Book Notes: Paranoid Parenting by Frank Furedi

I found myself nodding and mm-hmming all the way through Frank Furedi’s Paranoid Parenting but was curiously unable to summarize Furedi’s arguments to my husband after I was done. That’s always a bit of a frightening prospect, because it suggests that I was reading to confirm my own biases rather than reading with a critical eye. As a result, I’ve chosen to reread the book, summarizing the author’s arguments in each chapter in order to give me opportunity to critically evaluate them. And, since blogging gives me a platform to share my thoughts, you get to peek at my notes (or skip them, if you prefer.)

Introduction
In the introduction, the author sets up the problem: In today’s world, everything is seen as threat to children and experts proclaim that there is one right way to parent properly (except that the experts disagree with one another as to what this one right way is) and that everyone who doesn’t do it their way is not only neglectful but potentially abusive – with the result that parents no longer trust their own judgment and hyper-parent lest they somehow allow their child to do or be exposed to something dangerous.

Chapter 1: Making Sense of Parental Paranoia
According to Furedi, parental paranoia is the result of three factors: an obsession with safety, a view that parental supervision is always positive, and a breakdown of adult solidarity. The first two are pretty self-explanatory, and I’m sure we can identify plenty of examples from our own experience. The third is a little different. Furedi posits that in the past, other adults were considered to be potential allies in child-rearing. Now, other adults are seen as potential threats to children, such that parents no longer trust other adults to supervise their children and other adults are fearful to interact with children lest they set off “stranger danger” alerts. The result is that parents are isolated – and children over-supervised.

The “breakdown of adult solidarity” is a new concept for me – and one that I struggle with (in a largely emotion-driven way). I am exposed to a lot of parents in my work with WIC. Most of these parents are pretty normal and, while I disagree with them on several parenting points (I am pretty opinionated when it comes to childrearing – and pretty much anything, really), I acknowledge that they are not people to be feared. I also see what is likely a disproportionate amount of truly bad parents – parents who scream at their children, who abuse their children physically, who expose their unborn babies to methamphetamine. I see the little ones who have been removed from their parents’ homes, who have marks from where their parents hit them or restrained them. I see the little ones who overeat once they get into foster care because for the first time in their life they have ready access to real food (as opposed to chips scrounged from the floor where they fell.) I would never put a child in these bad parents’ care – but I’m not worried that they’ll cause damage to a child not in their care. I don’t fear that these adults would rage at someone else’s child in a public park.

The parents I fear are… upper middle class mommies. I fear the people who jumped on Lenore Skenazy (of Free Range Kids) for letting her 9 year old ride the subway. I fear that over-protective mothers might prevent my children from experiencing a childhood. So I experience the breakdown of adult solidarity – but in the opposite direction of what the author describes. (That said, at least at present, I live in a nice lower class neighborhood where other parents are unlikely to judge me for letting my kids play in the street. It’s definitely a plus of NOT living in the suburbs! :-P)


The Prairie, Revisited

Someday, I’m going to be a pioneer. I’ll travel in a covered wagon, settle on an empty prairie, build a log cabin with timber cut from the creek bed. I’ll cut notches in the logs and carefully set notch upon notch, climbing the corners of the cabin to build it higher and higher.

It’s been a dream of mine since my earliest days, those days when I first read Little House on the Prairie.

But while I’ve been able to accomplish some of the childhood dreams elicited by books, I have not accomplished this particular one-and likely never will.

The closest I’ll get will be building Lincoln log houses with children.

And that’s okay.

I was struck, rereading Little House on the Prairie for the first time in several years, with how much of the book is focused on the mechanics of building a home from scratch–but also much I missed of the rest of the book.

I never caught, on my early readings, just how tenuous the Ingalls’ resettlement was. Pa heard a rumor that Indian territory would be opening for settlement, so he uprooted his family and moved in. Despite there being plenty of non-Indian land around, Pa settled within an Indian reservation–knowing that it was an Indian reservation. He considered it to be just a matter of time before the Indians would be resettled. That’s what happens when white men move forward, he assumed; the Indians move on to make place for them. And of course the US government would back up the white settlers who were squatting on Indian land. Of course.

It’s astonishing to think. How can someone (who isn’t desperate) know that the land they’re living on belongs to someone else but yet still choose to build upon it in hopes that they’ll come out on top in the end?

In some ways, Pa seems so advanced in his views of Indians. He didn’t hate them or fear them, he tended towards the “noble savage” viewpoint (which I definitely had as a child, at least in part obtained from the Little House books). Yet his attitude in settlement was almost like many would treat wild animals. Yes, suburban sprawl will impact the native animal population, but people are more important than animals and the animals will move to other places and adapt.

It’s challenging, revisiting the prairie through these new eyes.

My view of Little House on the Prairie has also changed now that I am married and have moved from being near my family to be with my husband. In the months leading up to our marriage, Daniel and I talked of various directions our life could take-of different educational and professional routes Daniel could take, of different places we might end up living. I blithely told Daniel that I would follow him anywhere.

And it’s true. I will follow him anywhere.

But, having moved once to follow him, my determination to follow him anywhere has much more fear attached.

The move to Wichita has not been easy for me. I battled a depression over this past year that was more severe than any I have battled before. I am now finally, one year out, starting to find my balance. The thought of uprooting again terrifies me.

I can’t help but think of Caroline Ingalls as I read Little House on the Prairie. I imagine how hard it must have been for her, leaving her family and “civilization”, spending months without anyone to talk to but her husband and their children, just starting to establish a home when news comes that you must move again.

I wonder if she felt more sorrow or more relief when it became clear that they must not stay, that they would need to backtrack, that they would return to Wisconsin. Was she sorrowful because of the year lost, the work done and left for others to enjoy? Or was she elated to be returning back to her family, to the little house they once loved? And what was she thinking when Pa’s wanderlust struck again later (when they left for the banks of Plum Creek)?

It’s interesting, revisiting old places and seeing them through older, more mature eyes.

I wondered at the beginning of the Laura Ingalls Wilder Reading Challenge if I wouldn’t try to make something from Little House on the Prairie, like I did with Little House in the Big Woods a couple years ago. I didn’t. The closest I got was creating some log cabin quilt blocks for a quilt for a soon expected nephew and building log cabins with Lincoln logs with the kids of some friends from church.

I don’t regret that I didn’t do more–this year’s challenge was thought provoking enough that I didn’t need the extra activities.

I read this title as a part of Barbara H’s Laura Ingalls Wilder Reading Challenge and the Reading to Know Classics Book Club. You can check out what other people have been reading at Barbara’s challenge wrap up post and the RTK wrap-up post.


Dostoevsky and Me

I am intimidated by Russian authors. Terribly so. While I’ve had all the Russian greats on my “should read” list for ages, I’ve never of my own volition picked one up.

But then I started talking with this man who said his favorite author was Dostoevsky.

I felt anew my lack of culture and sophistication. I had never read Dostoevsky.

I had a copy of Crime and Punishment on my bookshelf. A friend had given it to me from his personal collection. He’d said when he gave it to me that he’d originally picked it up because a friend of his was a fan. He’d never read it and didn’t know that he would, so he passed it on to me.

It sat on my bookshelf for four years, until the friend from whom I’d received it introduced me to the man who’d inspired him to get it in the first place.

I didn’t read that copy of Crime and Punishment. Instead, I downloaded a Project Gutenberg text to my Kindle and half-read, half-listened to it as I went about my daily tasks.

I wondered, as I listened and read, what it was I had against Russian authors.

If Dostoevsky is typical, there is no reason to fear. I found myself quickly engaged in the tortured mind of Rashkolnikov, a man who commits a crime to see if he if great and spends the rest of the book wrestling with what he’d found.

Crime and Punishment does have some of the qualities which I feared in Russian literature. The names are unfamiliar, hard for me to remember. The cast of characters is relatively large (around a dozen truly important characters). The topic is weighty, thought-provoking.

But it is not a difficult read. It is nothing to be afraid of. It requires no slogging, no real effort to read. It is not work to read and enjoy.

Although perhaps I transfer my relationship with the one who inspired me to read Dostoevsky to my reading of Dostoevsky himself. Perhaps I considered Dostoevsky engaging because I am so fascinated by the man who enjoys him. Perhaps I found Dostoevsky effortless because it is easy for me to want to know everything about Daniel.

Perhaps your experience with Dostoevsky, not inspired by love as mine has been, will be different. But I dare you, fellow fearers, to give him a try. Perhaps you will be surprised, as I was, with how much you enjoyed this Russian great.


And how’s that for a review? I fear my ability to write normally is much impaired, since every second word out of my mouth and pen is “Daniel, Daniel, Daniel”. Bear with me, dear reader, and someday, perhaps, I shall be able to organize my thoughts without having him in the middle. For now, every topic I think to write about is “Dostoevsky and Me…and Daniel”, “Children’s Sunday School…and Daniel”, “Quilting Progress, or lack thereof…and Daniel.”


Jon Krakauer: All religious books are of questionable veracity

One example of Krakauer’s futile attempts to transfer his criticisms of Mormonism directly to all religions is his paragraph on the veracity of The Book of Mormon and other religious texts:

“Those who would assail The Book of Mormon should bear in mind that its veracity is no more dubious than the veracity of the Bible, say, or the Qur’an, or the sacred texts of most other religions. The latter texts simply have the considerable advantage of having made their public debut in the shadowy recesses of the ancient past, and are thus much harder to refute.”

Preceding this paragraph, Krakauer lists a collection of scholarly arguments calling into question the veracity of The Book of Mormon: lack of original sources (the gold plates from which the book was translated), lack of archeological artifacts supporting the civilizations described in the book, historical inaccuracies regarding both animals and technologies found in the New World at the time of Christ, and lack of DNA evidences for the claim that Native Americans were originally a Hebraic race. All of these arguments are compelling reasons to question the claim that The Book of Mormon is inspired.

On the other hand, the assertion that other religious texts (including the Bible) are equally unreliable is made without any proofs whatsoever. The one argument made for the unreliability of other religious texts is that it is harder to prove them false because of their age. If this is true, it should also be harder to prove them true–yet one of the religious texts Krakauer mentions has been proven to be correct in multiple instances.

While the Book of Mormon is said to have been “translated” from golden tablets presumably written in the seventh century after Christ, the earliest extant manuscript is Joseph Smith’s single “translation” published in 1830. Compare this with the Bible, which has literally thousands of independent manuscripts and manuscript fragments dating to within a century of the originals.

While no archeological evidence exists to support the Book of Mormon’s claims of a “Nephite” civilization in the Americas, abundant archeological evidence buttresses Biblical claims. Furthermore, while technologies such as iron and animals such as horses are not known to exist in the Pre-Columbian Americas (as the Book of Mormon claims), archeological evidence supports the accuracy of Biblical accounts of ancient Middle Eastern technologies and practices. Cities are where the Bible says they are. Peoples (such as the Hittites) not previously known to exist apart from Biblical records are found to indeed exist as archeology advances. Individuals named in the Bible are also found in contemporary secular accounts, with details that corroborate the Biblical account. The more archeologists find, the more the evidence mounts that the Bible is factually accurate regarding ancient Middle Eastern people, places, cultural activities, and events.

What’s more, while DNA evidence fails to support the Mormon claim that Native Americans are descendant from a Hebraic race, DNA evidence suggests that the Bible just might be right in its own claims of descent. It just so happens that analysis of human DNA finds that the closest common male ancestor of all humanity (the so-called “Y-chromosomal Adam”) is several thousand years younger than the closest common female ancestor of all humanity (the so-called “mitochondrial Eve”). This is exactly what one would expect based on the Biblical account, which indicates that the earliest common male ancestor of humanity is Noah, while the earliest common female ancestor of humanity is Eve.

So, Krakauer’s arguments against The Book of Mormon fail in every account to be transferable to the Bible. Instead of evaluating the evidences for and against specific religions or even religion in general, Krakauer makes blanket statements about all faiths without any rational or logical evidence supporting his assertions.

He is an unashamed bigot, guilty of the same blind faith he accuses all religious believers of and making the same leap into intolerance that he so hates in the religious.


Here ends the Krakauer rants. You’re welcome.


Jon Krakauer: Mormon Fundamentalism = All Religion

Prologue: My brother messaged me yesterday in comment to this mini-series. “Jon Krakauer really got you riled up.” I suppose he’s right. Krakauer did get me a bit riled.

But this series of extended rants is more indicative of my current case of blogger’s block. I just don’t feel like I have anything worth saying. Narrative is out since I’m pretty much just working these days–and if I talk about my job I end up whining. Thoughtful, insightful posts are out since I don’t have time to clearly articulate my thoughts or to dig to hone my thoughts (which is why the theology of food series isn’t progressing). Heart spillage? That’s out too, since I’m currently in a “treasuring these things in her heart” season.

Which means that you’re getting rants. Sorry.


Bigot: a person who is obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices; especially : one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance

~Merriam Webster Online Dictionary

So far, I have discussed Krakauer’s accusation that religion is the most potent force for inciting evil and his argument that faith is necessarily irrational.

Readers of my discussion so far might be inclined to think that Under the Banner of Heaven is an atheistic tract about religious abuses. But it isn’t.

Instead, it is a history of evils committed by so-called “Mormon Fundamentalists”, specifically those who hold to “Section 132” of the Doctrine and Covenants–that is, to the practice of polygamy.

Yet Krakauer clearly desires to carry his criticisms of these “Mormon Fundamentalists” first to all Mormons and then to all religions or religious persons.

Generalizing the practices of the “Mormon Fundamentalists” to that of mainstream Mormons (of “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints”) may or may not be justified. If the abuses of the “Mormon Fundamentalists” can be shown to logically stem from the “doctrine” of polygamy, then mainstream Mormons still have something to answer for. The founder of their religion, and the initial “prophets” in their religion, both taught and practiced (even commanded) this “doctrine”. Furthermore, Section 132 remains in the official “Doctrine and Covenants” of the “Church of Jesus Christ for Latter-Day Saints”.

On the other hand, the official position of the “Church of Jesus Christ for Latter Day Saints” is that so-called “plural marriage” is not to be sanctioned or practiced since it is against the laws of the land. Anyone within the LDS “church” who does practice “plural marriage” will be subject to church discipline. So certainly modern mainstream Mormons are opposed to the practice of the doctrine capable of such abuses, even if they have not abolished the doctrine entirely.

Krakauer’s jump from “Fundamentalist Mormonism” to all other religions is far less justified. He makes assertions but no logical arguments for the irrationality of all religion and for the propensity of all religion to incite “evil”. Essentially, Krakauer is a bigot, obstinately clinging to his prejudice against religion and spewing libelous statements against all religious peoples without making any rational argument to justify his hatred.


Jon Krakauer: “Faith is the antithesis of reason”

Krakauer’s accusation that religion is the most potent force for inciting evil (discussed here) is only the beginning of his baseless attacks on all religion.

Later in the prologue to Under the Banner of Heaven, Krakauer writes:

“Faith is the very antithesis of reason, injudiciousness a crucial component of spiritual devotion.”

In the sixth chapter, he repeats this refrain, saying:

“All religious belief is a function of nonrational faith. And faith, by its very definition, tends to be impervious to intellectual argument or academic criticism.”

Krakauer makes clear that his functional definition of faith is “belief without basis in fact or reality”. If his definition of faith is correct, then his accusations against the faithful are also correct. If this is so, then faith is antithetical to reason and is impervious to intellectual argument and academic criticism.

But is this an accurate representation of faith?

It is not.

Krakauer commits the intellectual fallacy (ultimately a straw man argument) that John Lennox points out in his definition of faith:

“Faith is not a leap in the dark; it’s the exact opposite. It’s a commitment based on evidence… It is irrational to reduce all faith to blind faith and then subject it to ridicule. That provides a very anti-intellectual and convenient way of avoiding intelligent discussion.”
~John Lennox, quoted by apologetics 315

While I do not know enough of other religions to say that their definitions of faith are similar to the Christian definition, I do know that the Christian definition of faith bears no resemblance to Krakauer’s straw man.

Krakauer’s definition of faith stands in direct contrast to those of Christian thinkers throughout the ages, whose definitions of faith can be concisely summed up in Kenneth Samples’ statement: “Faith is belief in a reliable source.” (See “Faith and Reason” by David Marshall for a collection of quotes from 30 Christian thinkers supporting this summation.)

The Christian faith is a faith that urges believers to “test everything; hold fast what is good.” (I Thessalonians 5:21)

By the Christian definition, the majority of human knowledge is based on faith. Even in our “hardest” sciences, we have axioms that we must simply believe without definitive proof. The rest of our knowledge is then built on these proof-less assumptions. Does this mean that to assert that the sum of two angles forming a linear pair is 180 degrees is illogical? Of course not. That is simple geometry, accepted by all rational people.

But even if we somehow exclude these axioms from the realm of faith, claiming them to be self-evident, we must still admit that most of our knowledge is taken on faith.

I do not objectively know that Christopher Columbus sailed to the New World in 1492. I do not know objectively and conclusively that he commanded three ships called the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. I do not objectively know that he was funded by the Spanish Crown.

Yet I believe all these things to be true, despite not being alive in 1492, despite not knowing Christopher Columbus, despite never having seen either Spain or the three ships in question.

Why?

I believe these things to be true based on the testimony of reliable historians.

Even within my own field of nutrition, most of my knowledge is based on second-hand information. I have not personally determined the calories contained in the foods I serve my residents. I have not personally conducted the research indicating that a particular nutritional treatment is effective or not effective. I believe these things because I have read other people’s research, because I have examined their study methods, and because their conclusions have held true in my own practice.

While some people are more rigorous than others in testing a belief prior to holding it, all humans take things on faith.

Krakauer’s bigotry (his intolerant devotion to his own prejudices) accuses all religious faith of being baseless, while completely ignoring the necessity of faith (as the most prominent religion on earth defines it) for the logic and reason he claims to so admire.


Jon Krakauer: “The logical end of religious belief is moral atrocity”

Bigot: a person who is obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices; especially : one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance

~Merriam Webster Online Dictionary

In the world we live in, the word “bigot” is almost always proceeded by the modifier “religious”. As in “The religious bigot who runs Chik-Fil-A doesn’t think gays should get married.”

Per media report, typical targets of bigotry are racial or ethnic minorities, women, and homosexuals.

Undoubtedly Jon Krakauer, who is neither intolerantly religious nor (that I know of) prone to hatred of racial or ethnic minorities, women, or homosexuals would protest loudly to having the appellation “bigot” applied to himself.

Yet his writing in Under the Banner of Heaven makes clear that Krakauer is obstinately devoted to his own opinion and prejudice–and regards members of a certain group with hatred and intolerance.

Despite the book being a expose of various horrific crimes committed by those who call themselves “Mormon Fundamentalists”, the group that Krakauer is rabidly intolerant toward is not Mormons, per se.

Instead, he is determinedly anti-religious, and opposes all who hold religious beliefs.

Krakauer first reveals his bias in the prologue of his book, where he writes of a remorseless murderer:

“How could an apparently sane, avowedly pious man kill a blameless woman and her baby so viciously, without the barest flicker of emotion? Whence did he derive the moral justification? What filled him with such certitude? Any attempt to answer such questions must plumb those murky sectors of the heart and head that prompt most of us to believe in God–and compel an impassioned few, predictably, to carry that irrational belief to its logical end.
~Jon Krakauer, Under the Banner of Heaven (emphasis mine)

So Krakauer first considers belief in God to be an irrational belief, and second, believes that the logical end of belief in God is cruel inhumanity. He trots out the usual examples for evidence of his belief that religiosity is the most potent means of inciting evil: bin Laden, David Koresh, Jim Jones. Of course, he need not explicitly mention the crusades. Everyone knows that those are a strong example for the evils of religion, such that allusion is all that is necessary.

Of course, Krakauer’s narrative misses that many of the greatest atrocities of the twenty-first century were committed not by religious zealots but by atheists and atheistic regimes. Consider Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler (although there is some evidence that Hitler was not technically atheist, since he participated in occultism and believed in some sort of spiritual world), Pol Pot, Kim Jong Il, and Mao Zedong. Together, the regimes of these five men murdered over 75 million people.

By contrast, Krakauer’s list of five religious zealots (Osama bin Laden, David Koresh, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara, and Dan Lafferty) killed less than 5,000. Of course, one might argue that this is comparing apples to oranges since the atrocities promoted by individuals on Krakauer’s list were not necessarily murder (Koresh, for example, has no murders to his record unless you count the seventy-six people who died in the Waco raids as victims of Koresh himself–which is tenuous to say the least.) But every atrocity committed by these men (rape, molestation, poisoning, murder) was also a part of the atheistic regimes I mentioned.

So is it really true to say that “as a means of motivating people to be cruel or inhumane–as a means of inciting evil, to borrow the vocabulary of the devout–there may be no more potent force than religion”? I think rational people considering 20th century atrocities have to disagree. Religious fervor has resulted in far fewer atrocities than antireligious fervor.

Krakauer is most certainly prejudiced against religion, and his analysis of the evils of religion are based not on an objective review of religion or of “evil” but on a selective reading of history to support his thesis.


Truth and Consequence in Prince Caspian

Chronicles of Narnia Reading ChallengeThe time has come to close this year’s Chronicles of Narnia reading challenge–and I, as usual, have not managed to quite accomplish what I set out to do.

My plan, per my introduction post, was to explore how the different characters in Prince Caspian responded to the truth. I also intended to read Roar: A Christian Family Guide to the Chronicles of Narnia–and I checked out one of the old (think, stuffed lion) videos of Prince Caspian out of the library.

I ended up doing only the former–and not as completely as I had intended.

First, I looked at how the four Pevensies came to the conclusion that they were back in Narnia.

Next, I looked at Caspian’s childlike faith and discussed the role of fairy tales in revealing truth.

Third, I discussed how the Telemarine’s suppressed the truth in unrighteousness, inventing ghosts to fear rather than fearing and worshiping Aslan.

Finally, I talked about Trumpkin’s skepticism and his personal road to belief.

I had intended to go one step further and discuss Lucy.

Lucy’s role in Prince Caspian is reminiscent of her role in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. While all four children enter Narnia together this time, Lucy still ends up being something of a guide–with more knowledge than the rest.

Her more knowledge, of course, is a direct result of being the first of the children (and Trumpkin) to see Aslan when He returns from over the sea.

Just like in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the rest of the children don’t believe Lucy’s story. They don’t think she’s lying, like they did then; but they still believe her to be mistaken about having seen Aslan. How can Aslan be there if they can’t see Him?

Because the others don’t believe Lucy, they are unwilling to take the route she suggests. So Lucy finds herself miserably traveling an opposing route–a route that turns out to be ruinous.

When Lucy at last finds herself face to face with Aslan, He comments that much time has been lost that day.

“Yes, wasn’t it a shame?” said Lucy. “I saw you all right. They wouldn’t believe me. They’re all so–”

From somewhere deep inside Aslan’s body there came the faintest suggestion of a growl.

“I’m sorry,” said Lucy, who understood some of his moods. “I didn’t mean to start slanging the others. But it wasn’t my fault anyway, was it?”

The Lion looked straight into her eyes.

“Oh, Aslan,” said Lucy. “you don’t mean it was? How could I – I couldn’t have left the others and come up to you alone, how could I? Don’t look at me like that…oh well, I suppose I could. Yes, and it wouldn’t have been alone, I know, not if I was with you. But what would have been the good?”

Aslan said nothing.

~From Prince Caspian

Lucy knew the truth. She had seen Aslan, had seen him directing where they should go. But when the others refused to listen to her testimony, she turned aside and followed them along a foolish path.

She knew the truth but did not walk in the truth.

In this case, Aslan offers mercy and gives Lucy another chance to follow him. This time, the rest of the group reluctantly give in to follow and all turns out well.

Lucy didn’t know that, couldn’t have known that. She needed to be willing to walk where Aslan led whether or not anyone else came with her.

Of all the things that we can do with the truth, this is the one that I most closely identify with. I know the truth. I believe the truth intellectually. But when it comes to walking in the truth, acting on what I affirm, I often take the path of least resistance.

Oh, that God would work in my heart that I might will and do His good pleasure.

“I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.”
~3 John 4 ESV


This has been my wrap-up post for this year’s Chronicles of Narnia Reading Challenge. Follow the link to read what other people have been doing and thinking during this year’s challenge. (If your interested in my past participation in the challenge, you can check out my Chronicles of Narnia Reading Challenge tag.


Trumpkin: The Modern Skeptic

“Do you believe all those old stories?” asked Trumpkin.

“I tell you, we don’t change, we beasts,” said Trufflehunter. “We don’t forget. I believe in the High King Peter and the rest that reigned at Cair Paravel, as firmly as I believe in Aslan himself.”

“As firmly as that, I dare say,” said Trumpkin. “But who believes in Aslan nowadays?”

~From C.S. Lewis’s Prince Caspian

Trumpkin is the best sort of modern man, except that he’s not a man at all but a dwarf. He’s loyal, practical, and not willing to put up with any nonsense.

Unfortunately, he considers Aslan and the kings and queens of old and Cair Paravel and the sacred How among the “nonsense”.

When the Dark Dwarf suggests introducing Caspian to an ogre and a hag, Trufflehunter argues that they would not have Aslan as a friend if they were to add such to their ranks. Trumpkin cries out bravely “Oh, Aslan! What matters much more is that you wouldn’t have me.”

Trumpkin doesn’t believe that blowing Susan’s horn will do any good–in fact, he is rather disgusted that it may lose them two fighters–but he is loyal to his king and will go in search of the help he is sure will not be coming. “I might as well die on a wild goose chase as die here. You are my King. I know the difference between giving advice and taking orders. You’ve had my advice, and now it’s time for orders.”

Once he finds himself (rather circuitously) dropped in the laps of the Promised Four, he is willing to let them be the children from the stories–but is less willing to believe that they’d be any help. It takes being beaten twice, once by Edmund at a sword fight and a second time by Susan at archery, for him to believe that they are indeed the Expected Help.

Even still, Trumpkin holds out. Yes, he is forced to admit that magic must exist (inasmuch as it has brought the Pevensies to Narnia), but that is all he will admit.

Like the modern scientist forced by the reality of this universe’s beginning to acknowledge the need for a greater cause, Trumpkin grudgingly admits to magic. But his god, like Stephen Hawking’s, is a deistic, impersonal first cause; not the Aslan of Narnian legend or the God of Scripture.

Lucy’s testimony, likewise, is unable to convince the hardened skeptic. “Her Majesty may well have seen a lion. There are lions in these woods, I’ve been told. But it needn’t have been a friendly and talking lion any more than the bear was a friendly and talking bear…He’d be a pretty elderly lion by now if he’s one you knew when you were here before! And if it could be the same one, what’s to prevent him having gone wild and witless like so many others?”

At last, Trumpkin comes to believe, but only because he has been in the lion’s mouth.

“The Dwarf, hunched up in a little, miserable ball, hung from Aslan’s mouth. The Lion gave him one shake and all his armour rattled like a tinker’s pack and then–hey-presto–the Dwarf flew up in the air. He was as safe as if he had been in bed, though he did not feel so.”

Trumpkin is no longer skeptical. He has come flesh-to-flesh with the reality of Aslan. Aslan the Dangerous, who could have killed him with a single crunch of His jaws. Aslan the Merciful, who put him on his feet and offered him friendship.

Trumpkin no longer has a choice. He can no longer deny. He can only agree with Aslan.

Chronicles of Narnia Reading Challenge


This post is another part of my investigation of how different characters in Prince Caspian relate to the truth. I am reading Prince Caspian as part of Carrieā€™s Chronicles of Narnia Reading Challenge. Follow the link to see who else is participating in the challenge–and to read some of their posts.