Orual's Hell (An Endnote Blog) - Kevin Crowley

It’s funny that I started out writing the blog assignment for Till We Have Faces with the intention of doing a parody. That idea slowly changed and evolved as I wrote. I was going to satire the concept of an unforgiving and judging god, the kind of god who is just as much endorsed by Christian theology just as much as a loving, merciful god is. I was going to show how her disbelief in the invisible god would lead her to an eternity of damnation and suffering. While I kept the eternity and damnation part in the story, I changed my approach to what that would look like exactly, and how she would get there.

Throughout Till We Have Faces Orual was thoroughly ignorant of the wrongness in her deeds. She presented to the reader ample justification for why she was in the right, though we know just be reading her tainted thought-process that she was clearly in the wrong. Constantly she would blame others instead of blaming herself, and her pride disabled her from believing her sister. Her biggest fallacy, of course, was that she sought to own people. She was so prideful that people became mere property to her.

Well, instead of a happier resolution with her and Psyche taking a stroll and going over everything Psyche had endured for her, I was for some reason drawn to a more horrific ending. What attracted me to such a terrifying conclusion stirred questions of interest and wonder in me. Perhaps I can relate to Orual in her ignorance, and perhaps I wanted her damned because of that. I thought it would be more interesting and have more impact (for me at least) to witness Orual refusing to see the god, but instead projecting her image upon it, and then going back to not seeing it (or hearing it) completely. I ended the story eerily with Orual kwnoing that Psyche was right and there was a loving god trying to reach her, but her choosing the contentment of torture instead. I suppose by writing this I wanted to show how often people are the creators of their own misery and hell. It is sad and disturbing to see from an outside point of view how people can often do this to themselves, and how often I do this to myself.

Orual's Judgment - Kevin Crowley

[My version of the ending takes place on pg. 297]

“I cannot hope for mercy”

“Infinite hopes—and fears—may both be yours. Be sure that, whatever you get, you will get justice.”

I closed my eyes, resting my head on the Fox’s shoulder. To be comforted like a child again, one last time before the god’s judgment, brought tears to my eyes. I sobbed, covering my face, forgetting my veil did a perfectly fine job at concealment. The Fox consoled me like the days of old when I would hurt myself playing outside, and held me while petting my head, whispering sweet utterances of comfort.

The reprieve did not last long however. Suddenly darkness overtook everything, except for a dull cascading light that shone from above, coming from some unknown source. There, within the shadows of grey and silver, the light (if you could call it that) materialized a body before me. I cringed peaking at the human-like form, though I could not make out what it was exactly, just to close my eyes again and I buried my face back into the Fox’s arms.

“Oh Fox!” I yelled, “Save me! I do not want to—“

“Quiet, my dear. Be brave and face your judgment.”

That voice, that eerie unforgettable voice, whose source was not from flesh and blood, but from divine authority, sighed. If world’s could sigh, it would be the sound of such, but greater than any thunder or earthquake, though it trembled my innards much the same. It was a masculine voice, but to say it was a man’s voice would be denigrating. It reminded me much of my Father’s voice, having a similar quality of rebuke in its tone. I could not bare to look up, but before I knew it the Fox suddenly swiped his left hand over my veil, revealing my entire head and face for the first time since I made my pledge. I could not believe what had just happened, but before the shock of such an action could be rationalized, the Fox then did something else more startling and out of character. He grabbed me by my hair and pulled my head up to look at the form in front of me. I gasped, tears rolling down my cheeks, I could only make out a faint blurry silhouette of a human form floating in the dull grey light.

“Orual”, the voice rang, Queen of Gnome, Queen of the dead, you have chosen your punishment.”

“Fox!” I screamed, “What are you doing?! Please stop this!” But he would not relent.

“Even now,” the voice continued, “You cannot see me rightly.”

He sounded disappointed, downright sad, but I could only stare wide-eyed into a figure of a man, that increasingly became more hideous the longer I looked. The body of the form became treacherous looking, its hands and feet resembling talons, its arms and legs looking black and decayed. Its head looked leprosy-covered to the point where I was unable to distinguish if it was a man’s face or not. It’s cheeks, eyes, and ears would melt and roll down its neck, bringing back that all too familiar smell of blood into my nostrils; but the head would morph into the appearance of a giant insect head with snapping pincers and hard rigid mandibles. Sometimes it would resemble a baboon’s face or a vulture. Sometimes the faces would appear to be overlapping all three creatures. I cried out in terror, misery, and shame, “Who are you?!”

“I am the One who you chose not see. I am Psyche’s husband.”

“I knew it! I knew it all along!” I shrieked, “You are some sort of Brute who devoured my sister! Now you here to devour me, you treacherous fiend! ”

“Before you heeded reason and chose not to see me…now you heed fear and see me how you wish to see me.”

While the Fox held my head up and in place to face this demon, suddenly Bardia and the Priest were on either side of me, grabbed my arms and held them outstretched. I was completely at the mercy of this beast now. I cried and whimpered, but nothing could be done. A soft “why?” is all I could mutter then.

“As I have said,” Interrupted the booming voice, “You have chosen your punishment.”

“The Brute knows no Justice!” I screeched, struggling against my captors.

“You blame Psyche for leaving you, as though you owned her; you blame your father for treating you with such disdain about your looks that you cover your face in shame, as though he put the veil on you himself. You blame the Fox for wanting to leave after you made him free, as though he too belonged to you. You blame Bardia for not wanting you, and worst still you blame his wife for taking him away from you. And you blame the people for twisting Psyche’s story when you know everything they say is true –“

“Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.” I cried.

“Silence!” roared the Fox from beside me, shaking and rattling my head. “It is the god’s turn now to speak.”

The Brute’s voice continued to speak out against me. But soon, like the hideous image that stood before me, its voice became distorted and scrambled. Soon I could not make sense of anything it said. In the deep silence I meditated on what it had said. I knew that everything it said was true. I knew what its real image was. I knew how Psyche could have left me for him. I would have done the same, if I was her. I then heard something, it could have been in my head…someone saying, “You also shall be –“

"No!" I found myself shrieking, trying to wriggle free from those who dared to hold me.

What was it? What was that voice saying? It’s getting fuzzy. I can’t recall. It’s on the edge of my brain. “You also shall…” The voice is fading away. “You also…” Its image too is going back to being blurry. Thankfully, I do not have to watch that grotesque creature cast judgment on me. “You…” Its voice is now a low humming sound. While the image and sound of the Brute vanished before me, suspiciously it did not get darker like one would hope in such a situation. All I wanted then was some peace. The darkness would have been welcomed, just a little solace. Instead, the grey light before me became brighter and brighter, until it filled the room. The light was unlike the sun’s light which gives off rays of warmth, though this light was not cold either. I had no idea what was happening, but I could still feel the Priest, Bardia, and the Fox all pulling at me. It hurt incredibly, but I was helpless. I could feel scratching of rings on my left ankle now. Fox jerked my head down to see it was my Father pulling my leg out, and then on the right side Trunia was pulling on my right leg. They kept pulling and tugging. I felt teeth bites and nails cutting into my skin. I could not tell if it was blood or their saliva that dripped down my body.

None of the pain mattered, however. I would gladly bear it for all time. The Brute was gone and everyone I ever cared about and loved was here, by my side.

Floating Islands - Kevin Crowley

Floating Islands

The most awe-struck moment I found myself reading in Perelandra was toward the end of the book when it occurred to the Green Lady (Tinidril) why she should not stay on the Fixed Island, other than of course for the reason that she was told not to by Maleldil.

“I awoke from sleep, my mind was cleared”, she says, “…How could I wish to live there except because it was Fixed? And why should I desire the Fixed except to make sure—to be able on one day to command where I should be the next and what should happen to me? It was to reject the wave—to draw my hands out of Maleldil’s, to say to him, ‘Not thus, but thus’…That would have been cold love and feeble trust. And out of it how could we ever have climbed back into love and trust again?” (p.179)

This trusting in Maleldil to provide resembles Jesus’ speech on the Sermon of the Mount, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear…” And the passage goes on. The idea portrayed here in Mathew, chapter 6, and in Perelandra is about trusting in God.

I believe C.S. Lewis uses an excellent analogy with fixed and floating islands. It’s funny because living on a planet in which all landmasses are fixed, we don’t see the idea of living fixed as a type of sin. Ransom says himself that his ancestors were not given such a forbiddance by God (for how could He if all lands are fixed?). But the sin is just the same. There need not be floating islands to recognize the temptation in permanence. Permanence gives rise to us being tempted in owning something. We believe we own this land. We believe we own our day to day lives. We believe we are owners of our own destiny. And as such, we lose our ability of adaptation. When we are fixed it is much harder to adapt to change…which is exactly what life is—a constant change. Any attempt to bring order to our lives is an attempt to enslave ourselves.

However, putting your faith in God…trusting God, some would say is just another form of slavery. Indeed, the New Testament scriptures are full of quotes revering an idea of being “enslaved to God” (Rom 6:15-23 speaks plenty on this). But this language used by Paul was seemingly reluctantly used to get through to the thick-headed people he was addressing. While the word slavery does not give one the best connotation, it is certainly not the same kind of slavery we are use to thinking about. Being enslaved to God/Maleldil is quite simply trusting in his providence. In effect, we are enslaved by our appetite for food, but one would not say this is a bad kind of enslavement, for food provides us with nourishment and life. We are also enslaved by air, the sun, the earth, and other things that without we would die. And the kind of slavery that Paul talks about is exactly the same kind that Jesus spoke of in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6); being enslaved to the life-giving objects such as food, water, and shelter, is the same as being enslaved to the one who provides such. The choice lies in trusting ourselves to provide ourselves or trusting God. Personally, the idea of self-providence is like an image of a snake eating itself.

Heaven's Veil - Kevin Crowley

My last post was rather critical of Perelandra, I know. While it wasn’t my favorite book of C.S. Lewis, there were parts of it that I really enjoyed. C.S. Lewis has a way of creating brilliant analogies, giving deep insight and concepts to meditate on. There are a few that stand out in my mind, so I will briefly discuss each one.

The Lady, who later is known as Tinidril, offers many wonderfully intuitive statements in her wise naiveté. The first I recall that really struck me was her statement to Ransom about the roof: “Oh, I see it…Your world has no roof. You look right out into the high place and see the great dance with your own eyes. You live always in that terror and that delight, and what we must only believe you can behold.” I like this quote because it really puts a perspective on faith. I never thought it was possible to take the Earth’s atmosphere for granted. But indeed, after reading that I did feel like I have been all this time. I could relate, and I think many can, to the fact that I really do take the sky for granted. I think most people in our culture do take the sky for granted…especially the night sky, as oppose to our ancestors who looked to the sky in wonderment and awe. Nowadays our night skies are damped by the luminosity of artificial light so we cannot see most of the stars. The dance has been veiled by our own doing. Tinidril, living on Venus whose skies are fully covered by clouds, does not have the luxury we Earthlings have in seeing the glorious night sky. Tinidril can only wonder, and of course as Lewis was allegorizing to, she possesses great faith. The fact that many people need to “see to believe” is a harsh reality that humans rely too much on the senses. As Tinidril did not need to see the night sky to know the great dance existed beyond the thick veil of clouds, we too should not need to experience everything sensationally to believe it’s there. It is a sad thing when our vision is veiled by our sight.