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His Dark Materials
I.
The Golden Compass (1995, first published as Northern
Lights)
II. The
Subtle Knife (1997)
III. The Amber Spyglass (2000)
by Philip Pullman
Laurel-Leaf/Random House edition , 2000
Assaying His Dark Materials: An Essay
by Donivan Bessinger, 2008
Pullman’s
trilogy is an audaciously imaginative science fiction fantasy, released into
greater public awareness in 2007 as a movie, The Golden Compass. Pullman’s
writing and appeal for young readers have been compared by critics to that of
J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. As do they, he entertainingly portrays subtle
patterns in the dynamics of the psyche. He, too, creates allegorical worlds
that highlight (often, not subtly) various mythopoetic aspects of the human
search for meaning and purpose within cosmos.
More than they, he relies on ideas arising as philosophy and
consciousness studies seek to come to terms with quantum physics. He especially
focuses on the “many-worlds” or multiverse theory of cosmos.
That
idea is very speculative, of course, and the questions it seeks to answer could
also be answered by simpler models of the cosmos. [1] However, that is not the reason the series has become a focal
point of controversy. Rather, it is because of its starkly drawn conflict
between the Church’s Authority and individual consciousness and freedom : For such a cluster of fantasy worlds and
variety of conscious species, the presentation of Religion-as-Such is
remarkably monolithic, unipolar, and entirely negative.
Pullman
“takes as his text” (and as epigraph) a passage from Book II of Milton’s Paradise
Lost (Its first full line is number
911). The Poet has just spoken of “Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise / Of
endless wars …” (line 896), then writes of
… this wild
abyss,
(The womb of
Nature and perhaps her grave,)
Of neither
sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,
But all
these in their pregnant causes mix’d
Confusedly,
and which thus must ever fight,
(Unless th’
Almighty Maker them ordain
His dark
materials to create more worlds,) [916]
…
For
Milton, anarchy referred not to a political situation, but to the
confused condition of life without meaning. [2] Given the situation in our own “real world”, with so many different
christianities and varieties of other faiths confusedly contending, one wonders
-- Might the trilogy, as an allegory
of the multiverse of mind, help us derive some sort of new synthesis for
collective security and survival? Might
it provide us an additional symbol language for discussing how to use “dark materials” – i.e.,
unconscious material – for renewing spirituality in our World Age?
To
develop such thoughts fully would require much more than the 1100 pages of
Pullman’s work. This short essay hopes only to sketch, in a
neutral, non-sectarian way, some of the tantalizing parallels between the story
and the spiritual Quest, for individuals and for humankind. [3]
Each
book of the trilogy introduces a key symbol, each an object with powers which
must be applied at every stage of life’s epic Quest -- direction, discernment, and vision :
The Golden Compass, in the form of
an alethiometer, or “truth meter”, is difficult to read, but a properly
tuned mind may read direction from the symbols encountered along the ladder of
associated meanings beneath each of the surface symbols, exactly as in dream
interpretation.
The Subtle Knife provides a uniquely sharp
edge, which can cut through anything, no matter how small. Such is the power of discernment. It is
necessary for opening windows into other worlds, and for finding the proper
edges to close them (one thinks of Ziploc closures!).
The Amber Spyglass has the power
to see the free-flowing currents of Dust.
These are “elemental particles” of consciousness, whose discovery has
caused a crisis for the Church, for the power of consciousness – of knowing
good and evil – is a direct threat to its self-assumed Authority. (In the
story, Authority is also the name of the Almighty.)
The
Dust is a (the?) main player in the story. Appropriately, it was first
discovered in the aurora borealis (the “dawn”). Despite the Church’s objection, consciousness proves to be a good
thing to have. It is a protector from
evil, if the powers are applied in the right way, at every step of the way, and
not allowed to deflect one from the journey.
The Cosmos
The
story unfolds in a “Cosmos” of many worlds. It seems appropriate here to use
the word Cosmos for the All-that-Is, the entire ordered realm of Being,
rather than for each separate world.
After all, in the story, many of the other worlds become accessible to
consciousness. Some are congruent in space and/or time, and may be entered at
will (or by Will, whom we meet in the second book). Others are not conveniently
entered, for one might find oneself falling from the sky, or on impassable
terrain, or in Oblivion.
The
first venue is Lyra’s Oxford, which has some features familiar to the reader,
but which clearly is not “our Oxford”.
Various features suggest it is about a hundred years ago, compared to
our world, and it has a large variety of conscious creatures. Its humans have an “exo-daemon” (as I am calling
it), a creature always visible to others and in direct contact with ourselves. Pullman is especially perceptive in his
descriptions of the daimon (daemon) which each of us has within
ourselves. It is the “alter ego” with whom we converse “within our heads”, but
also the active element of the whole psyche, far-seeing and wise. It is always
of the opposite gender. In children, it frequently changes its character, but
by adulthood it becomes fixed in form. It is in this alter-world that
our life challenge is set before us. Lyra’s world seems well to portray the
world of imagination and intuition.
The
second venue is Will’s Oxford, which is the traffic-fumed world of the
present. Here humans have an
endo-daemon, and don’t even know it. It also has Will, who finds himself to be
the bearer of the symbol of discernment, and who partners with Lyra.
The
third venue is Cittagazze, where the subtle knife is found in the Tower of
Angels, and where Will is commissioned to carry it. In a remote region of C’gazze, there exist tall trees, much taller
than redwoods, which are pollinated by Dust, but these Trees of Life are
dying.
A fourth venue is the world of the Dead,
where Lyra finds herself in the company of her own Death, who has always been
with her, but farther away and unseen.
Lyra
and Will are just turning teen. The coming of age (even for humanity) is a time
of transition of consciousness, of coming to terms with new powers and new
feelings, and new potentials for creativity, but it also a time of increased risk
of confusion, turmoil, and a sense of dislocation. Indeed, each phase of life
is in some sense a “coming of age”, whether into the different “ages” of
teenage, adulthood, midlife, or retirement, each forcing readjustments in
direction, discernment, and vision.
However,
each “world” must be entered alone. Of course it is helpful, and maybe even
critical, to have a partner in the quest, as Lyra and Will came to be to each
other, each helping the other to see what may have been unconscious before,
including perhaps one’s own daemon.
Even so, there is a common feature of the quest : one must start alone. At the beginning of
the story, Lyra believes herself to be an orphan. Will has lost both parents, too – his explorer-father had
disappeared on an expedition years ago; his mother was lost to him by her
mental illness, and he had to care for her alone.
On
the quest, one typically is confronted with a variety of conscious (and
inadequately conscious) creatures with whom to interact, and from whom to learn.
Pullman has provided a particularly intriguing set of fellow-travelers. In addition to humans (with endo- or
exo-daemons), there are the human Gallivespians, whose tiny size lets them ride
dragonflies (albeit ones larger than I have seen). They are uniquely suited to the profession of spying. There are
also witches, angels, harpies, and Specters. There is considerable interesting
zoology – Cliff ghasts (read ghastly) and tualapi are bird-like. Mulefa are
somewhat elephantoid (having trunks), and though quadruped, their footprints
form diamonds – two legs at the middle of each side provide traction; and single legs fore and aft, to which they
can fit spherical seed-pods, allow free-wheeling. Oh. Did I forget to mention the armored bears?
The
quest often – perhaps usually – involves wounding of some sort, whether it
precipitates the quest, or happens in the course of its adventures. Lyra had lost a dear friend; Will had reason to flee his home in fear,
and later, in another world, incurred a wound while coming into possession of
the knife. Every stage of the quest
carries its own difficulties to be surmounted. Inevitably, there will be a
visitation into the abyss of despondency or despair, often portrayed as a nekyia,
or “night journey” into the world of the Dead.
But in a true story, consciousness somehow finds in the “dark
materials” a way out.
It
seems indeed that Pullman’s trilogy, like the alethiometer, provides
opportunity for many levels of interpretation. The work is marketed for youth
and young adults. However, they
nonetheless will need mature adult guidance to get into these deeper levels,
and to learn how to prepare for a lifetime of management of the multiverse of
mind.
Perhaps
it should be expected that the quest for consciousness brings controversy – it
is one of the wounds of the journey. In each resolution of “yes” versus “no” we
take another step. Collective mind must
arise through the work of individual minds, each its own unique universe,
conscious and unconscious. Thus does the “Kingdom of Heaven” become the
“Republic of Heaven”, as the adventurers discover.
We
live in a time when many pregnant causes fight confusedly. The cherished symbols provided by ancient
religion have been discredited in the minds of many by their long association
with literalism and rigid exclusive sectarianism. It is literalism in religion which now must be discredited –
literalism belongs to the world of science, not to the interpretation of one’s
personal symbols. [4] If we can open
the mind’s “dark materials” to the light, we are quite likely to see that our
cherished symbols represent a heaven already there, within ourselves.
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Notes
1.
Donivan Bessinger: Time for Eternity
2.
John Milton: Paradise Lost (1667). Barnes and Noble Classics, 2004,
David Hawkes, editor;
footnote p. 70.
3. The publisher provides synopses
of the books on its website.
4. Perhaps it goes without saying, but let me
say it anyway : This essay is an
entirely personal interpretation. These comments are not in any way represented
as intentions written into the trilogy by its author.
Copyright,
Donivan Bessinger, January 2, 2008
Creative Commons
License: by-nc-sa