A Late Night Reflection on Voyage of the Dawn Treader

This evening some friends and I sat down to read aloud a portion of C.S. Lewis' Voyage of the Dawn Treader, out of the Chronicles of Narnia. While reading, and particularly during the parts where I was not narrating or taking up my role as Caspian, I began to note the numerous literary allusions in his work. Those who have read some of his stories and essays know that he pulls from a wide variety of genres in doing so. This evening, I was particularly taken aback at the imagery taken from Samuel Coleride's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner."

This particular scene is set in a pilfered and slightly modified setting from Dante's Purgatorio, in which the sterling ship from which the book takes its title is plunged into a deep night in which there is neither light nor sound, except of course from the ship itself and the solitary screaming voice in the distance. Immediately I recalled the image of the cornice of the wrathful, in which a thick smoke amends the soul's earthly tendency toward wrath, a fundamentally divisive vice. Yet Lewis twists the image in that he gives the darkness the peculiar characteristic of being capable of bringing dreams into reality. In the moment that this is realized, there immediately are formed three groups of people: first, that of the sailors, the stranger recovered from the island, caspian, edmund, and eustace, who immediately set to getting away from that place as quickly as possible; second, that of Lucy, who appears slightly hesitant, though not entirely fearful of her dreams coming true; and then of Reepicheep, who dauntlessly charges his companions to press forward.

If I may offer an interpretation of this scene, it seems to me that the object of the fear resides in the realization of what dreams are made of...fundamentally the content of the subconscious. In dreams some of the most inward-lying thoughts and convictions of men are contained, thus it would indeed inspire some sense of dread as one considers what one might see in his own soul. For all but Reep, the thought of what dreams may come does indeed give pause, but only for half a moment, before the dread of seeing that undiscovered country gives way to flight.
Yet they cannot escape the seeming inevitability of all their intentions being laid bare, and so panic arises, granting the reader a semi-candid look at the self-percieved image each man has of himself. For if each knew their dreams were good, what fear then would there be for that good night. The darkness would indeed have no reason to inspire fear.

But it does, and the large part of the group despairs and loses their wits. It is in the prayer of Lucy that hope comes to allay the ache and fear. For up to this point, they were in a dark haze without sun or wind to guide and move them. It is in the image of the light, which becomes the albatross, that hope arrives to the crew. Lewis invokes Coleridge's imagery of the wayward sailors being led by the heaven-sent bird. Yet Lewis heals the wound that Coleridge leaves untended. The crew and captain of the Dawn Treader never harm the blessed bird, and the only cross that appears here comes not in the form of a bow, but as a symbol created by the light itself, which whispers hope to Lucy and guides the wayward men through the night. Where Coleridge allows the Mariner some peace through penance, Lewis demonstrates the humility of the crew to follow the light and not attempt to supplant it, insinuating a humble nature before the divine light which leads to redemption and liberation from the fearful dark.

I find it amazing how the author takes an unsettling poem such as the Rime and in his characteristic tenderness coming from the Love of God bows it gently before the voice that spurs poetry and mythos itself. Lewis, in this short chapter, rests a stone of humility to Coleridge's verse so that his very imagery speaks in a gentle and obedient voice: "Thy will be done."