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PrinceOfTheWest
11-06-2008, 11:56 AM
Motivational author and speaker Steven Covey made his name with his book The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People (which I highly recommend). In that book he speaks of the great disservice we do to young people in our culture by keeping them in school for years, and sometimes decades, of their lives before giving them an opportunity to experience real life directly on their own resources.

Not that there's anything wrong with learning, Covey explains, but schools are artificial environments. They are entirely constructed by humans and therefore the rules are arbitrary. Smart students quickly learn that deadlines can be stretched, tests can be crammed for, assignments can be jiggered, and teachers can be talked around. It's easy to fall into thinking that the immediate and artificial (i.e. good grades) is the important thing, because the true reward (a complete education) is abstract, distant, and has a nebulous payoff. Some go so far as to convince themselves that "working the system" is all you need to know in life.

As a contrast to this Law of the School (as Covey calls it) is the Law of the Farm. Farms are located squarely in the Real World, and operate by natural laws - or they don't operate at all. If you want to work a farm, you have to know, respect, and obey the rules. If you want a crop, you have to till, plant, weed, and fertilize at the proper time. If you don't do that - no harvest. You can't "cram" for a harvest, and you can't "work the system" of watering or milking times. The Law of the Farm is inexorable: to the right thing at the right time or reap the consequences. And though he uses the Farm as the analogy here, the same principle applies to any reality such as a marketplace, hospital, or manufacturer.

Covey argues that one of the reason we have so may bitter, angry adults so poorly equipped for life is that they were raised under the Law of the School, and then rudely thrust into a world where the Law of the Farm holds sway. They are expected to sink or swim, and many sink - or at least flounder a lot.

All this preface is to give some context to the discussion of Eustace Clarence Scrubb. He's more than just one of the main characters of Dawn Treader - in many ways, the story (or parts of it) are his coming-of-age story. To use Covey's terminology, it's the tale of how Eustace grew out of the Law of the School and into the Law of the Farm - or Sea, in this case.

That Scrubb was raised under the Law of the School is beyond question. Living in Cambridge (one of two essential English college towns), his quirky parents almost certainly had connections with the University there. Thus they only knew the Law of the School, so it was the only thing they could pass along to little Eustace. We see they did, by sending him to schools like Experiment House (of which the start of Silver Chair gives us a better glimpse), where he quickly learned to "work the system" of bullying and intimidation practiced by the students who effectively ran the place. But when Scrubb is abruptly thrust into Narnia, there's no system to work - there are just actions and consequences. He gets to learn a lot of them, but it's interesting and fun to examine his first lesson.

Scrubb clearly loves bullying, and one of the ways he expresses it is by cruel practical jokes. Since he's accustomed to the Law of the School, he thinks them a consequence-free activity - they're good for a laugh and a jolt of self-importance, and at worst he gets a talking-to. So when he tries swinging Reepicheep around by the tail, he's anticipating more of the same.

But Reep grew up in a very Real World: Narnia under Telmarine occupation. Lewis points out that he had "fought for his life many times", and he does not consider surprise attack and manhandling to be innocent diversions. His swift and effective response is exactly what you'd expect from someone raised in a world where consequences are very real. Indeed it is only Reepicheep's martial skill and discipline that saves Eustace's life - a lesser warrior would probably have just started slashing. Instead Reepicheep gets control of the situation by controlling himself. The exchange between them is instructive:

Reepicheep: "Do I understand that you do not intend to give me satisfaction?" (i.e. face the consequences of your actions)
Eustace: "If you don't know how to take a joke I shan't bother my head about you." (aren't we operating under the Law of the School?)

Reepicheep proceeds to administer the consequences - a beating, which was a very moderate response given the magnitude of the offense. Scrubb suffers more astonishment than pain (though plenty of both) - how could such a thing happen? Having to bear the consequences of his actions? Note the futility of his response: he threatens to "bring an action" against Caspian - another appeal to a man-made environment that is no longer available to him.

The education of Eustace Clarence has just begun.

PrinceOfTheWest
11-09-2008, 11:37 AM
An almost offhand comment gives interesting insight into how changed Eustace was by his "dragoning" and subsequent "un-dragoning" - and serves as a lesson for us in how to comport ourselves. When Edmund and Eustace are talking in the gray pre-dawn, after Eustace explains how Aslan disenchanted him, he apologizes for his bratty behaviour on the Dawn Treader to that point. Edmund then makes a painful admission:
"Between ourselves, you haven't been as bad as I was on my first trip to Narnia. You were only an ass, but I was a traitor."
"Well, don't tell me about it, then", said Eustace.
That small statement by Eustace speaks volumes about how much he'd matured by being a dragon. Here his hitherto despised cousin was admitting a shameful secret, one that clearly had a juicy story behind it. The "old Eustace" would have jumped on the opportunity to learn as much as he could about this failing so he could hold it over Edmund's head. But the "new Eustace" is not only not curious, he actively deters Edmund from telling him any more. Where before he would have wanted as much dirt as possible, now he not only doesn't want to dig, but covers his cousin's failure by turning his back on the opportunity.

What changed? It strikes me that the biggest thing is humiliation. The old Eustace, prideful and self-centered, had relished the humiliation of others (as demonstrated by his treatment of Reepicheep). He thought of others as the butt of jokes, or people to be manipulated.

But when he himself was humiliated by being turned into a dragon, the shoe was on the other foot, and he didn't like it one bit. He was disgusted with himself, and the constant pain of the arm band reminded him that he was this way because of his own choices. Furthermore, the others didn't responded to him as he would have behaved. Rather than seize on his weakness and humiliation as an opportunity to get even, they treated him with dignity and charity in the midst of his humiliation - particularly Reepicheep.

When Eustace was un-dragoned and returned to the camp, this lesson was fresh in his mind. So when Edmund admits his embarrassing secret, he covers Edmund by turning away and "covering his ears". Having just had a serious dose of humility, he doesn't want to humiliate anyone else.

Lewis is realistic enough to admit that this lesson didn't completely "do the trick" for Eustace, and that his old character took some time putting to death. But it was a turning point, and Eustace proceeded from there to grow in character, strength, and courage.

We all love to hear "dirt" about other people, for much the same reason as the old Eustace did. How seldom do we respond as the freshly chastised Eustace, turning away from hearing that which would humiliate others? Perhaps we need to be reminded more often of our times of humiliation, and how we were rescued from that by no virtue of ours. Perhaps that's why God engineers so much humiliation into our lives - so we can sympathize with others in their struggles, and seek to cover them as God has covered us.