving certain kinds of magic. And with that clarity, he speaks:
One word, Ma’am, one word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia.
Three brief thoughts related to Romans 12:2:
- Giving into the pressures to conform to the world leads to slavery. The prince had already been enslaved, only knowing freedom for one hour a day. The queen’s spell intended to trap the children and the Marsh-wiggle in much the same way. The world often presents itself as the way to freedom but it is actually the way to bondage.
- Pain is often the way God awakens us to the dangers of conforming to the world. In another work (The Problem of Pain), Lewis writes, God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world. If we make avoidance of pain and suffering our highest aim, we will often miss hearing from God and unwittingly find ourselves listening to the siren call of the world.
- The best way to resist the conforming pull and pressure of the world is to have and feed a grand vision of the good, true, and beautiful that is the kingdom of God. Ultimately, the queen’s vision couldn’t come close to competing with the wonders of Narnia.
So, saints, be a Marsh-wiggle and live like a Narnian as you seek to resist the allures and temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil.
