Timothy Stoner

Harry, we’re not in Narnia anymore!

Posted on 22. Jul, 2009 by Tim Stoner in Culture, Essays

There is magic in Narnia and Middle Earth and there is magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. C.S. Lewis, who brought us the land of Narnia, and Tolkien helped to popularize fantasy literature among Christians. In the Chronicles and in the Trilogy we are introduced to a finely-crafted, captivating world rife with witches and wizards, spells and magic. The same can be said for the realm created by J.K. Rowling. All three depict the struggle between good and evil, with “good” ultimately triumphing. So, the question rises–we have accepted Narnia and Middle Earth, why would we not accept Harry’s world? Fantasy is fantasy, particularly if it’s well written, right? The answer to these serious questions leads us back to Egypt.

The distinction between Narnia and Middle Earth, on the one hand, and Hogwarts, on the other is illustrated by the difference between Aaron’s “magic” staff and those used by Pharaoh’s magicians. Both were made of wood. Both were thrown down on the ground and became snakes. The difference is the nature of the “magical” power operating upon and transforming the material. The point of the 10 plagues is that there is power and then there is Power. One is inferior and malevolent and the other is Supreme and Beneficent. The writer of the book of Exodus is careful to underscore a crucial point that many choose to ignore: in that preliminary encounter in Pharaoh’s courts, the demonic is able to mimic the divine (to an extent). It would be an error of the gravest sort to conclude that because these staffs share surface similarities the power displayed is likewise the same. It is my contention that this is precisely the error that J. K. Rowling makes in her Potter series. She draws no distinction between the “magic” behind Harry Potter–“Aaron”, and Voldemort–“Pharaoh’s magicians”. In her world view, there is an amalgamation: a confusion and a commingling of the power of Yahweh, we could say, with that of Ra and Osiris, the Egyptian gods. And this is no small matter.

What the Hebrew and pagan cultures have in common is the recognition of real personalities lurking behind super nature–“magic”. These ancient cosmologies rightly understood that the “middle” tier of reality: that which exists “between” the realms of God and man, teemed with spirits. And this realm interacted with the material realm regularly. Hence, at least for the pagan, the fearful and obsessive need for scrupulous attention to spells, incantations, potions, sacrifice, and charms, lest these cruel and capricious beings take offense and wreak mischief or havoc. Pharaoh’s magicians represent the power of the demonic while Moses and Aaron signify that of divinity. So, in the clash described in Exodus we are not witnessing impassive, impersonal forces going at it, but personal beings with real spiritual power.

Those whose write fantasy that reflects a Christian mind begin with this premise: there are two opposing personal powers; not equal, mind you, but both above or beyond or behind nature.  One is personified by Satan, a being saturated with evil and the other is Yahweh, who is holy and good. And writ large across the pages of the Bible is the reality of war: two implacable and powerful enemies in pitched mortal combat. This is the primary subplot which serves as the foreboding counter-point to the Divine Romance. It is the essential context of the Great Epic.

At the very outset this cosmic warfare is foreshadowed in the prophecy spoken over the snake. The serpent is told that there will be perpetual enmity between its offspring and that of Eve’s. It will build inexorably to a bloody confrontation in which her Seed (singular) would crush its head, while it would bare its fangs and deliver a deadly bite. The biblical worldview is clear: throughout history, two personal beings and their progeny are to be locked in battle: the serpent’s intention is cosmic death while the Seed of the Woman’s is abundant life forever.

What follows in the narrative is both a continuation and an escalation of conflict. God gives the land of Canaan to His redeemed people. It is a geographical area which God loves but which has been irreparably polluted by its inhabitants. The nation of Israel is commissioned to embark on a holy war to cleanse and repopulate it. She is to ruthlessly destroy completely all the places where these nations have served their gods, leaving no trace behind (Deut. 12:1-3). In obedience to this command the armies of Israel crush their enemies and “enforce the ban on everything in the town:  men and women, young and old, even the oxen and the sheep and donkey, massacring them all” (Josh. 7:21).

Our issues with this behavior are obvious: what could possibly justify such horrific, wholesale violence? God gives the explanation. Those who dwelt in the land of Canaan have engaged in such detestable practices that they have become detestable themselves (Deut. 18:9-12). Jehovah enumerates seven activities that He regards as detestable and which render its participants detestable: he who offers his offspring to Moloch, he who practices divination, who is a soothsayer, augur or sorcerer, who uses charms, consults ghosts or spirits, or calls up the dead (Deut. 18:9-12). It is because these activities and their corresponding ritual objects were so loathsome that God orders Israel to put to the fire every person and item associated with these practices. If Israel disobeyed and, instead, brought them into their homes, Yahweh warns them emphatically that they, along with the object, would “come under the ban too” (Deut. 7:25-26).

Admittedly, the above could be perceived (as it occasionally has) to be divine sanction for oppressive religious censorship, indiscriminate book burning–“banning”, ruthless disregard for property rights and inquisitorial cruelty toward religious or political enemies. It needs to be emphasized that we Americans are not now living in a theocracy, nor have we ever been. Israel’s civil/religious code was not intended to be a literal policy manual for believers of all ages in every culture. These passages should therefore not be wrenched out of their place in the historical narrative and used to pound on the heads of unsuspecting readers of fantasy books. However, that said, neither are they to be dismissed with the smugness bred of what Lewis termed “chronological snobbery”: new is superior and so everything old can be ignored. As he dryly observed, truth is still truth and error is still error no matter what the date on the calendar may be.

So, those old Deuteronomic passages must be given their due. There are trans-cultural principles that leap over the millennia and can provide us with direction every bit as helpful as that which Moses and Joshua received. In the Torah, God’s ethical blueprint for His chosen people, God wants them to know is Who He is. He is a Being of such extreme passion that He literally burns: “I am a consuming fire,” He proclaims. And what fuels His fire is love. This love, on the natural level, is compared to that of the best, most dedicated husband. And this love is specific, unrelenting and exclusive but–unlike His natural counterpart–it is perfect and without limits. Therefore, not surprisingly, He describes Himself as a Jealous God whose anger blazes out against everything that stands in the way of love, or threatens His beloved.

Our passionate bride-groom wants an equally passionate bride. He wants a Consort worthy of Him. But there are rivals to the affections of His princess bride and so He warns her in no uncertain terms: “you must not fall into the habit of imitating the detestable practices of the natives” (Deut. 18:9). Among these habits are the seven we have listed above. It is these activities which will make His beloved detestable—these she must avoid at all costs. Ignoring Him at this point places her at grave peril. He commands them not to seek guidance or pursue power from pagan or occult sources, He will be their Power and He will provide direction. Whereas the nations they are to dispossess pay close attention to those gifted in the sorcerer’s arts, not so God’s Nation. She must remain faithful to Him for He will give her a much better gift than that of divination: “Yahweh your God will raise up for you a prophet like myself . . . to Him you must listen” (Deut. 18:13-15). We know reading forward in the Epic that this was fulfilled in Jesus. He became God’s Prophet Supreme, empowered fully by God’s Spirit to foretell and forth tell and work miracles more mighty and wonderful than did even Moses.

Thus, not only are there two powers (more accurately–“beings”) in opposition, they are also competitors. Fundamentally, what provokes Yahweh’s wrath is that His enemy is vying for the devotion of His bride. It is this more than anything else which causes His anger to blaze out with consuming fury; and it is this He will not allow. Hence, the ruthless treatment of the Canaanites; the total destruction of all people, animals and objects infected by Baal worship. In the context of a battle against an enemy who aims to take His precious bride as spoil but also steal her affection, her trust and devotion, there is to be no peaceful coexistence, no mercy, no quarter given. Thus, these seven idol-worshipping nations with their magnetically seductive, sensually compelling occult practices are to be razed from the earth. What Satan aims at is to supplant Yahweh in the heart of His bride. This is what the name Baal means after all: “master, lord, husband”. Canaan’s supreme deity wants the utter devotion of its devotees.

Lest the analogy mislead, God’s fury is not selfish, like an earthly husband’s might be. His jealousy is born of perfect justice: He who is Supreme in His perfections deserves to be loved supremely. That is the definition of righteousness: loving the right perfectly. But it is also for His Bride’s benefit as well. He will protect the apple of his eye from His enemy’s malicious end-game. From the point of view of our passionate Lord there is nothing funny or innocent about this being who lures with power and tempts with techniques to supposedly “control” power. He knows what His bride does not, she is the only one who will wind up being controlled. She will become food for demons, an empty shell, hollowed out only to be discarded and consumed.

If we take the Torah seriously, we must conclude, at least, that participating in divination and the other assorted occult practices is detestable to God and makes its participants repugnant to Him as well. We can go further and conclude that God perceives this involvement as evidence of bridal unfaithfulness and, worse, a repudiation of Jesus as her exclusive and supreme Prophet whose supernatural guidance alone she is to seek and obey. The fury with which God responds to those who dabble in these arts is the outflow of a burning love which erupts against anything that threatens and sullies His beautiful bride. In His eyes sorcery is spiritual adultery.

Now we can return to our three fantasy authors. A pervasive theme in all their books is a conflict of power. In the Magician’s Nephew, we are given a peek into Narnia’s prehistory and discover that the curse under which it languishes: “always winter, never Christmas” sprang out of careless dabbling in the occult. The Magician, an elderly and cruel Londoner playing with demonic power (not magic) unwittingly opens the doors to the power of the White Witch. In the Voyage of the Dawn Treader Eustace runs away from his family and finds himself in a dragons’ lair. Grasping the glittering treasure he is himself instantly transformed into a dragon. Deliverance comes only when Aslan, who alone has access to the “deep magic”, intervenes and “undragons” the foolish boy. Supernatural power (magic), Lewis repeatedly reminds us, is the domain of Aslan not humans for, when touched by human hands, it is ultimately and inevitably destructive.

Tolkien also sketches out his mythological world with these lines clearly in mind. The Ring Trilogy centers on an unbearably beautiful, golden ring which finds its way into the hands of an incautious Hobbit named Bilbo and his nephew, Frodo. Having come from an utterly evil source, it is dangerous and perilously seductive. Like Narnia, there is no confusion: there is a power which is demonic and it is to be feared not tamed. The corrupting effect of this power is brilliantly depicted in the pathetic, schizophrenic Gollum whose personality is shattered by the ring’s evil energy. What Frodo must learn is that its power cannot be controlled by hobbit (or man, for that matter) for it is crafted by an evil Lord to master those snared by its wicked allure.

Rawlings does what Lewis and Tolkien refuse to do. In her cosmology there is an unholy matrimony of the demonic and the divine and their offspring is an impersonal energy force. All the protagonists (good and bad) are equally intent on discovering and mastering its marvelous properties. Harry learns incantations which are in the same magical lexicon as that used by Voldmort his mortal enemy, a Satan-figure. This magic is alternately hilarious, capricious, absurd and certainly dangerous, but never inherently evil. It is a force its practitioners can manipulate for positive or negative ends. Had Harry put on Frodo’s ring he would have used it for “good”: the very lie which tantalizes Frodo and which, at the end, almost drives him mad.

What precipitates the struggle in Narnia and Middle Earth is the direct result of the very activities that Harry is studying and which Rawlings portrays as (at least potentially) good. For Lewis and Tolkien occult power is never harmless, and certainly never funny, it is ever and always a force for chaos, disruption, bondage, violence and is the pernicious key which ultimately cracks open the door to disaster. Hogwarts is in a universe far removed from Narnia or Middle Earth where the lines between evil and good are never blurred. The creators of these older worlds paint with no vague and ambiguous brush. They never leave us confused about the evilness of evil and the goodness of the good, nor what constitutes either. Nor is that which is wicked, loathsome and perverse a foil for the farcical.

Whereas Lewis and Tolkien make clear that dabbling with these powers is playing with fire, at Hogwarts it is all brilliant fun. None of the humans in Narnia are encouraged to use magic. Aslan has access to “deep magic” but it is power inaccessible to the White Witch, whereas Gandalf could easily be viewed as symbolic of the Holy Spirit with powers that are, therefore, from God not Satan.

These two authors do not forget that God views witchcraft (power which comes from a source other than God) as inherently detestable. I think it important to at least consider that had Harry’s school been located in Canaan, the entire curriculum: divination, soothsaying, sorcery, use of occult charms, consulting ghosts or spirits, and calling up the dead would have fallen under the divine ban. What the hero studies with such dedication are prohibited activities which God tells His people not even to “inquire” about (Ex. 12:30) and which Tolkien implies are so destructive they should not even be touched.

According to Tolkien, the compelling impulse behind fantasy is “the realization of wonder”. Its “holy” purpose is to awaken us to an imagined world which is so wonder-full we become more open to reverential awe of its Source. Whereas mystery humbles us, fantasy awes us. But both point away to the One Who is Above and Beyond and is to be worshipped. While Lewis and Tolkien succeed, Rawlings does not even make the effort. Nowhere in Rawlings’s writings are we prompted to humbly bow and worship. What is lacking in her world is the holy. There is only impersonal power used for good or ill by those who intend good or ill.

Tolkien admonishes us that we, image-bearers and thus “sub-creators”, are fallen and all too easily tempted to use our creative gifts toward idolatry and the creation of a reality that is antithetical to that of our Creator’s. This is what I would argue is ultimately askew at Hogwarts. It is a world in which God does not exist. He is absent. And what has taken His place in the cosmos is impersonal energy which can be manipulated by the clever and the committed. Aslan (the Good, the Holy, and the Mighty) never appears. There is not the slightest intimation of His presence anywhere.

While I do not think that the Potter series is fair game for a categorical Hebraic “ban” (that I believe best left to the parent’s discretion and conscience), it requires, at minimum, an honest and sober discussion about what a biblical world view entails and what distinctions it requires. It also provides a wonderful entre to seriously address the malevolent reality behind the magic Harry and his friends are being schooled in. In a culture that denigrates the relevance of spiritual warfare that may be sufficient justification for the series. Beyond that, it offers fertile ground for conversations about what pleases God and what doesn’t. And if we take Moses’ lead and that of the Prophet who came after him, it also allows us to face the unsettling reality that engaging in occult activities is hardly the only conduct which pollutes its participants and which God declares to be detestable.

But, if there is any imperative at all it is that of placing a permanent ban on the facile and superficial use of Narnia and Middle Earth as literary shoe-horns for Hogwarts School of Occult Sciences. Even Tumnus knows better. Were he to be sitting next to Harry during Potions, Divination & Spells-101, he would no doubt shyly lean over and whisper in a quavering voice: “Harry, we’re not in Narnia, any more. Are we?” 

Tags: fantasy, Harry Potter, magic, Middle Earth, Narnia