Saturday, November 29, 2008

The Dwarf and The Lady

I am intrigued by the discussion among the Lady, the Dwarf Ghost, and the Tragedian in chapters 12 and 13 of The Great Divorce. Both the Lady and the Dwarf/Tragedian's sides are amazing and enlightening to me.

Initially the Dwarf seems reasonable and really concerned for the Lady's welfare. A paraphrase: "Oh I'm so sad that you felt bad about what you did to me. All is forgiven and I really just want you to be happy." Then the Lady accepts his forgiveness and asks him to no longer feel worried about her.

Then the question that unravels it all: "You missed me?" the Dwarf asks. We see through the rest of the conversation that the Dwarf doesn't really want the Lady to be happy; he's not really thinking about her at all. He wants to be wanted, needed, loved--but only on his terms, in which he has all the power. This is the picture Lewis paints of a hell-bound soul that was the hardest--that hit home--the most for me.

The Dwarf is a picture of what I've often seen in people and what I've often caught myself doing: blackmailing others by their pity, as Lewis calls it. The thing that scares me about this is that its so deceptive. The Dwarf seems to use all the right words at times: "We have to face this", "What do you know about love?", "Don't break in on your sheltered, self-centered little heaven". He speaks with authority, like he's really just a counselor trying to help them both through a tough situation. Yet his intentions are so wrong, but does he even realize that's what he's doing? And when the Lady tells him what he's doing, he refuses to accept it.

The thing that amazed me about the Lady was that she was not taken in by his blackmailing. She recognized it for what it was; I don't know if I would be able to recognize that in another person. She did not feel like it was her duty to break her own heart over his self-created wretchedness. She trusted God enough to not let her joy be shaken. She refused to give in to him. She says, "Did you think joy was created to live always under that threat? Always defenceless against those who would rather be miserable than have their self-will crossed?" (132). She completely saw through his devices and freely accepted the love and joy offered by Christ, without reservation, without thinking that she's too undeserving to be in Love.

How often do I, consciously or unconsciously, use pity to manipulate others? How often do I let people who strip me of joy and peace in Christ--pricking my conscious unnecessarily or making room for compromise--manipulate me because they refuse to be comforted, they want to be wretched? Can I be bold enough to protect Christ in me from a person like the Dwarf? (Does that sentence even make sense?)

As MacDonald says, "Ye must distinguish. The action of Pity will live for ever: but the passion of Pity will not. The passion of Pity, the Pity we merely suffer, the ache that draws men to concede what should not be conceded and to flatter when they shoud speak truth, the pity that has cheated many a woman out of her virginity and many a statesman out of his honesty--that will die. It was used as a weapon by bad men against good ones: their weapon will be broken" (136).

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