In The Magician’s Nephew, Lewis gives a vivid account of the dawn of the kingdom of Narnia, the primary setting in the rest of The Chronicles of Narnia series. The burgeoning vitality of this world finds its origin in Aslan’s innate, inexhaustible creativity. Those whom Aslan creates, or those who come to share in his world through their gratitude and wonder at his creation, are endowed with dignity and beauty by association with him. By contrast, those who mistrust Aslan resist and seek to exploit the beauty of his world, even failing to see it for what it is. Through this juxtaposition, Lewis suggests that the beauty and dignity of the world and its creatures is upheld by those who honor its creator.
In the story, creation is invested with overflowing life, beauty, and dignity by Aslan, and those who respond in gratitude to Aslan share in that abundance. First, Narnia is sung into existence by Aslan. The children listen in wonder to his various songs of creation: “[The second song] was softer and more lilting than the song by which he had called up the stars and the sun; a gentle, rippling music. And as he walked and sang the valley grew green with grass. It spread out from the Lion like a pool. It ran up the sides of the little hills like a wave. In a few minutes it was creeping up the lower slopes of the distant mountains, making that young world every moment softer. The light wind could now be heard ruffling the grass. Soon there were other things besides grass.” They observe that this world’s life proceeds directly from Aslan and his song. In this way, the land of Narnia is a piece of Aslan himself.
Not just the land, but the life of its creatures springs from Aslan himself. Aslan sets apart certain creatures as Talking Beasts, whose special vitality—their self-awareness and kindly dominion over lesser beasts—is a gift from their creator: “‘Creatures, I give you yourselves,’ said the strong, happy voice of Aslan. ‘I give to you forever this land of Narnia. I give you the woods, the fruits, the rivers. I give you the stars and I give you myself. The Dumb Beasts whom I have not chosen are yours also. Treat them gently and cherish them but do not go back to their ways lest you cease to be Talking Beasts.’” The sentience of the Talking Beasts reflects the overflowing beauty of Aslan; their sense of self and their ability to receive gifts, to delight in those gifts and in Aslan himself, and to rule all derive from him. Notably, too, a failure to treat lesser creatures justly will result in a fading of this gift.
Those who dislike and mistrust Aslan fail to recognize the beauty of his creation, and they seek to misuse it or are altogether repelled by it. For instance, Uncle Andrew’s first instinct is to assume that Narnia can be exploited for material gain: “I have discovered a world where everything is bursting with life and growth. Columbus, now, they talk about Columbus. But what was America to this? The commercial possibilities of this country are unbounded. Bring a few old bits of scrap iron here, bury ’em, and up they come as brand new railway engines, battleships, anything you please. […] I shall be a millionaire. And then the climate! I feel years younger already. I can run it as a health resort. A good sanatorium here might be worth twenty thousand a year. Of course I shall have to let a few people into the secret. The first thing is to get that brute shot.” Uncle Andrew’s first reaction to Narnia’s bursting life is not grateful wonder. Rather, it’s a cynical desire to use Narnia to enrich himself—exploiting the land’s magical properties to “grow” machines of war, and exploiting people’s vulnerabilities to make himself rich through a health resort. Ultimately, he wants to use Narnia as a means to increase his own notoriety. To do all this, Uncle Andrew will have to kill Aslan. His ambitions show that he fundamentally misunderstands not just Narnia, but Aslan as its very source of life. Without Aslan as Narnia’s creator and ruler, the kingdom’s beauty and value can’t continue to exist as it does.
To an extent, Narnia is protected by the obliviousness of those who reject Aslan. “Son of Adam,’” Aslan tells Digory after he plants the protective Apple Tree, “‘you have sown well. And you, Narnians, let it be your first care to guard this Tree, for it is your Shield. […] [W]hile that Tree flourishes [the Witch] will never come down into Narnia. She dare not come within a hundred miles of the Tree, for its smell, which is joy and life and health to you, is death and horror and despair to her.’” In other words, the overflowing life of this Tree—again, a kind of echo of Aslan’s own life—repels those who do not recognize Aslan’s beauty. The threat posed by Uncle Andrew can be disposed of more easily, because it’s a more naïve misreading of what Narnia is. The Witch’s threat, however, will require ongoing vigilance.
Aslan’s warning to the Narnians to guard the Tree is soon followed up with a like warning for residents of the human world. Aslan tells Polly and Digory, “[V]ery soon, before you are an old man and an old woman, great nations in your world will be ruled by tyrants who care no more for joy and justice and mercy than the Empress Jadis. Let your world beware.” Lewis would almost certainly have had in mind the outrages against human dignity committed during the World Wars, WWII still a fresh memory when he wrote. But Aslan’s command to vigilance is invested with Aslan’s special power, too: “[S]uch a sweetness and power rolled about them and over them and entered them that they felt they had never really been happy or wise or good, or even alive and awake, before.” By portraying Aslan’s wise dominion over Narnia as he does, Lewis discourages both a naïve outlook on the world’s evils and hopelessness in the face of them.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Creation, Creator, and the Dignity of Life ThemeTracker
Creation, Creator, and the Dignity of Life Quotes in The Magician’s Nephew
Then two wonders happened at the same moment. One was that the voice was suddenly joined by other voices; more voices than you could possibly count. They were in harmony with it, but far higher up the scale: cold, tingling, silvery voices. The second wonder was that the blackness overhead, all at once, was blazing with stars. They didn’t come out gently one by one, as they do on a summer evening. One moment there had been nothing but darkness; next moment a thousand, thousand points of light leaped out—single stars, constellations, and planets, brighter and bigger than any in our world. There were no clouds. The new stars and the new voices began at exactly the same time. If you had seen and heard it, as Digory did, you would have felt quite certain that it was the stars themselves which were singing, and that it was the First Voice, the deep one, which had made them appear and made them sing.
But the Witch looked as if, in a way, she understood the music better than any of them. Her mouth was shut, her lips were pressed together, and her fists were clenched. Ever since the song began she had felt that this whole world was filled with a Magic different from hers and stronger. She hated it. She would have smashed that whole world, or all worlds, to pieces, if it would only stop the singing.
“That’s it! Stupendous, stupendous,” said Uncle Andrew, rubbing his hands harder than ever. “Ho, ho! They laughed at my Magic. That fool of a sister of mine thinks I’m a lunatic. I wonder what they’ll say now? I have discovered a world where everything is bursting with life and growth. Columbus, now, they talk about Columbus. But what was America to this? The commercial possibilities of this country are unbounded. Bring a few old bits of scrap iron here, bury ’em, and up they come as brand new railway engines, battleships, anything you please. They’ll cost nothing, and I can sell ’em at full prices in England. I shall be a millionaire. And then the climate! I feel years younger already. I can run it as a health resort. A good sanatorium here might be worth twenty thousand a year. Of course I shall have to let a few people into the secret. The first thing is to get that brute shot.”
“Creatures, I give you yourselves,” said the strong, happy voice of Aslan. “I give to you forever this land of Narnia. I give you the woods, the fruits, the rivers. I give you the stars and I give you myself. The Dumb Beasts whom I have not chosen are yours also. Treat them gently and cherish them but do not go back to their ways lest you cease to be Talking Beasts. For out of them you were taken and into them you can return. Do not so.”
We must now go back a bit and explain what the whole scene had looked like from Uncle Andrew’s point of view. It had not made at all the same impression on him as on the Cabby and the children. For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing: it also depends on what sort of person you are. […] When the great moment came and the Beasts spoke, he missed the whole point; for a rather interesting reason. […] [The Lion’s song] made him think and feel things he did not want to think and feel. […] And the longer and more beautiful the Lion sang, the harder Uncle Andrew tried to make himself believe that he could hear nothing but roaring. Now the trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you very often succeed. Uncle Andrew did. He soon did hear nothing but roaring in Aslan’s song.
“You met the Witch?” said Aslan in a low voice which had the threat of a growl in it.
“She woke up,” said Digory wretchedly. And then, turning very white, “I mean, I woke her. Because I wanted to know what would happen if I struck a bell. Polly didn’t want to. It wasn’t her fault. I—I fought her. I know I shouldn’t have. I think I was a bit enchanted by the writing under the bell.”
“Do you?” asked Aslan; still speaking very low and deep.
“No,” said Digory. “I see now I wasn’t. I was only pretending.”
“You see, friends,” he said, “that before the new, clean world I gave you is seven hours old, a force of evil has already entered it; waked and brought hither by this son of Adam.” The Beasts, even Strawberry, all turned their eyes on Digory till he felt that he wished the ground would swallow him up. “But do not be cast down,” said Aslan, still speaking to the Beasts. “Evil will come of that evil, but it is still a long way off, and I will see to it that the worst falls upon myself. In the meantime, let us take such order that for many hundred years yet this shall be a merry land in a merry world. And as Adam’s race has done the harm, Adam’s race shall help to heal it.”
Aslan threw up his shaggy head, opened his mouth, and uttered a long, single note; not very loud, but full of power. Polly’s heart jumped in her body when she heard it. She felt sure that it was a call, and that anyone who heard that call would want to obey it and (what’s more) would be able to obey it, however many worlds and ages lay between. And so, though she was filled with wonder, she was not really astonished or shocked when all of a sudden a young woman, with a kind, honest face stepped out of nowhere and stood beside her. Polly knew at once that it was the Cabby’s wife, fetched out of our world not by any tiresome magic rings, but quickly, simply and sweetly as a bird flies to its nest.
“But please, please—won’t you—can’t you give me something that will cure Mother?” Up till then he had been looking at the Lion’s great feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.
“My son, my son,” said Aslan. “I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another.”
He knew which was the right tree at once, partly because it stood in the very center and partly because the great silver apples with which it was loaded shone so and cast a light of their own down on the shadowy places where the sunlight did not reach. He walked straight across to it, picked an apple, and put it in the breast pocket of his Norfolk jacket. But he couldn’t help looking at it and smelling it before he put it away.
It would have been better if he had not. A terrible thirst and hunger came over him and a longing to taste that fruit. He put it hastily into his pocket; but there were plenty of others. Could it be wrong to taste one? After all, he thought, the notice on the gate might not have been exactly an order; it might have been only a piece of advice—and who cares about advice? Or even if it were an order, would he be disobeying it by eating an apple? He had already obeyed the part about taking one “for others.”
“He thinks great folly, child,” said Aslan. “This world is bursting with life for these few days because the song with which I called it into life still hangs in the air and rumbles in the ground. It will not be so for long. But I cannot tell that to this old sinner, and I cannot comfort him either; he has made himself unable to hear my voice. If I spoke to him, he would hear only growlings and roarings. Oh Adam’s sons, how cleverly you defend yourselves against all that might do you good! But I will give him the only gift he is still able to receive.”
“But we’re not quite as bad as that world, are we, Aslan?”
“Not yet, Daughter of Eve,” he said. “Not yet. But you are growing more like it. It is not certain that some wicked one of your race will not find out a secret as evil as the Deplorable Word and use it to destroy all living things. And soon, very soon, before you are an old man and an old woman, great nations in your world will be ruled by tyrants who care no more for joy and justice and mercy than the Empress Jadis. Let your world beware.”
