Finding Faith in the Hundred Acre Wood
Part 1, in which we see why the wisdom of the wise is so easily frustrated
C.S. Lewis famously wrote, “Someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” Amen. We were all once young and enchantable. If we’re lucky, we’ll be old enough to be enchantable again. We scoff at enchantment in the between times, the times when we know too much and feel too little. The times when we can tamp down magic with explanations and aren’t foolish enough to lose ourselves in children’s stories. But while we’re busy being mature, enchanted places wait for us- their magic never waxes or wanes.
A.A. Milne’s Hundred Acre Wood is my enchanted place. A thin place. As an adult, I feel a curious awareness of enchantment at work- at some point, Pooh and his stories ceased to be merely entertaining; they became subtly spiritual. I’m finding faith parallels littering the forest floor, and I’m trying to tease them out. I’m currently fascinated by the role of knowledge in the Wood because I see a glittering likeness to the role knowledge plays in my own (our own? Making universal assumptions always makes me choke) faith formation. Or faith reconstruction. The more that knowledge and logic frustrate me in my faith journey, the more I find unlikely mentors pointing a different way. In this case, mentors stuffed with fluff.
“And if anyone knows anything about anything,” said Bear to himself, “it’s Owl who knows something about something,” he said, “or my name’s not Winnie-the-Pooh,” he said. “Which it is,” he added. “So there you are.” (A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh, 1926)
When it comes to intelligence, there is a clear hierarchy among the animals of the Hundred Acre Wood, with Owl sitting at the top. It’s no accident that Owl lives in a treehouse. Apart from the obvious (he’s a bird), the height of his house also functions as a metaphor for the exaltation of knowledge- knowledge as an elite entity, separate and above common things (or common animals).
“Owl lived at The Chestnuts, an old-world residence of great charm, which was grander than anybody else’s, or seemed so to Bear, because it had both a knocker and a bell-pull.”
Indeed, the other animals know that when their problems get too tricky, they can seek Owl’s counsel. This is where I love seeing A.A. Milne’s mind at work. When Owl is sought for advice, his chest feathers, quite literally, puff up with his own importance. He becomes long-winded, pulling out his biggest words (often used incorrectly) - impatient with any indications of incomprehension.
“Owl went on and on, using longer and longer words, until at last he came back to where he started…For some time now Pooh had been saying, ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ in turn, with his eyes shut, to all that Owl was saying, and having said, ‘Yes, yes,” last time, he said, ‘No, not at all,’ now, without really knowing what Owl was talking about.”
Clearly, the other animals know how to play the game- they patiently tolerate Owl’s verbosity while they wait for his conclusion. In the quote above, Pooh remains ambivalent while Owl rambles, humbly giving him plenty of time to feel Important. Pooh doesn’t rush Owl, but neither does he listen very carefully, a nod to the silliness of overt displays of intelligence.
For all his knowledge, Owl can’t always figure out his friends’ problems. In the story above, Pooh asks for help finding Eeyore’s lost tail. Owl decides that they should write a notice offering a reward to whoever finds the tail. He tells Pooh that he should put multiple notices up all over The Wood. (But before they can do that, they are to go to Christopher Robin who is the only one who can spell.)
After stepping out the front door, Owl asks Pooh to admire the notices pinned on his house, notices that Christopher Robin had written for him, “Ples ring if an rnser is reqird,” and “plez cnoke if an rnsr is not reqid.” Pooh’s attention is caught by something above the second notice, a bell-pull that looks strangely similar to a donkey tail.
‘Handsome bell-rope, isn’t it?’ said Owl.
Pooh nodded.
‘it reminds me of something,’ he said, ‘but I can’t think what. Where did you get it?’
‘I just came across it in the Forest. It was hanging over a bush, and I thought at first somebody lived there, so I rang it, and nothing happened, and then rang it again very loudly, and it cam off in my hand and-
‘Owl,’ said Pooh solemnly, ‘you made a mistake. Somebody did want it…Eeyore. My dear friend Eeyore.”
While Owl was dreaming up a complicated search-and-rescue mission, Eeyore’s tail was hanging right outside his door. Even right in front of it, the only things Owl could see were Christopher Robin’s fine, scholarly notices. It took a Bear of Very Little Brain to see the donkey tail.
At the end of the day, Owl doesn’t actually know more than the rest of the animals, he just believes he does. His knowledge keeps him from seeing the things that the more whimsical animals are able to. I don’t have it out for Owl at all, he’s my eldest’s and youngest’s favorite character.
Milne is clearly using him as a representation of just how silly and misguided we can become when we are convinced, and confident, in our own intelligence. Also, that knowledge isn’t the straightest path to consolation.
Which is where faith comes to join me in The Hundred Acre Wood:
How easy it is to greedily heap up knowledge in storehouses.
How easy it is to think that knowledge makes our theology water-tight, better than all other poor, porous interpretations.
How easy it is to be fooled that knowledge is the only way to answer our questions.
In deconstruction, I’ve been a bit like Pooh and the other animals of The Wood. When I get to the point where a question is so bothersome that I can’t stand it any longer, I seek knowledge. I read another book, and another book after that, and another article after that. Deep down I know that I’m not going to find The Answer; I know that more knowledge won’t “fix” my faith. But the call to academically resolve problems is hard to resist. And, like a siren call, it doesn’t end well.
Richard Beck says this in Hunting Magic Eels: Recovering Enchanted Faith in a Skeptical Age,
“Many of us are becoming increasingly skeptical about our skepticism, starting to doubt our doubts and question our questions, and getting a little cynical about being so cynical. We’re growing disenchanted with disenchantment, disillusioned with a world devoid of mystery, magic, and enchantment. We’re starting to suspect that the vision of a mechanical and deterministic cosmos given to us by science is a bit inhuman and even monstrous. We’re thirsting for the adventure of enchantment instead of reducing the drama of our lives to the laws of physics- our loves, joys, dreams, and pains simply the collision of dumb particles in an indifferent and mindless universe.”
Looking at our modern obsession with scientific methodologies, one thing is clear about knowledge: it is insufficient. We can gather it in to the end of our days but be no closer to God than when we started. Owl’s knowledge doesn’t find Eeyore’s tail; my quests for knowledge haven’t brought me peace in faith.
More importantly, knowledge too easily leads us to put on airs. Even subconsciously. The more knowledge we have, the more we have to be proud of, bringing us precariously close to the territory described in 1 Corinthians 13, “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge… but have not love, I am nothing.” Knowledge is easy to grow but tough to control.
Knowledge can completely miss the mark. No matter how many theological systems I research, nothing can showcase the Good News as well as an evening of laughter with friends. Or kindness shared among strangers. Or the forgiveness of my husband. When I feel the goodness of Jesus’ news, I’m not working out an equation in my head, I’m recognizing his good work on display.
Winnie the Pooh could be seen as just a children’s story. But, like CS Lewis alluded to, there’s really no such thing as just a children’s story. Innocence and enchantment hide truth in plain sight- the foolish things of the world shaming the wise (1 Corinthians). There’s so much to receive from the Hundred Acre Wood, I’m going to stay there for the next couple posts. If it’s been more than a decade since you brushed shoulders with this enchanted world, I invite you to do so. To be continued!