Charges of Geresy

This is a short story set in the cold, Northern stretches of the world of Pullman’s creation – one much like ours in many ways, but also different. Notably, one where each human possesses a daemon. Daemons are spiritual animals that accompany people in the protagonist Lyra Silvertongue’s world; they are often reflective of the character of the individual. For example, an individual whose nature is naturally cunning might have a serpent as a daemon, whereas one whose nature was obedient and conservative might possess a dog. Daemons are malleable during childhood, shapeshifting from one form to another, only settling on a final form once the individual reaches the age of puberty. This short story concerns the relationship between Lyra and her daemon Pantalaimon (Pan).

A lot can be said about the significance of daemons and what they represent. Pullman has always said that he believes in the democracy of reading – that readers should be left to work out the meaning of a story or narrative for themselves, rather than being told what it should mean. As such, I will give my (current – since as with a child’s daemon, it has frequently shapeshifted) interpretation of what daemons mean.

Pantalaimon – Lyra’s pine marten daemon – is observant and often sensible, having often acted as Lyra’s voice of reason. Yet, he can also be impulsive and moody. Lyra, on the other hand, is independent, strong-minded, and caring. Daemons’ natures often complement the nature of their human counterpart – for example, daemons are often (but not always) of the opposite gender to their human beings.

Daemons are, perhaps, reflective of the multiplicity of the self. We often believe we are one person – one being – a single entity consisting of an eternally and helplessly tangled, yet – crucially – consistent bundle of emotions, thoughts, memories and experience. However, this might not be the case – we could instead be thought of as a melting pot of different desires, emotions, personalities, and drives. All of these feelings and motives are entrenched in constant war for the attention of our conscious minds and the control of our thoughts and actions. How often is it that we look back on our behaviour and wonder how it is that we could have acted in a certain way? Many people often speak of the “voice of reason” or of their “conscience” nagging at them or counselling them at certain times of their lives. These voices are those of just two players in a huge cast of actors who are constantly in conversation and who are vying for the attention of that audience of one: us – the self. Daemons then, are just a modest attempt at physically realising this multiplicity of self, splitting the mind into just two actors – human and daemon, each featuring traits that mirror and complement the other, yet together a consistent whole.

In this story, we see Lyra on a visit to the North to examine the recently unearthed archaeological relics of an ancient people – the Fisher People – who, unsurprisingly, fished for a living. In this icy setting, we see her visit an old friend of hers – Dr Lanselius – the Consul (human representative) of the witches, and the majority of the tale involves a conversation between Lyra and Dr Lanselius about Lyra’s relationship with her daemon Pan, specifically concerning their separation that occurred close to the end of His Dark Materials.

The separation of the daemon from the human is an interesting concept. Early on in the His Dark Materials trilogy, we witnessed attempts by religious authority to eradicate original sin by severing the connection between a daemon and a human being. With the onset of puberty comes a heightened level of self awareness and temptation, not unlike the fall from grace of Adam and Eve. Innocence is lost and with this loss comes the gain of free will, knowledge, and hence responsibility. The idea of the church in Pullman’s world, was that if the temptation never existed in the first place, then there could be no sin.

But there can be nothing else either – there can be no triumph of reason over emotion, there can be no immense voyage of self discovery after the great fall from grace. The world would be a place without war, without temptation, without difficulty. But it would also be an immensely boring place, without love, without compassion, without wonder. Why do we – as human beings – risk life and limb to discover more and to stretch the boundaries of human experience and understanding when we could just as easily content ourselves with resting on the laurels of our species to date? Curiosity and thirst for knowledge and understanding of the world is deeply ingrained within us, from the moment we open our eyes.

It is interesting then to witness the questions and struggles of a young woman whose daemon was separated from her not by force but by choice and to witness the emotions surrounding that great betrayal of the thing she loved most dear – a part of her self – the guilt, the betrayal – and to wonder what it means. Pullman’s writing is unique in that it manages to be both a good old-fashioned “Once Upon a Time” tale, loveable by children and adults alike, and also an insightful exploration of the conscious experience and the nature of reality. This short story – in fact written well before the release of La Belle Sauvage but only released relatively recently – was a pleasant amuse bouche as we await the release of the final instalment of the Book of Dust trilogy. In that, I eagerly anticipate further light being shed on Pullman’s ideas surrounding the nature of consciousness, the self, and the universe. If in the end, everything is still unclear – well, that’s just the nature of things.