Elwin Ransom/Mr. Fisher-King Character Analysis

The resentment which had been rising and ebbing, but rising each time a little more than it ebbed, for several minutes, had now overflowed. All this talk of promises and obedience to an unknown Mr. Fisher-King had already repelled her. But the idea of this same person sending her back to get Mark’s permission––as if she were a child asking leave to go to a party––was the climax. For a moment she looked on Mr. Denniston with real dislike. She saw him, and Mark, and the Fisher-King man […] simply as Men––complacent, patriarchal figures making arrangements for women as if women were children or bartering them like cattle. […] She was very angry.

“[Y]ou do not fail in obedience through lack of love, but have lost love because you never attempted obedience.”

[…] “I thought love meant equality,” she said […]. “I thought it was in their souls that people were equal.”

“You were mistaken,” said he gravely; “that is the last place where they are equal. Equality before the law, equality of incomes––that is very well. Equality guards life; it doesn’t make it. It is medicine, not food. […] Those who are enjoying something, or suffering something together, are companions. Those who enjoy or suffer one another, are not. […] It is not your fault. […] No one has ever told you that obedience––humility––is an erotic necessity.”

“Do you place yourself in the obedience,” said the Director, “in obedience to Maleldil?”

"Sir,” said Jane, “I know nothing of Maleldil. But I place myself in obedience to you.”

“It is enough for the present,” said the Director. “This is the courtesy of Deep Heaven: that when you mean well, He always takes you to have meant better than you knew. It will not be enough for always. He is very jealous. He will have you for no one but Himself in the end. But for tonight, it is enough.”

She did not doubt that the eldils existed; nor did she doubt the existence of this stronger and more obscure being whom they obeyed…whom the Director obeyed, and through him the whole household […]. If it had ever occurred to her to question whether all these things might be the reality behind what she had been taught at school as “religion,” she had put the thought aside. The things belonged, for her, to different worlds. On the one hand, terror of dreams, rapture of obedience, […] and the great struggle against an imminent danger; on the other, the smell of pews, horrible lithographs of the Saviour […]. But this time, if it was really to be death, the thought would not be put aside. […] Maleldil might be, quite simply and crudely, God. There might be a life after death: a Heaven: a Hell.

“I think MacPhee is introducing into animal life a distinction that doesn’t exist there, and then trying to determine on which side of that distinction the feelings of Pinch and Bultitude fall. You’ve got to become human before the physical cravings are distinguishable from affections––just as you have to become spiritual before affections are distinguishable from charity. What is going on in the cat and the bear isn’t one or other of these two things: it is a single undifferentiated thing in which you can find the germ of what we call friendship and of what we call physical need. But it isn’t either at that level. It is one of Barfield’s ‘ancient unities.’”

The resentment which had been rising and ebbing, but rising each time a little more than it ebbed, for several minutes, had now overflowed. All this talk of promises and obedience to an unknown Mr. Fisher-King had already repelled her. But the idea of this same person sending her back to get Mark’s permission––as if she were a child asking leave to go to a party––was the climax. For a moment she looked on Mr. Denniston with real dislike. She saw him, and Mark, and the Fisher-King man […] simply as Men––complacent, patriarchal figures making arrangements for women as if women were children or bartering them like cattle. […] She was very angry.

“[Y]ou do not fail in obedience through lack of love, but have lost love because you never attempted obedience.”

[…] “I thought love meant equality,” she said […]. “I thought it was in their souls that people were equal.”

“You were mistaken,” said he gravely; “that is the last place where they are equal. Equality before the law, equality of incomes––that is very well. Equality guards life; it doesn’t make it. It is medicine, not food. […] Those who are enjoying something, or suffering something together, are companions. Those who enjoy or suffer one another, are not. […] It is not your fault. […] No one has ever told you that obedience––humility––is an erotic necessity.”

“Do you place yourself in the obedience,” said the Director, “in obedience to Maleldil?”

"Sir,” said Jane, “I know nothing of Maleldil. But I place myself in obedience to you.”

“It is enough for the present,” said the Director. “This is the courtesy of Deep Heaven: that when you mean well, He always takes you to have meant better than you knew. It will not be enough for always. He is very jealous. He will have you for no one but Himself in the end. But for tonight, it is enough.”

She did not doubt that the eldils existed; nor did she doubt the existence of this stronger and more obscure being whom they obeyed…whom the Director obeyed, and through him the whole household […]. If it had ever occurred to her to question whether all these things might be the reality behind what she had been taught at school as “religion,” she had put the thought aside. The things belonged, for her, to different worlds. On the one hand, terror of dreams, rapture of obedience, […] and the great struggle against an imminent danger; on the other, the smell of pews, horrible lithographs of the Saviour […]. But this time, if it was really to be death, the thought would not be put aside. […] Maleldil might be, quite simply and crudely, God. There might be a life after death: a Heaven: a Hell.

“I think MacPhee is introducing into animal life a distinction that doesn’t exist there, and then trying to determine on which side of that distinction the feelings of Pinch and Bultitude fall. You’ve got to become human before the physical cravings are distinguishable from affections––just as you have to become spiritual before affections are distinguishable from charity. What is going on in the cat and the bear isn’t one or other of these two things: it is a single undifferentiated thing in which you can find the germ of what we call friendship and of what we call physical need. But it isn’t either at that level. It is one of Barfield’s ‘ancient unities.’”