Planting Toffee Trees

Creation Themes in The Magician's Nephew

Dear Reader,

It’s no secret that the first book in the Chronicles of Narnia (chronologically) is a creation narrative. One can see parallels to biblical creation, such as Aslan singing the world into existence. But creation themes echo throughout the entire story, sometimes in surprising ways. 

The tale begins at the turn of the century with a young boy named Digory who has come to the city to live with his aunt and uncle so that they can take care of his ailing mother. He befriends the neighbor girl, Polly, and together they stumble upon what Digory’s Uncle Andrew has really been doing up in his mysterious attic study: magic. 

A Serpent 

Immediately, Uncle Andrew comes off as conniving, even predatory, tricking the two children into trying on magic rings in an experiment he is too afraid to do himself. He acts as a serpent figure. Like the serpent in the garden, he wants secret knowledge and ultimate power. After he tricks Polly into trying on one of the rings and she disappears, he proceeds to tell Digory the entire story: he made the rings from a box full of Atlantean dust that he promised never to open, bringing to mind Pandora’s box of the Greek myth. Out of curiosity, Pandora opens a forbidden box and unleashes chaos on the world. Uncle Andrew, however, is motivated by a thirst for power and knowledge that was never meant to be his.

Digory finds Polly in the “wood between worlds” where other universes are accessible through pools of water (the original multiverse!). There, the children decide to explore one of the other pools before heading back home. They end up in a very different world than their own, one with a dying, red sun and the ruins of a civilization. Inside one of the ruins they find an eerie hall of wax figures and a magic bell with an inscription that entices the reader to strike the bell without knowing the consequences. After a heated argument with Polly, curiosity drives Digory to give in to temptation and strike the bell. 

Another Babel

One of the wax figures comes to life: a sorceress who calls herself Queen Jadis. She tells them the history of what occurred to this world and the city of Charn, It was a world at war, each side outdoing one another with violence. It was a world where cruelty reigned, slavery prospered, and–it’s hinted–human sacrifice occurred. There is no living thing within those ruins, and the mighty river has turned to dust, once “the wonder of the world, perhaps of all worlds” as the queen tells the children. [1]

This description might remind the reader of Babel, the city that built a tower to try to reach God, concerned only with making their own name great. It might also turn the reader’s mind to pre-flood civilization where “the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and…every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually” (Gen. 6:5). Like the world of Charn, this civilization was also destroyed. In the book, the queen wanted to win the war at any cost, so she sought knowledge of the “Deplorable Word” which would destroy all life, despite being bound by an ancient oath never to do so. It’s not difficult to see the parallels to Uncle Andrew’s thirst for knowledge and power, though here we see these desires traced to their end, and we find the line between a pompous, selfish man and destroyer of worlds is perilously thin. 

The Medieval Cosmos

The children attempt to escape the witch (the queen), but she manages to follow them back home where they meet Uncle Andrew and all sorts of troubles ensue. In trying to return the witch to her own world, they end up in a different world, only this one is blank. Then something changes. Out of the void, they hear a heavenly song. Then suddenly an expanse of stars illuminate the sky all at once, joining the song with “cold, tingling, silvery voices” in perfect harmony.”[1] In Genesis, God spoke the universe into existence with only his voice. 

We see a parallel to that here in the nascent Narnia, but it is not unreasonable to conclude that Lewis was also thinking of another model of the heavens found in Medieval cosmology. A scholar of Medieval literature, he would have been familiar with the concept of the universe that was popular during that period (borrowed from Boethius, which was borrowed from Cicero and Calcidius): the idea that the stars and planets produce their own music, each heavenly body with its own tone, creating a symphony and an order.[2] Of course I am not suggesting that this model is somehow physically true; modern science has disproven this. But the concept creates an image for the reader: how lovely to imagine the universe suspended in the song of God. The order and balance required in a symphony is certainly an appropriate earthly analogy for the orchestration of the stars and planets. The universe is not a product of chance as science would have us believe, but purposefully created and sustained like the most glorious music.

Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

So Narnia is created with a song. Soon the sun rises, a river runs through the landscape, grass and trees sprout up, and animals emerge from the earth. (This world’s primary inhabitants coming from the ground is reminiscent of Adam being formed from dust in the biblical account.) The music terrifies our serpent figures, Uncle Andrew and the Witch. They tremble in fear, especially when the Lion himself appears and he is the one singing. After trying and failing to kill the Lion with the broken lamppost, the Witch flees in terror. 

The Garden

There is perhaps some quality of Narnia that boils a person down to who they really are. In the chaos back in our world, a hardened cab driver accidentally gets transported to this world along with his horse, Strawberry. The cabby’s reaction to the music is quite different than the Witch: “I’d have been a better man all my life if I’d known there were things like this,” he says. We learn that he used to live on a farm, which he much prefers to city life. He responds with wonder, his tough, urban manner softening. Even his London cockney morphs into the accent of his childhood. When the Lion breathes on some of the animals to make them talk, the cabby’s horse Strawberry is one of the ones chosen. Later the Lion turns the horse into a Pegasus, the winged horse of myth, and gives him a new name: Fledge. It’s almost as though they are becoming true versions of themselves, a testament to the goodness and innocence of this brand new creation.

After the broken lamppost that the Witch threw sprouts into a whole new one, Digory speaks to the Lion about something that might heal his ailing mother. But, like the biblical Adam, Digory has brought evil to this world (the Witch), and the Lion sends him on a quest to make restitution. He has to admit his fault: how he hurt Polly back in Charn and rung the bell out of selfishness. Digory and Polly journey to the mountain, riding on the back of Fledge (Strawberry), where Digory must retrieve a special apple from a tree in a garden. It’s not hard to see the parallels to the garden of Eden and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Now, the Queen has fully devolved into a witch. She meets Digory in the garden and tempts him to take one of the apples for himself to save his mother, instead of delivering it to the Lion as he had promised. The Witch has changed in appearance: her face is pale, and her mouth rimmed in red, signifying the forbidden apple she has eaten. She has now become like the serpent in the garden who tempts Eve, the queen’s true nature revealed.

Digory does not fall prey to the Witch’s temptations. He takes the apple back to Aslan, who has him plant it by the river. The apple sprouts quickly into a lush tree that will protect Narnia from evil for years to come. Notice that this solution is only temporary; Narnia needs a greater savior, a second Adam. Aslan will sacrifice himself for Narnia as Christ did for us.  

Meanwhile, when Uncle Andrew sees the broken lamppost grow into a new one, he immediately begins making plans for exploiting this power. He imagines bringing old scrap metal to grow into ships and railway engines to sell for a 100% profit. By contrast, the cabby loves Narnia and promises to cultivate the land for food and deal kindly and fairly with the creatures there. Aslan summons the cabby’s wife and tells them that they are to be King and Queen of Narnia, commanding them to “rule and name these creatures, and do justice among then, and protect them from their enemies when enemies arise.” [1] Here we see the difference between dominating creation and stewarding it. This contrast would have seemed especially prominent at the time of the book’s authorship, which was a period of increased industrialization and world war. It was also a time when the Industrial Revolution was thought to be a sign that society was getting better, that evil was being eradicated. This story is evidence that this is not the case, that evil can fester in places like Charn as well as anywhere else. Peter Leithart points out that God commands Adam and Eve, not to leave creation untouched, but to actually work the land, setting up other “gardens” or places of worship throughout the world. [3]

Planting Toffee Trees

When we look at our world today, it’s easy to see Charn: chaos, conflict, and destruction. But there is also Narnia, new and flowing with life and goodness—a place where even the metal shard of the lamppost is healed and transformed. We must ask ourselves, how do we look at the world? Are we like Uncle Andrew and the Witch, seeking forbidden knowledge and our own greatness? Or are we like the cabby, in proper awe of the universe, committed to cultivating it until the new kingdom comes and all creation becomes like the garden on the mountain, like Eden? 

On their journey to the mountain garden, Digory and Polly split a bag of toffee for dinner because that’s the only food they have. They plant the last piece of candy in the ground. The next day—impossibly—it has grown into a tree bearing scrumptious fruit. This is our calling as sons and daughters of Adam and Eve: to plant our “toffees” and to tend and grow them into little Edens.

[1] Lewis, C.S., The Magician’s Nephew (Harper Trophy, 1994)

[2] Baxter, Jason M., The Medieval Mind of C.S. Lewis: How Great Books Shaped a Great Mind (InterVarsity Press, 2022)  

[3] Leithart, Peter J., Theopolitan Liturgy (Athanasius Press, 2019)

Join the conversation

What creation themes or parallels do you see in The Magician’s Nephew?