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]

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 lack of availability is very sad. I wouldn't ask to borrow yours, but might I come over and read it some weekend?

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

Huh. I could have sworn it wasn't in the Koran at all, but Derspatchel is right. From Surah 37 "O my son, I have seen in a dream that I should sacrifice you; so consider what is your view. He said: O my father, do as you are commanded; if Allah please you will find me patient. So when they had both submitted and he had thrown him down upon his forehead" The story I was thinking of is from either the hadith (the sayings of the prophet Mohammed) or the sunnah (stories of his life and acts, or teachings that do not have as firm a lineage as hadith, or stories about his companions) or possibly from the enormous body of commentary and exegesis, and I'm not sure the specific source matters so I'm not going to go dig for it, but anyway, the story goes that the devil appeared to each of Ibrahim, Hagar, and Ishmael in turn, to convince them to disobey God's command and save Ismail's life. All three rejected the devil, and Ibrahim threw seven stones at the devil to curse him. And thus, on Hajj, there are three pillars, one to represent each of the times the devil tempted a member of Ibrahim's family, and pilgrims throw seven stones at each of the pillars.

Are there instances in Christian tradition where the consenting is enough and the sacrifice itself is not required?

There is the bible story about the destitute widow who gives a single coin to the temple, and her offering is accounted as far greater than the rich man who gives a small portion of his wealth, because her offering is sincere and a hardship to her, and his offering is meant to make him look good. But that is not quite the heart of the issue of consent is it? The desert fathers taught that the martyrdom of living an ascetic life in the wilderness, and surrendering all you have to God and/or the church, is superior to the martyrdom of physical death, because it requires you to choose to give of yourself, daily. (Of course, some of the desert hermits fled to the wilderness to avoid martyrdom in Rome; intent matters.) There's a great deal of Christian art over the centuries--everything from "The Dream of the Rood" to that awful Mel Gibson torture porn movie--that concerns itself with emphasizing Jesus' willingness to be sacrificed. But generally, as, far as I know (there might be some medieval sects or early gnostic cults that believed otherwise) Christian teachings have always said that the sacrifice of Jesus was the only and final blood sacrifice. Micah 6:6-8 gets quoted a great deal "“With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?” He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" I have no idea if our interpretation of that passage is in accordance with Jewish interpretations, but Christians see it as removing the obligation to make blood sacrifices and replacing it with the more difficult obligation to "do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God." (Edit) And I've just noticed that the way I've memorized the verse does not accord with the New Revised Standard translation. The internet says the version I've memorized is from King James, although I have no idea how that happened. To my knowledge I've never used a KJV Bible for personal study or devotions, although possibly some church I attended some time in the past used it for readings during service.

[sovay]

I wouldn't ask to borrow yours, but might I come over and read it some weekend?

Sure. I will try not to be too nervous; it's a very secondhand copy and I try to read it without putting too much stress on the spine, because aside from the sentimental value, the chances of replacing it are very slim.

And thus, on Hajj, there are three pillars, one to represent each of the times the devil tempted a member of Ibrahim's family, and pilgrims throw seven stones at each of the pillars.

Thank you for that story. I didn't know it before you mentioned it. The presence of the Devil is interesting to me.

But generally, as, far as I know (there might be some medieval sects or early gnostic cults that believed otherwise) Christian teachings have always said that the sacrifice of Jesus was the only and final blood sacrifice.

Weirdly, I learned that from Elizabeth Marie Pope's The Perilous Gard (1974)!

"There is no other way," said the Lady. "All power comes from life, and when that life is low in the land and the people, they must take it from one who has it, adding his strength to their own, or perish. That is the law which the gods laid on us; and they themselves cannot later it. Do not even those of your own faith believe that in the beginning your strength came to you out of a death?"

Kate hesitated. The only answer she could think of seemed wild to the point of blasphemy, but there was no help for it: she would have to put the thing into the only sort of language the Lady might possibly understand.

"What need is there for another teind, then?" she asked, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. "The time for that has passed by. It was finished and done with when Our Lord paid it freely, to add His strength to our own; and His power is enough for us all."

"I have heard that tale," said the Lady, "and it is not as you say. I will not deny that your Lord paid the teind, nor that it would be good to have had some part in it, for he was a strong man, and born of a race of kings, and His teind must have been a very great one. But that was long ago, long ago in His own time and place. Its strength is spent now. The power has gone out of it."

"It has never gone out of it," Kate answered, her voice beginning to shake as she searched for the right words, because everything might hang on them. "All power comes from life, as you said yourself, but the life that was in Him came from the God who is above all the gods; and that is a life that knows nothing of places and times." She paused, and the Lady said almost sharply: "What more?" She was leaning a little forward, her head bent as if she was trying to hear some unfamiliar sound in the distance.

"I—I mean," Kate stumbled on, "that with us there is a time past and a time present, and a time future, and with your gods perhaps there is time forever; but God in Himself has the whole of it, all times at once. It would be true to say that He came into our world and died here, in a time and a place; but it would also be true to say that in His eternity it is always That Place and That Time—here—and at this moment—and the power He had then, He can give to us now, as much as He did to those who saw and touched Him when He was alive on the earth."

(This argument against teind-paying does not work on the Lady in the Green, as it merely convinces her that sacrificing a Christian—in whose life Christ lives timelessly—will add extra potency to the teind, but it was a good try.)

I have no idea if our interpretation of that passage is in accordance with Jewish interpretations, but Christians see it as removing the obligation to make blood sacrifices and replacing it with the more difficult obligation to "do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God."

I don't know about Micah, but there's at least one Jewish interpretation of the Akedah which argues that the point of the episode was to differentiate between the religion of Abraham and other Near Eastern religions of which human sacrifice is a normal component—Abraham could reasonably have expected God to demand the life of his firstborn, so the fact that God intervenes at the last moment to halt the sacrifice and redirect it toward a substitute animal is the notable thing. There's a degree to which that makes sense to me, in the same way that monotheism was so non-normative for the region that it's reinforced over and over in the stories of the Tanakh (and the process by which it evolved is complicated and apparently visible in the literature itself, but this is where my general non-knowledge of Bible studies comes back to haunt me), but I have no idea if it's mainstream at all.

The internet says the version I've memorized is from King James, although I have no idea how that happened. To my knowledge I've never used a KJV Bible for personal study or devotions, although possibly some church I attended some time in the past used it for readings during service.

Every now and then I run into something I've memorized without having any idea where it came from. Usually it's facts rather than quotations, but sometimes it's the latter and when I can't even remember where I read it, well, I'm glad you were enjoying yourself, brain.