A Play-Full Dialogue

The setting is a small French theatre with a rounded wooden roof and red velvet seats. The curtain closes on the premier showing of Sartre’s “No Exit”. As the audience filters out, three men and one woman remain seated on the front row.

Sartre [turning to his colleagues]: What do you think of my show, gentlemen and lady?

Lewis [standing to stretch]: Very interesting, from the characters, to the set, to lack of an intermission. I was looking forward to getting some snacks.

O’Connor [rolls her eyes at Lewis, leans back to speak to Sartre]: I admit I enjoyed how clear and direct you were with the show. I am a firm believer that we must present shocking content to influence the audience.

Sartre: Yes, I wanted the audience to feel what the characters were feeling: isolation from being stuck in one place, the anticipation of what happens next, and finally the resignation of their fate. I’m sure you all noticed the lack of reflective surfaces in the show (19). The lack of a mirror forces the character to look at each other to see themselves, and it makes them extremely uncomfortable. The character Estelle expresses her unease with being unable to see herself when she says, “When I can’t see myself I begin to wonder if I really and truly exist.” (19)

Lewis [nodding in agreement]: When self-worth is determined from other people's perceptions, it leads to a sad culture indeed. People can know they exist because they have rational thought, and the rational thought comes from being created by a rational being. Look at the example of the different species on the planet Malacandra in my work Out of the Silent Planet: they are all hnau, which is my version of consciousness (69). Though they all appear different on the outside, they all are aware of their existence, their relationship to each other, and their relationship to Oyarsa, the being who rules over Malacandra (69, 70). It is because of this shared consciousness that they are able to live together in harmony (116). When there is no outside source for existence, there is no purpose for man.

Nietzsche [clearing his throat, loudly]: I must disagree. The purpose of man is not reliant on any outside source. I summed up the purpose of life quite well in my work The Anti-Christ: What is good is everything that “heightens the sense of power;” “everything that proceeds from weakness” is bad. Happiness comes from feeling your power increase, “that a resistance is overcome” (127). Power is the purpose of man’s existence, and the only way for man to be happy is by gaining power. Therefore, the relation man has to each other is a struggle to determine the strong and the weak.

Sartre [shaking his head]: But that is exactly the problem my characters face. A person cannot expect to do anything he wants and not face any consequences. Their actions have placed them where they are, and they cannot escape the consequences. Even when offered freedom, they do not leave (42). The characters are stuck with the consequences of their actions staring them in the face.

Nietzsche: But by placing them in what you describe as hell, you are suggesting an outside sense of morality, and I simply cannot agree. As I pointed out in my work, “A people perishes if it mistakes its own duty for the concept of duty in general” (134). One person’s virtues are not another person’s. It is not up to you or anyone else to tell me what is good and what is evil.

Lewis: But if there is no outside source of existence, no morality, then what governs man's relationship with each other? A majority of the characters in my work derive the basis of their relationship to each other from the assumption that they were all created by the same being. It is in other people that the image of God is seen, and the relationship with Him that should dictate man's relationship with each other. There’s a man in my work named Weston who believes in using power to control others. I believes his views are similar to yours, Nietzsche. He does not believe morals should govern people's behavior; he says, “Life is greater than any system of morality; her claims are absolute. It is not by tribal taboos and copy-book maxims that she has pursued her relentless march from the amoeba to man and from man to civilization” (135). He believes the greatest good is to continue the humans race (134, 137). He pushes past everything that isn't what he deems worthy to get what he desires.

Nietzsche: Yes, I agree with this man! “We no longer trace the origin of man in the ‘spirit’, in the ‘divinity’, we have placed him back among the animals” (136).

Lewis [smiling knowingly]: And it is that philosophy that makes Weston, who was a renowned physicist on Earth (15), extremely ignorant to everyone on Malacandra (127).

Nietzsche blinks, in shock. Sartre is visibly shaking from controlled laughter.

O’Connor [leaning forward with her hands folded]: In my short story A Good Man is Hard to Find, the characters struggle with the concept of what makes a good man. Is it appearance, is it birth, or is it actions? People who appear to be good based on their birth turn out to be untrustworthy (122). If there is no morality, then my character The Misfit, an infamous criminal, is correct when he says, “No pleasure but meanness” (132). He believes people are going to be punished anyway, whether we “kill a man or take a tire off his car” (131). But once The Misfit goes through with his philosophy and kills an innocent family, he realizes, “It’s no real pleasure in life” (133). Even when he did whatever he wanted to do, The Misfit had no real joy. Power did not lead to happiness for The Misfit, and I would suggest it will not lead to your happiness, Nietzsche.

Journalist pokes her head into the theatre.

Journalist: Monsieur Sartre, sir, a group of us from the newspaper would like to discuss the premier with you.

Sartre: Yes, of course. [turns to his guests] Thank you all so much for coming, I deeply appreciated your discussion. We must get together again sometime.

Sartre leaves. Lewis gives his arm to O’Connor who accepts with a smile.

Lewis [to Nietzsche, who has been silent]: Ms. O’Connor and I, in an attempt to embrace French culture, are going to a quaint coffee shop we saw on the way here. Would you like to join us?

Nietzsche [after a slight, reluctant pause] Yes. But you must promise to buy me one of those beignets I’ve heard so much about.

Lewis and O’Connor laugh goodnaturedly, and Nietzsche smiles. The trio exits the theatre, already beginning a heated discussion on the best way to take coffee.

The Music of Life

   Music. It’s a part of everyone’s life. No matter who you are or where you come from, music has been a part of your life. Everyone has their own taste in music, but everyone agrees that music is a powerful thing. It has structure and harmony unlike almost anything else. Music reaches across social status, race, everything, to touch everyone. In The Silmarillion, Tolkien uses music in the creation of his fantasy world. The concept of music forming things is supported by examples in reality. Tolkien uses music in a way that mirrors what we see in reality. Though Tolkien claimed his work was not allegorical, we can still find echoes of God and Christianity.

    Just as music has its different parts, various instruments playing their own parts, we each have our own part in God’s plan. Tolkien’s God-like figure Illúvatar relates song to the Ainur, the first beings he creates (3). It is pure, and each one of them has a part. Illúvatar desires to listen to the marvelous music. Each one of them had their own part with their own wisdom: “But for a long while they sang only each alone, or but a few together [...] for each comprehended only that part of the mind of Illúvatar from which he came.” Each of the Ainur only understand their own part in the music. When Illúvatar reveals to them a mighty theme, they understood the full beauty of the theme. No part was complete by itself, just like none of us are complete by ourselves. Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthian church, writes, “For the body does not consist of one member, but of many [...] But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose” (1 Corinthians 12:14, 18). God is the master designer and creator of the universe, and I like to think of Him as the master composer as well. In an orchestra or chorus, each person learns his part on his own. When everyone comes together and contributes his part, the entire song is revealed in all of its beauty. On earth, we do not know all of God’s plans. But when we join Him in Heaven, we will truly be able to see the culmination of all His works.

    The music of Illúvatar cannot be overthrown just as God’s plan will always continue. The beautiful music is disturbed when Melkor, one of the Ainur, attempts to drown out Illúvatar’s theme with his own: “Then the discord of Melkor spread ever wider, and the melodies which had been heard before foundered in a sea of turbulent sound” (4-5). Melkor attempts to pervert Illúvatar’s theme, but Illúvatar is the creator of all things. In a “Battle of the Bands” scenario, Melkor and Illúvatar compete their melodies, and Illúvatar’s music absorbs Melkor’s and makes it harmonious with his theme. When Illúvatar releases a final chord, all the music ceases and the Ainur are silent before him. Illúvatar then says that Melkor’s attempt to overshadow Illúvatar’s theme has only shown how powerful Illúvatar is:
   “And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me,
    nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine
    instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined” (6).
Illúvatar’s theme is similar to God’s mighty works. God alone has all wisdom and power. Things of the earth may try to drown out His theme, but in the end, all things come from God, and He can use anything for His glory.

   Music is a large part of the life of the Ainur, just as it is a large part of our lives. The theme of music continues when the Valar go down to Eä and begin creating. Yavanna, one of the Valar, sits upon a hill outside the gates of the city and sings two trees to life (31). The trees, different in appearance, drip light from their leaves, and they are truly a beautiful creation. In the story of Lúthien and Beren, Lúthien sings and spring comes to the forest: “And the song of Lúthien released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and flowers sprang from the cold earth where her feet passed” (194). In The Silmarillion, music has life-giving and rejuvenating properties. Tolkien uses music in creation and rejuvenation in order to show how important it is. Music is also very prevalent in the Bible. David, a man after God’s heart, wrote psalms, many of which were set to music. He wrote psalms of joy and of sadness. James, in his epistle, writes that if we are happy that we should sing (James 5:13). We are commanded to sing in worship to God (Ephesians 5:19). We know from scripture that music will be a large part of Heaven: “And they sing the song of Moses, the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb…” (Revelation 15:3). Music is an important and powerful part of our lives on Earth.

   Music is an important part of The Silmarillion, and Tolkien was very clever in his use of it in creation. Whether or not Tolkien meant to allude to God and creation, we can still see aspects of God in Tolkien’s work, especially in regards to music. There are many aspects of music that point back to God. Music has beauty because it has structure and harmony. The harmony within music points to the harmony among the Godhead. When we hear dissonance in music, we immediately desire resolution. Music is powerful enough to affect everyone, and it must be important to God since He places so much emphasis on it. I am inclined to think that the reason music is so impactful to us is because, as seen in Tolkien’s work, it was part of our creation.

The Wasteland

   While reading T.S. Eliot’s poem The Wasteland, I was unsettled. Even when I listened to it, I felt like something was missing. Then, I realized that is the effect Eliot wanted his work to have on his audience. The reason the poem leaves the reader waiting for a conclusion is because the Wasteland is symbolic for a life lacking purpose and action.

    The Wasteland is a world devoid of the supernatural and, consequently, higher purpose. Within part I of The Wasteland, titled “The Burial of the Dead,” Eliot details a desolate land:
    What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
    Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
    You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
    A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
    And the dead tree gives no shelter, and the cricket no relief,
    And the dry stone no sound of water (I.19-24).
Eliot is describing a land devoid of life and comfort, a world that lacks a spiritual or supernatural aspect. The stony ground implies that the land is not good for growth. The reason for the desolation is the lack of supernatural rebirth that Eliot parallels to a passage in Ezekiel (2:1). The book of Ezekiel details God’s interaction with the prophet of the same name; the prophet foretells the restoration of the temple and the people of Israel. This spiritual rebirth is lacking The Wasteland. In addition to a desolate land, the audience is also apparently viewing the world in an incomplete way. When the world is viewed through broken images, the viewer is unable to understand it. Perhaps a helpful analogy to understand this broken viewpoint is to think of the view seen through a kaleidoscope. Kaleidoscopes sometimes distort images, and distorted, shattered images offer no comfort or understanding to the viewer. Without a spiritual element, the land is devoid of life and purpose.
 
    The Wasteland is a life spent waiting. In the second part of the poem, titled “A Game of Chess,” Eliot paints a chilling scene. Within an elaborately decorated room, a couple waits for their death. Wind howls under the door and distresses the woman who seems like she is already predisposed to madness.
     “What shall I do now? What shall I do?
       I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
      With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
      What shall we ever do?” (II.131-134)
The woman is afraid because she doesn't know what the next step entails. The speaker, possibly her husband, answers her hysterics in a disconnected manner. In his answer, the speaker reveals the routine of the couple:
      The hot water at ten.
      And if it rains, a closed car at four,
      And we shall play a game of chess,
      Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door (II.135-138).
The couple has a mindless routine that they continue, waiting for the knock on the door. The knock on the door is their death that will end their routine. I was confused as to how this situation related to chess, but I believe it can be reasonably inferred that Eliot is using the waiting couple to symbolize the aspect of chess where you must wait for your opponent’s next move. Chess is all about strategy and predicting the moves your opponent is going to make. In the Wasteland, the strategy aspect is missing from the game. All that is left are the pieces waiting to be acted upon.
 
   The Wasteland lacks purpose because its inhabitants are focused solely ongoing through the motions of life. To illustrate how many people are living this way, Eliot writes of an “Unreal City”: “Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, / A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, / I had not thought death had undone so many” (I.61-63). If this quote sounds familiar, it’s because Eliot is referencing Dante in Inferno when he sees the souls around the gates of Hell. The souls were of people who had not done anything exceptionally good or exceptionally bad. These people had spent their lives waiting for death instead of living with a purpose. This lukewarmness permeates through humanity because so many people are focused only on this life. Continuing his description of the masses, Eliot writes,  “Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, / And each man fixed his eyes before his feet” (I.64-65). Again, this is a description of people who are just going through the motions. They have no reason to lookup, no reason to hope for something different. A life where there is nothing beyond it is a life without purpose. When a person is without Christ, he does not have a reason to live life the best he can. God’s hand in creating us and everything around us gives life meaning and purpose. We look to the life beyond to guide us through the current on.

   The Wasteland is a poem full of symbolism and references to mythology and historical events. Tying all the different characters and interactions together is the idea of this Wasteland that all the characters seem to be in. The problem with living in the Wasteland is that it is a land built on broken images where no one takes decisive action. The lack of proper sight leads to misdirection. When purpose and action are taken away, the result is a journey’s conclusion that doesn’t seem that different from its beginning.

Redemption From Underground

    In his book Notes from Underground, Dostoevsky writes of an unnamed protagonist who spends his days conflicted by his inner battle of what he wants to do and what he actually does. The narrator is a learned man who realizes he has a choice to change his actions but refuses take the steps to improve his life and his happiness. There are only a handful of other characters in this novel, one of them a prostitute named Liza. Liza is a significant character in the second part of Notes from Underground titled “Apropos of Wet Snow” which is based off of a poem by N. A. Nekrasov. To contrast his character of the narrator, Dostoevsky uses Liza as a symbol of redemption and beneficial change.

    Liza is redeemable despite her past and her current situation. We are introduced to Liza after the narrator has failed to interact with old classmates. Drunk and frenzied, the narrator goes to a whorehouse in an “attempt” to follow his classmates who are long gone (86-87). It is is in this despicable place that he sees Liza. He describes Liza as appearing young and kind, but, in his words, “Serious to the point of strangeness” (86). After taking advantage of her services, the narrator awkwardly asks Liza about herself. Though Liza tries to shut out the narrator by appearing “coldly indifferent” and “sullen” (87-88), the narrator pushes her to conversation. Reluctantly, Liza reveals she is from Russia, and she has been in the whore house for two weeks in order to pay off her debt to the mistress of the house (89, 105). Liza doesn’t say why she left home, but when the narrator is waxing on about the honor in marriage, she suddenly interjects: “Some [fathers] are glad to sell their daughter, and not give her away honorably” (95). We can infer that after a bad home life, Liza came to the city to escape her home and ended up having to support herself by selling her body. From her disgust at what she’s done to her unwillingness to talk of the reality of her situation, it is clear she isn’t happy with her life but doesn't think she can change. Similar to the narrator, Liza feels like she is stuck in her lifestyle. She doesn’t think she deserves love and happiness. Unlike the narrator, however, Liza is prompted to seek after the life she wants.

    As a symbol of redemption, Liza changes and chases after a better way after she realizes it is what she desires. Spurred on by having an audience, the narrator talks about a life of love and how a marriage can cultivate love and survive even in times of unhappiness (97-98). Liza hears of this ideal, this loftiness of thought, and thinks it too good to be true. She wants to believe that she can have a life full of love, but she tries to cover up her vulnerability by calling the narrator’s ramblings “bookish” (98), thus infuriating the narrator. Liza, in her attempt to cover up her vulnerability, has hit a nerve with the author. She is calling his talk of love and marriage an unattainable ideal only present in books. The narrator, furious at Liza for seeing through his lofty ramblings, begins to speculate what will happen to Liza if she continues down the path she is on. He paints a picture of suffering and loneliness. He says that after a life of selling her body, it will break down, and no one will mourn her death (102-103). He has finally gotten to her deepest fear. She becomes distraught and begins sobbing. Ashamed, the narrator give Liza his address, hoping she will never come to visit him (104). Much to the fear of the narrator, Liza shows up at his house a couple days later. The first thing she says to the narrator is, “I want...to get out of there...for good” (120). It is in this determined goal that we see her desire to change. After getting a glimpse of how love can look and realizing she can have it, she decides to actively pursue that life. She has come to the narrator’s house because he is the one who has prompted her to make a better life for herself. Her choice to change herself is contrasted with the narrator’s unwillingness to change himself. He claims to be looking to the loftier ideal, but he does not do anything to change his situation. The narrator, realizing that Liza is looking to him as motivation to change, has a breakdown and reveals how unhappy he is: “Liza, whom I had insulted and crushed, understood far more than I imagined. She understood from it all what a woman, if she loves sincerely, always understands before anything else — namely, that I myself was unhappy” (123).
 
   Liza, after realizing she can be redeemed and is worthy of love, desires to redeem someone else: the narrator. Liza recognizes the narrator’s need for love, and she is willing to help him fill that emptiness in his life. Unfortunately, the narrator does not believe he can actually love. Knowing it will insult her, he tries to pay her for her companionship (126-127). Liza leaves hurriedly and does not come back, despite the narrator’s calling out to her. Liza realizes she is deserving of love, but she knows she cannot rely on someone else to make her feel worthy. I like to think that she did not just return to her old lifestyle. I believe she found some way to pay off her debt. Perhaps she also found someone to love and who could love her in return.

Dostoevsky uses the redemptive, action-driven character of Liza to strongly contrast the obstinate, unchanging nature of his narrator. The narrator is consumed by his thoughts and will not change his ways, despite being aware of the steps he can take. Liza, however, sees an ideal and starts taking the steps to achieve the ideal. Both characters seem stuck in an unhappy lifestyle with unfortunate family lives, but the difference between them is Liza has the courage and the drive to make a change. Though there is no mention of religious influence in Notes from Underground, Liza is a symbol of redemption reflective of the redemption we have in Christ. The love of Christ changes a person from the inside out, and I believe Dostoevsky intentionally created Liza to display that redemptive power — the redemptive power that overcomes all pasts and presents and motivates every future.

Reflective Essay

In reflecting on the impact the Great Books program has had on my life, the first thing that comes to my mind is all of the books I have received as part of the program. This variety of around 40 books covers a wide span of eras, subjects, and philosophies. It is through these books and our discussions of them that I have grown both mentally and spiritually. An aspect of Great Books that has impacted me the most was the time I spent at the Blessed Trinity retreat.

   

I had a lot of apprehension before the retreat. I wasn’t sure what to expect from my time at Blessed Trinity. I knew there would be times of meditation, study, and group discussions of reading. I also knew we would be taken care of by nuns, and I wasn’t sure how much we would interact with them. The mystery that shrouded the retreat made me a little nervous. All of my anxiety melted away when I saw the location and its open, inviting grounds. As I walked into the cross-shaped building, I was in awe at the simple beauty of the atrium with a statue of Mary and of the chapel with the depiction of Christ on the cross. The beauty of the retreat was not the only memorable thing. The sisters were kind, respectful, and always ready to assist. The purpose of the retreat was to provide a place for reflection, and the quietness of the retreat really aided that goal. The silence of the estate was refreshing because the world we live in is saturated with noise. I remember during the first meditation, I sat outside within the screened porch. As I worked through the first session, some wind chimes right outside the porch were chiming were clear brilliance. I was so happy that it was quiet enough that I could listen to the wind chimes.

I learned many things in my time on the Blessed Trinity retreat. Through the discussions, meditations, and study sessions I was able to reflect on my purpose in God’s plan. I learned that silence is wonderful for reflection and meditation. I do not spend a lot of my time in silence. Whenever I am alone, I usually have music playing so I hear some sort of noise. At the retreat, there were multiple hours I spent in silent meditation and prayer. The impact those times of quiet still astounds me. In the silence, I was able to truly think about God’s purpose for my life. And it was during this time that I rediscovered my joy in reading and learning from God’s word. I used the suggested reading for each section and even journaled each time, writing down what thoughts I had about the verses and what God was saying to me. I understand now why the Desert Fathers spent so much time alone in silence. Silence allows true contemplation. I now spend a couple hours each week in quiet meditation. It is in this time that I devote myself to prayer, reading scripture, and examining myself in accordance with God’s word.

During the second meditation session, I reflected on God’s blessings in my life. I was reflecting on the talents and passions God has placed within me, and a pattern started to emerge: my love for theatre and music, my desire to connect with people (especially children), and my passion for sharing Christ with others can all work together in the work of a theatre teacher. I want to help people express themselves in a safe environment and use their talents to connect with others. Great Books connects with my musical theatre major through the study of humanity. Christ calls us to connect with other people, and I believe I can reach a lot of people through theatre and music.

On the Blessed Trinity retreat, I learned a lot about how God sees us, His children. During the third session, I wrote a “self-profile” for how I believed God sees me. I wrote down mostly negative things, focusing on the sin in my life and how much disappointment I thought God felt when He saw me. When it came time for group discussion, Dr. Fullman brought up the perspective that God sees us as beloved children. It was difficult for me to truly believe that God already loved me without me “proving myself” to Him. In his book The Return of the Prodigal Son, Nouwen describes the love of God using the example of the Father in the parable of the prodigal son. Nouwen describes the evil voices as the ones that doubt him and “deny loudly that love is a totally free gift” (40). We talked about knowing the difference between the voices of the evil spirit, the good spirit, and our own voice. The Spiritual Exercises suggests that there are three types of thoughts: those from ourselves (our own free will), those from the evil spirit, and those from the good spirit (Spiritual Exercise 32). The evil thoughts are loud compared to the whisper of the Father. The evil spirit tells me that I am not enough, that no matter how much work I do it is never good enough. The evil spirit says that I will never succeed at anything. However, this negativity is not the portrait of God that we get from the parable of the Prodigal Son or from the rest of the Bible. Jesus describes God as the Father who is waiting for us in Luke 15; John 14 describes God as the Father of a home with many rooms, waiting for His children to come home. While I cannot literally work for my salvation, Jesus has paid the debt for my sins at Calvary, Galatians 3:13-15. God wants my heart because obedience will follow. The good spirit is the voice of the Father telling us we are loved. He wants me to start the journey home so He can run to me and bring me back. As Nouwen says, God is not playing hide-and-seek with us (106); He is diligently seeking us. The time I spent at the Blessed Trinity retreat helped me to see that God wants me as I am right now.

    Through my time in Great Books and my almost 4 years at Faulkner, I have experienced growth emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. It has been a long and difficult journey, but I know it is only the beginning. People say that college is part of the defining decade of life. If that’s true, I know I have a lot of growing up still to do. As I continue to grow and mature, I will take what I learned in Great Books, including the retreat, to guide me in my endeavors. I am looking forward to sharing Christ and his love through theatre, music, and, of course, discussing great works of literature.

Lessons from Mother Goose

    Within Orthodoxy, Chesterton details his journey to faith by showing how his childhood love of fairy tales led to his belief in God. His chapter titled “The Ethics of Elfland” challenges the ethics and philosophy of modern thinkers by going back to the fundamental principles found within nursery rhymes. The simple faith, logic, and supernatural forces within fairy tales model the real world, and it is through fairy tales that we can learn to interact with our world. Our faith in God should be like that of children to fairy tales: simple, trusting, and wonder-filled.

Chesterton says his reasoning for looking to fairy tales as a model for earth is that fairy tales look to the supernatural. He says, “Fairyland is nothing but the sunny country of common sense. It is not earth that judges heaven, but heaven that judges earth; so for me at least it was not earth that criticized elfland, but elfland that criticised the earth.” (44-45) As children, we learned about things through stories. It is through stories that we learned about morals and how to treat each other. I remember saying “Goodnight, moon!” before learning that the moon revolves around the earth. Before understanding the concept of sacrifice, I knew that the Giving Tree was a good friend. And, as Chesterton puts it, we heard the story of the beanstalk that reached the heavens before we knew what beans tasted like (45). Rather than the people of earth dictating the characteristics of Heaven, Heaven determines the things of earth.

    Chesterton says our lives are comparable to fairy tales because of the way we continue in fellowship with God. Our salvation depends upon obedience to God and His commands. As 1 John 1:7 says, “If we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.” We sin because we are human, and sin causes us to be separated from God. Our eternal state depends upon obedience to God and His word. Chesterton says this relationship of obedience and reward is similar to examples in fairy tales. Chesterton describes it as “incomprehensible happiness” resting upon an “incomprehensible condition” (51). Sleeping Beauty would not fall into the cursed sleep as long as she did not prick her finger on the sewing spindle. As long as something is not done, the happiness of man continues. As long as we refrain from sin, we continue in fellowship with God. Chesterton refers back to the Fall of Man when he writes, “An apple is eaten and the hope of God is gone.” (51) The fantastical elements of fairy tales are present even in the Garden of Eden, and it is a lack of obedience that caused Adam and Eve to be cast out.

    Finally, Chesterton says that we should look to fairy tales in order to be in awe of the world around us. Chesterton points out that existence is not merely a surprise, but a pleasant one (50). When we realize that our world could just as easily be different, we should be motivated to be thankful for the world we have. As Chesterton puts it, fairy tales are founded on two convictions: the world is a startling place, and may have easily been quite different, and since it is so miraculous, we might as well submit to its parameters (54). Chesterton calls us to have the thankfulness of a child; just as a child is excited to hear any story, be it as simple as opening a door, we are to be in awe of the world around us. By looking at the world around him, Chesterton was able to see that everything has a purpose and that, “Life is not only a pleasure but a kind of eccentric privilege.” (56, 59) The world is marvelous not because of its own actions, but because of the actions of its Creator. And the Creator of the universe is still working within His creation. The repetition within nature does not show a dead world, but a live one (55). Chesterton theorizes that perhaps God expressly tells the sun to rise each and every morning. This fantastical concept of the movement of the sun seems outlandish, but also somehow comforting. The picture God of continuing to be involved in nature inspires me to look for His presence in the world around me.

Chesterton sums up his views of the world in 5 points (60): the first being that the world does not explain itself so magic is involved. For example, there are certain proteins that are present within our bodies for which scientists cannot find a origin. The presence of the proteins, and other unexplained things in nature, testify to something outside of nature. The second point Chesterton makes is that the magic has meaning and, therefore, someone to mean it. Magic suggests a magician, and the level of complexity and beauty in nature shows that the Creator has a personal interest in the creation. The personal interest in creation leads to Chesterton’s third point: the personal interest in Creation gives it value and purpose, a purpose that is beautiful. Chesterton’s fourth and fifth points are that we should be thankful for the world around us; and, finally, everything that was good is reminiscent of something and meant to be treasured.

The lessons Chesterton, and we, learned from fairy tales can be applied to our Christian walk. We can look at the world around us and see God’s hand within it. Perhaps Chesterton is getting at the idea of what Jesus was saying when he said we must have faith like little children (Mtt. 19:13-15; Mk. 10:13-16; Lk. 18:15-17). Children want to believe in things, and they have simple, trusting faith. Children are also attracted to good. We should be like children in our faith to God by approaching Him with hearts, minds, and souls that are ready and willing to learn and grow.

Beatrice: "She Who Makes Me Happy"

    As we travel with Dante on his journey though Inferno, Purgatorio, and, finally, Paradise, we witness his growth. We also see how much he relies on his guides. Dante’s guide through Inferno and Purgatory was Virgil; Dante looked up to Virgil as a scholar, and he relied on him very much in his journey with him. Virgil was always quick to answer Dante’s questions and explain to him what was happening around him. In Paradise, Dante is guided by Beatrice, the woman he loved even after she left the earth. The portrait Dante paints of Beatrice is one of beauty and kindness, and her presence and guidance were necessary to prepare Dante for being in the presence of God.

Beatrice guides Dante in a way that is different than Virgil’s guidance. Virgil was always quick to answer Dante’s questions or explain what was happening before he even asked. Beatrice, however, knows Dante’s thoughts and encourages Dante to ask questions himself (15, 27). When Beatrice explains things to Dante, she is very plain-spoken. Dante even compares himself to a sick child and Beatrice his mother (9). She is patient with his human mind. Whenever Dante is doubting himself, Beatrice gives him the courage to express what is on his mind. After being surrounded by the beings in the fourth sphere, Beatrice gives Dante the courage to look up are see that they have ascended once again (149). Beatrice is the comforting and encouraging presence Dante needed while ascending through Paradise.

   

Beatrice had to be Dante’s guide because she was Dante’s motivation as he traveled through the various levels of Inferno and Purgatory; while gazing on her from afar, Date writes, “It was your power and excellence that sustained my pilgrimage to see all I have seen; to you I owe the grace and strength I’ve gained” (335). Dante thinks of Beatrice often as motivation to keep pressing on in his journey. Since she was his motivation, it is fitting that she is his guide once he reaches Paradise. And it is through Beatrice that Dante sees the glory of God.

    Dante needed Beatrice to guide him so he could fully understand the beauty of Heaven. Dante speaks quite a bit about the beauty of Beatrice. He says her beauty is greater than words can describe (319). As the duo ascends higher in Paradise, Dante realizes that Beatrice becomes even more beautiful. He says, “I could sense that in my sweeping round to higher Heaven there came a widening bow, seeing that wondrous lady grow more grand” (193). Dante acknowledges that the closer Beatrice is to God, the more beautiful she becomes. As Dante and Beatrice rise to the seventh sphere, Dante notices that Beatrice is no longer smiling. The reason she gives is that if her beauty, being so enhanced by their closeness to God, isn’t kept in check will “grow so bright, your mortal power would be a branch destroyed by a thunderbolt” (223). If Beatrice, a mere spirit in the realm of God, could impact Dante so much by her beauty, imagine how great the beauty of God is. The closer we draw to God, the more like Him we are;  the closer we are to God, the more beautiful we become. We may not vaporize people with our dazzling good looks, but we will stand out from others by being a light for Christ.

Beatrice’s beauty is important because her eyes reflect the glory of Paradise. Dante describes Beatrice’s eyes as “holy” (27) and full of love (189). Beatrice herself describes her eyes as Paradise (189). Dante writes, “But as I gazed, my soul was free of all its many cravings to possess anything else [...] Because the everlasting winsomeness shone upon Beatrice, from whose lovely eyes reflected radiance contented me” (189). The eyes are often seen as windows to the soul, and Beatrice’s eyes were windows to the glory of God. The radiance, the love, the power of God shines through Beatrice.

Beatrice acted like a lens through which Dante viewed Paradise. Dante could not look directly at the glory of Heaven, so he had to look through Beatrice. Dante writes, “So she instilled her gazing —through my eyes — into my powers of fancy, and I too stared at the sun more than our sight can bear” (7). Due to the human nature of Dante, he is not able to see Paradise clearly. When Dante is blinded at the end of Canto 25, Beatrice is the one who heals him (275, 281). Dante writes, “So all the dust and chaff that filmed my eyes the eyes of Beatrice swept away, with more than thousand thousand flashing of her flashing rays, And I saw clearer than I had before” (281). Where once Dante had to look through Beatrice, he is now able to look and understand with his own eyes.

When the pair reaches the Empyrean, the highest ring of Paradise, Beatrice leaves Dante to take her place on the third tier (335). Dante is surprised at first, but he realizes that he no longer needs her to be his guide. He looks forward to joining her in Paradise when his life is over. In his parting words to her, he says, “I was a slave; you brought to me liberty, through every road I walked, by every means you had within your power to succor me” (335). Dante recognizes all that Beatrice has done for him, and she smiles at him one last time. Dante is ready to stand on his own feet and approach God.

Dante needed Beatrice to guide him through Paradise because she was the closest thing to Christ on earth for him. Dante’s love for Beatrice can be a model for our love to Christ. Christ is our motivation on earth; if we follow him, we can one day join him in Heaven. Beatrice’s kindness towards Dante is nothing compared to the loving-kindness God has for us. Dante’s journey through Paradise is full of beautiful scenes that should give us Christians great motivation to be in Heaven. May we all have eyes like Beatrice — eyes that reflect the glory of God.