In all our valleys the light is the same. And it's the light that matters

[sovay]

So I have a theological question.

I am re-reading Elizabeth Goudge's The Valley of Song (1951) for the nth time. It's one of the books where I notice different things with each reading; that's part of the reason it's her best book, although others include the beauty of the writing and the numinous generally busting out all over. This time, a line in the scene in which the protagonist is waiting outside the door to the Valley of Song (only children may enter this country which is called by mortals "Fairyland, or the Garden of Eden, or Arcadia, or the Earthly Paradise, or the Elysian Fields, or some such ridiculous name. We just call it the Workshop," so in order to let someone else go in, Tabitha has taken on some of their years as her own and is now too old herself to be allowed inside) sprang out at me:

Andrew turned to Tabitha, his face radiant. "I may go in!" he said, and he gripped her hand. "Come on, Tabitha."

Tabitha pulled her hand away and leaned against the wall, hiding her face, and the same misery that had overwhelmed her when Julie went in without her came over her again. This dreadful shut-out and cast-away feeling! She had never felt so wretched. She had not known one could feel so miserable. Her voice came to Andrew from behind her hands, muffled and forlorn. "I can't go in with you. I'm too old."

"Too old? You can't be!" said Andrew, and he pulled her hands away from her face.

"Five years too old!" sobbed Tabitha. "I'm fifteen. I can't go in."

There was a long and anguished silence, while Andrew struggled to make up his mind about something, then he took a deep breath. "Then I'm not going in either," he said. "If you're shut out, I'll be shut out too."

Tabitha liked to hear him say that. It was almost worth being shut out to hear him say that. The door swung wide and a great breath of life-giving air blew through it.

"Come in, both of you," said the splendid voice, and there was almost a note of celestial impatience in its splendour. "Little girl, you carried that burden well, but long enough for a child. Come in and be with him. He'll need firm handling. Boy, you were ready to be exiled with her, and the readiness is all. Am I to be until the Last Trump holding this door open?"

Those of you who have read Mary Renault may be nodding already, because this is a concept I learned first from The King Must Die (1958):

"Horses go blindly to the sacrifice, but the gods give knowledge to men. When the King was dedicated, he knew his moira. In three years, or seven, or nine, or whenever the custom was, his term would end and the god would call him. And he went consenting, or else he was no king, and power would not fall on him to lead the people. When they came to choose among the Royal Kin, this was his sign: that he chose short life with glory, and to walk with the god, rather than live long, unknown like the stall-fed ox. And the custom changes, Theseus, but this token never. Remember, even if you do not understand . . . It is not the sacrifice, whether it comes in youth or age, or the god remits it; it is not the bloodletting that calls down power. It is the consenting, Theseus. The readiness is all."

Where does this idea originate? Is it as simple as going back to the Binding of Isaac: that it was enough for Abraham to be willing to sacrifice his son? Is there a more complicated aetiology I don't know about, or a particularly Christian significance that would have been important to Goudge? I happen to believe it, just as I believe that an unconsenting sacrifice has no power (see Peter S. Beagle's The Last Unicorn (1968): "Real magic can never be made by offering someone up else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back. The true witches know that"), and I think it is not an uncommon belief. But I don't know where it comes from, if it doesn't come from the story I thought of first, and I'm curious.

Comments

[phi]

The passage you quoted sounds like a better, more compassionate, and more theologically correct version of Lewis' problem of Susan. I clearly need to read the rest of the book.

The problem I have with the Binding of Isaac is that there is no indication (at least, not in the Christian tradition) that Isaac consents. At least in some extra-Koranic tellings of the story in Muslim teachings, Ishmael knew about the command and agreed to it, which makes it slightly less horrifying. (The devil appears to Abraham, Hagar, and Ishmael in turn to tempt them to save Ishmael's life, but each one refuses the Devil. This is why Muslims throw stones at the devil during Hajj.) Anyway, to me, the binding appears more akin to offering up someone else's liver than going willingly to your own death.

But to answer the question you actually asked, the obvious Christian significance is the death of Jesus. John 10: "14 I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15 just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. ...17 For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. 18 No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord." And Luke 22: "41 Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, 42“Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.” "

I'm sure there must be older antecedents, but I don't know what they are.

[sovay]

The passage you quoted sounds like a better, more compassionate, and more theologically correct version of Lewis' problem of Susan. I clearly need to read the rest of the book.

I really, really love The Valley of Song. It was one of my childhood beloved books; then it was stolen from the library; then I had to wait until I had access to the kind of cross-country interlibrary loan that grad school affords to read it again; then rushthatspeaks and gaudior got me a copy for my birthday a couple of years ago and it remains one of the most amazing presents I have ever received, because until then I had considered it essentially unfindable outside of libraries or very expensive book sales. As far as I can tell, it had one printing in 1951 and has never been reprinted despite the continuing popularity of her other books for children (and the intermittent revival of some of her books for adults), a fact which stuns me because it's just very beautiful. Rush-That-Speaks has written about it. There's a copy in Harvard's library, at least.

The problem I have with the Binding of Isaac is that there is no indication (at least, not in the Christian tradition) that Isaac consents.

I don't know that there's any indication that Isaac consents in the Jewish tradition, either, at least not that I've run into. (I admit I did not exhaustively read midrash before making this post.) It works as a parallel for me because, in the traditional interpretation of the story, what God needs is the knowledge of Abraham's willingness, not the actual death of Isaac. But there's an entire strain of commentary from the medieval period into the modern day which attempts to interpret the story differently, because otherwise what the hell, God? I don't know a lot about it, but I find it telling that the one d'var Torah I can remember from Rosh Hashanah services in high school was about the Binding of Isaac and the angel who intervenes.

At least in some extra-Koranic tellings of the story in Muslim teachings, Ishmael knew about the command and agreed to it, which makes it slightly less horrifying.

derspatchel mentioned that over on LJ! "Extra-Koranic tellings" being a body of commentary/literature equivalent to Jewish midrash?

John 10: "14 I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15 just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. ...17 For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. 18 No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord." And Luke 22: "41 Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, 42“Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.” "

Thank you! It was my assumption when writing this post that Jesus was a consenting sacrifice, but it is not my field and I appreciate the citations. Are there instances in Christian tradition where the consenting is enough and the sacrifice itself is not required?

I'm sure there must be older antecedents, but I don't know what they are.

Off the top of my head, there are some instances in classical Greek literature and one thing I remember being taught about animal sacrifice that I would like to check for myself before I go around citing it (that it was necessary for a victim to nod before it could be sacrified, signaling its assent, for which reason sacrificial animals were either touched on the brow or sprinkled with water to produce the relevant toss of the head), but I don't know if those would have fed into the Christian tradition, because my knowledge of early Christianity is actually quite terrible except in some bizarre ways, like knowing that early Christian tombstones could still be inscribed with the Roman dis manibus, "for the Manes gods," the spirits of the dead. I enjoy knowing that sort of thing, but it helps me a lot less with history of religion than I would like.

[starlady]

Isn't it just a common feature of ancient Near Eastern human sacrifice practice, originally? That would explain its presence both in the Jewish and the Greek tradition.

[sovay]

Isn't it just a common feature of ancient Near Eastern human sacrifice practice, originally?

Which ancient Near Eastern sacrifice practices are you thinking of? I know the most about the so-called Royal Cemetery at Ur, which contains bodies of sacrificed servants or slaves accompanying the high-status burials, and about the evidence for/arguments against child sacrifice, although I know more about Carthage in that respect than about general Phoenician culture. My knowledge of Canaanite religion is not good at all. I have a much better handle on Assyrian/Babylonian myth and ritual.

[umadoshi]

I'm sad to hear this is so hard to find, because it sounds lovely. I've made a note in case I ever stumble across it!

[sovay]

I'm sad to hear this is so hard to find, because it sounds lovely. I've made a note in case I ever stumble across it!

It's worth checking the library systems near you, especially if you have access to a university library. There's a very fine mer-person in it, too!

In size, including her tail, she was about the size of an earth-child of four years old, but no earth-child ever had such an exquisitely fragile body or such a smooth and silvery skin. Her pointed little face was as silver-white as her body, and there was no colour in her cheeks or lips, but the laughter in her lips and the dimples in her cheeks made them warm with friendliness. Her eyes were round and green, and they were not like human eyes, for they had no lashes and there were no eyebrows above them. The strands of her hair were light as gossamer and waved all about her head as though each strand had a life of its own. Her hair was green, so much the green of the air behind her that had it not been for its movement one would scarcely have seen it. Worn like a jewel in her hair, just above her forehead, was a tiny silver starfish that shone faintly. The little teeth that showed between her parted lips were like pearls, and so were the nails on her fingers; her hands were tiny and lovely, but a bit web-like where the fingers joined on. It would have been an insult to her beauty to say that at the waist she became a fish, but it was the truth to say that if you did not look at the top half of her, the bottom half of her might have reminded you of a fish, for it was a tapering affair of silver and green scales, ending at the bottom in a sort of shimmering fan that reminded Tabitha of Silkin's en-tout-cas. She wondered what it was used for. Just at present it was lying just submerged beneath the water, moving gently to and fro like the tip of a cat's tail and sending half-moons of ripples across the pond.

(Her name is Miranda. Her hair is tentacles.)

[rushthatspeaks.livejournal.com]

I don't know where it comes from either, but it's also what makes Diane Duane's Deep Wizardry work, though it's never explicitly stated. Which makes me think it must be Christian somehow or other, though I am not certain how or where.

[sovay]

but it's also what makes Diane Duane's Deep Wizardry work, though it's never explicitly stated.

Yes! Thank you; I knew there were other examples. I remembered after posting that it's in Elizabeth Marie Pope's The Perilous Gard (1974) as well: the nine weeks' death-time during which the king of the land readies himself for the sacrifice, at which he must refuse all other paths and choose the fire.

Which makes me think it must be Christian somehow or other, though I am not certain how or where.

I know there are consenting sacrifices in Greek literature—Renault didn't invent them—but I have been assuming that Goudge's precedents were Christian and that so is the general influence on the field, although I could be wrong about the latter.

[robby.livejournal.com]

I don't think it's Christian, I recall archeologists finding elite burials from ancient Britain that appeared to be sacrificial.

[robby.livejournal.com]

John Barleycorn must die!

[sovay]

I recall archeologists finding elite burials from ancient Britain that appeared to be sacrificial.

I don't question the presence of sacrifice in pre-Christian (or non-Christian) cultures! What I'm trying to track down is the idea that the important part of the ritual is the consenting, the willingness to make the offering—whether it is one's own life or some other precious thing—without which the physical act of sacrifice has no strength. It seems to be taken for granted in both real and fictional mythologies and I would like to know how far back it goes. Elizabeth Goudge being a Christian writer, I'm especially curious if there's a theological precedent of which I'm not aware because I'm neither Christian nor a religious scholar.

[movingfinger.livejournal.com]

Consent, or at least not active opposition, is thought (I BELIEVE) to be a reason for sacrificed humans to be drugged in some way. Get them so high they're happy when they go, kind of thing.

Is Abraham a good parallel? It's not his life on the line there. Did Isaac volunteer?

[ETA: And it shows up in Iphigeneia, too...]

The idea recently turned up in The Vikings when the family go to the big shindig at Uppsala and it turns out that Ragnar Lothbrok had pledged a sacrifice who wasn't actually willing to do it.

[spatch]

Isaac does not volunteer in the Hebrew Bible telling (which I believe necessitates the binding). The Quran, however, states that Abraham's son (who is not directly named in the telling; scholars have argued it may have been Abraham's eldest, Ismail) consents after Abraham tells him of the vision of sacrifice he received.

[nineweaving.livejournal.com]

Goudge was profoundly Christian in her own half-pagan way, but she was also a great lover of Shakespeare, and the form of the words echoes Hamlet. You don't have to fight this match, says Horatio: "I will ... say you are not fit.

HAMLET

Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special
providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now,
'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be
now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the
readiness is all.

Books in conversation: though heavens knows, the idea is far older.

Nine

[sovay]

Consent, or at least not active opposition, is thought (I BELIEVE) to be a reason for sacrificed humans to be drugged in some way. Get them so high they're happy when they go, kind of thing.

Heh. I'm not sure that counts as consent from my perspective, but I'll accept archaeological arguments to the contrary.

[ETA: And it shows up in Iphigeneia, too...]

Yes! See replies to rushthatspeaks and nineweaving—I was looking for a Christian origin, but I might just start with the classics and branch out from there. The thing is that I don't actually expect consenting sacrifice in all cultures, although it might be nice to think so. Human sacrifice is the sort of thing that's hard to study because it can so easily tip over into blood libel, but when you're looking at, say, the burial of a royal person with the bodies of all their slaves or retainers around them—Cahokia, Ur, Pazyryk burials—I'm willing to believe that not everyone in those tombs had a say in the matter.

The idea recently turned up in The Vikings when the family go to the big shindig at Uppsala and it turns out that Ragnar Lothbrok had pledged a sacrifice who wasn't actually willing to do it.

How is the situation resolved?

[debka-notion.livejournal.com]

The midrashim generally make him a willing participant, both by taking particular note of chronology in a way that makes him 37 (thus stronger than his ged father) and in at least one text (I'm too lazy, and too covering in sleeping baby, to look up which/how many versions) have him tell Abraham to bind him so that he won't unwillingly flinch and spoil the sacrificial cut.

[lillibet.livejournal.com]

Completely off-topic, but the next post down my feed was someone sharing a pointer to the Symbol Dictionary (http://symboldictionary.net/?p=2544), which I thought you might also enjoy.

[sovay]

Completely off-topic, but the next post down my feed was someone sharing a pointer to the Symbol Dictionary, which I thought you might also enjoy.

Thank you! That is pretty cool.

[nineweaving.livejournal.com]

"I know which of my books I hate, which I can manage to tolerate, which I like and which for some personal reason I love. I love only three. The first is a book I wrote in Devon, a children's book called The Valley of Song, a mixed up, confused book liked by a few children (and how I adored those children) but otherwise a quickly vanishing failure. I wrote it very much under the shadow of death but so much seemed to come through to me from the shadow that I loved the book."--Elizabeth Goudge.

[sovay]

The first is a book I wrote in Devon, a children's book called The Valley of Song, a mixed up, confused book liked by a few children (and how I adored those children) but otherwise a quickly vanishing failure. I wrote it very much under the shadow of death but so much seemed to come through to me from the shadow that I loved the book.

Where did you find that? I am glad she loved it; it deserves to be loved. I wouldn't call it mixed-up, either. It blends its mythologies perfectly.

(What were her other two?)

[steepholm.livejournal.com]

Looking at this through the other end of the telescope, if I were a god I would certainly prefer sacrifices to be willing: they taste much sweeter when they're not stressed out (ask any slaughterman).

It seems that a lot of ritual practice is designed in one way or another to disguise unwilling sacrifices as willing ones. Just as the temporary king is meant to be accepted as the real king (well, he's got a crown don't he?), the unwilling sacrifice is to be accepted as the willing one (well, Sgt. Howie ran to the right spot of his own accord, didn't he?). Gods aren't stupid, but accept this kind of clumsy legerdemain when the real thing isn't available. It does suggest though that willingness is the ideal, or just possibly the original, form of the thing.

On a human level, many time-honoured institutions couldn't function if unmeant words weren't taken as meant in the right ritual circumstances - i.e. as part of the marriage vow in an arranged marriage.

[sovay]

Looking at this through the other end of the telescope, if I were a god I would certainly prefer sacrifices to be willing: they taste much sweeter when they're not stressed out (ask any slaughterman).

Poem, please.

the unwilling sacrifice is to be accepted as the willing one (well, Sgt. Howie ran to the right spot of his own accord, didn't he?)

Heh. See reply above to alexx_kay.

Gods aren't stupid, but accept this kind of clumsy legerdemain when the real thing isn't available. It does suggest though that willingness is the ideal, or just possibly the original, form of the thing.

That makes sense to me. How far back, though, can you trace the idea that willingness is an acceptable substitute for action—as well as a necessary component of the successful sacrifice?

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

I think it goes back into prehistory- and was already old and perhaps not fully understood when it began cropping up in the written records.

The prehistoric example that comes to my mind is Lindow Man- a sacrificial victim who turned up well-preserved in a bog in Cheshire. Examination of the body suggested he had been a member of the elite- smooth hands, manicured nails- and that he'd been rather well treated up to the moment of his death. These things don't prove consent but rather suggest it.

[sovay]

These things don't prove consent but rather suggest it.

I'm willing to believe it's a very old idea: steepholm suggests that it's the ideal, if not always the achievable practice.

Do you have any information about prehistoric instances of human sacrifice? [edit] I don't think of the Iron Age as prehistory, but I understand this might be a difference in definitions.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

It surely can't be only springing from a biblical tradition; it must occur anywhere that people think about sacrifice. Not to say that cultures *don't* make unwilling sacrifices--clearly they do--but especially in the case of a personally undertaken sacrifice, the two most powerful components seem to be that it's a genuine sacrifice (i.e., it doesn't count to offer up something you don't care about) and that you're doing it with full consent.

[sovay]

It surely can't be only springing from a biblical tradition; it must occur anywhere that people think about sacrifice.

Agreed. I was looking at Biblical traditions because Elizabeth Goudge is a Christian writer and because the Binding of Isaac was the first story I thought of where the willingness alone is enough; the sacrifice is not required. If you can think of others, Biblical or not, I'd love to hear them.

but especially in the case of a personally undertaken sacrifice, the two most powerful components seem to be that it's a genuine sacrifice (i.e., it doesn't count to offer up something you don't care about) and that you're doing it with full consent.

Publius Decius Mus at the battle of Vesuvius, dedicating himself to the gods of the underworld and annihilating the enemy. Devotio can only be done with your own life, not with anyone else's. You think it's just in the zeitgeist of how we think about sacrifice, then?

[seajules]

I know I am very, very late with this information, and I come without a citation, but I know it was a story in my birth religion and has since been confirmed as a popular one in other Christian religions. The broad strokes are that, in order to allow mankind to return to him, God asked of his two eldest sons which would make the sacrifice. Lucifer said he would only if he received all the glory and praise due the Heavenly Father of mankind. Jesus said he would, no conditions or provisos. This was the precedent for all sacrifices made to God until the Christ came to Earth and hung on the cross, closing that circle. It was also the basis for the war in heaven that led to Lucifer's fall.

I'm almost entirely positive the story's not Biblical. I'd actually suspect Paradise Lost or The Divine Comedy, which theoretically have no impact on LDS cosmology, but that's utter nonsense.

[sovay]

God asked of his two eldest sons which would make the sacrifice. Lucifer said he would only if he received all the glory and praise due the Heavenly Father of mankind. Jesus said he would, no conditions or provisos. This was the precedent for all sacrifices made to God until the Christ came to Earth and hung on the cross, closing that circle. It was also the basis for the war in heaven that led to Lucifer's fall.

. . . I learned a version of this story from the original cast album of a musical that belonged to the LDS family who lived next door when I was growing up. Saancrifice being at the core of it makes a great deal of sense. Thank you.

I'm almost entirely positive the story's not Biblical.

If nothing else, I don't know any other traditions in which Christ and Lucifer are seen as brothers. It's not Jewish, obviously, it's not Islamic (Iblis falls for his refusal to prostrate himself before Adam, whom he considers his inferior, being made of clay where Iblis was made of pure fire), and I haven't seen it in other forms of Christianity that I can recall, although I won't swear it's not in some of the heresies: it has the right resonance of myth, to the point where it made its way, completely unexamined, into the only Christmas poem I have ever written, without my thinking much about the origins.

I'd actually suspect Paradise Lost or The Divine Comedy, which theoretically have no impact on LDS cosmology, but that's utter nonsense.

Say more?