From The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe
“...they went and knocked at the study door, and the Professor said ‘Come in,’ and got up and found chairs for them and said he was quite at their disposal. Then he sat listening to them with the tips of his fingers pressed together and never interrupting, till they had finished the whole story. After that he said nothing for quite a long time. Then he cleared his throat and said the last thing either of them expected.
‘How do you know?’ he asked, ‘that your sister’s story is not true?’
‘Oh, but—‘ began Susan, and then stopped.
Anyone could see from the old man’s face that he was perfectly serious. Then Susan pulled herself together and said, ‘But Edmund said they had only been pretending.’
‘That is a point,’ said the Professor, ‘which certainly deserves consideration; very careful consideration. For instance—if you will excuse me for asking the question—does your experience lead you to regard your brother or your sister as the more reliable? I mean, which is the more truthful?’
‘That’s just the funny thing about it, Sir,’ said Peter. ‘Up till now, I’d have said Lucy every time.’
‘And what do you think, my dear?’ said the Professor, turning to Susan.
‘Well,’ said Susan, ‘in general, I’d say the same as Peter, but this couldn’t be true—all this about the wood and the Faun.’
‘That is more than I know,’ said the Professor, ‘and a charge of lying against someone whom you have always found truthful is a very serious thing; a very serious thing indeed.’
‘We were afraid it mightn’t even be lying,’ said Susan. ‘We thought there might be something wrong with Lucy.’
‘Madness, you mean?’ said the Professor quite coolly. ‘Oh, you can make your minds easy about that. One has only to look at her and talk to her to see that she is not mad.’
‘But then,’ said Susan and stopped. She had never dreamed that a grown-up would talk like the Professor and didn’t know what to think.
‘Logic!’ said the Professor half to himself. ‘Why don’t they teach logic at these schools? There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn’t tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth.’
Susan looked at him very hard and was quite sure from the expression on his face that he was not making fun of them.
‘But how could it be true, Sir?’ said Peter.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked the Professor.
‘Well, for one thing,’ said Peter, ‘if it was real why doesn’t everyone find this country every time they go to the wardrobe? I mean, there was nothing there when we looked; even Lucy didn’t pretend there was.’
‘What has that to do with it?’ said the Professor.
‘Well, Sir, if things are real, they’re there all the time.’
‘Are they?’ said the Professor; and Peter did not know quite what to say.
‘But there was not time,’ said Susan, ‘Lucy had had no time to have gone anywhere, even if there was such a place. She came running after us the very moment we were out of the room. It was less than a minute, and she pretended to have been away for hours.’
‘That is the very thing that makes her story so likely to be true,’ said the Professor. ‘If there really is a door in this house that leads to some other world (and I should warn you that this is a very strange house, and even I know very little about it)—if, I say, she had got into another world, I should not be at all surprised to find that that other world had a separate time of its own; so that however long you stayed there it would never take up any of our time. On the other hand, I don’t think many girls of her age would invent that idea for themselves. If she had been pretending, she would have hidden for a reasonable time before coming out and telling her story.’
‘But do you really mean, Sir,’ said Peter, ‘that there could be other worlds—all over the place, just round the corner—like that?’
‘Nothing is more probable,’ said the Professor, taking off his spectacles and beginning to polish them, while he muttered to himself, ‘I wonder what they do teach them at these schools.’”
~C. S. Lewis
‘How do you know?’ he asked, ‘that your sister’s story is not true?’
‘Oh, but—‘ began Susan, and then stopped.
Anyone could see from the old man’s face that he was perfectly serious. Then Susan pulled herself together and said, ‘But Edmund said they had only been pretending.’
‘That is a point,’ said the Professor, ‘which certainly deserves consideration; very careful consideration. For instance—if you will excuse me for asking the question—does your experience lead you to regard your brother or your sister as the more reliable? I mean, which is the more truthful?’
‘That’s just the funny thing about it, Sir,’ said Peter. ‘Up till now, I’d have said Lucy every time.’
‘And what do you think, my dear?’ said the Professor, turning to Susan.
‘Well,’ said Susan, ‘in general, I’d say the same as Peter, but this couldn’t be true—all this about the wood and the Faun.’
‘That is more than I know,’ said the Professor, ‘and a charge of lying against someone whom you have always found truthful is a very serious thing; a very serious thing indeed.’
‘We were afraid it mightn’t even be lying,’ said Susan. ‘We thought there might be something wrong with Lucy.’
‘Madness, you mean?’ said the Professor quite coolly. ‘Oh, you can make your minds easy about that. One has only to look at her and talk to her to see that she is not mad.’
‘But then,’ said Susan and stopped. She had never dreamed that a grown-up would talk like the Professor and didn’t know what to think.
‘Logic!’ said the Professor half to himself. ‘Why don’t they teach logic at these schools? There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn’t tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth.’
Susan looked at him very hard and was quite sure from the expression on his face that he was not making fun of them.
‘But how could it be true, Sir?’ said Peter.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked the Professor.
‘Well, for one thing,’ said Peter, ‘if it was real why doesn’t everyone find this country every time they go to the wardrobe? I mean, there was nothing there when we looked; even Lucy didn’t pretend there was.’
‘What has that to do with it?’ said the Professor.
‘Well, Sir, if things are real, they’re there all the time.’
‘Are they?’ said the Professor; and Peter did not know quite what to say.
‘But there was not time,’ said Susan, ‘Lucy had had no time to have gone anywhere, even if there was such a place. She came running after us the very moment we were out of the room. It was less than a minute, and she pretended to have been away for hours.’
‘That is the very thing that makes her story so likely to be true,’ said the Professor. ‘If there really is a door in this house that leads to some other world (and I should warn you that this is a very strange house, and even I know very little about it)—if, I say, she had got into another world, I should not be at all surprised to find that that other world had a separate time of its own; so that however long you stayed there it would never take up any of our time. On the other hand, I don’t think many girls of her age would invent that idea for themselves. If she had been pretending, she would have hidden for a reasonable time before coming out and telling her story.’
‘But do you really mean, Sir,’ said Peter, ‘that there could be other worlds—all over the place, just round the corner—like that?’
‘Nothing is more probable,’ said the Professor, taking off his spectacles and beginning to polish them, while he muttered to himself, ‘I wonder what they do teach them at these schools.’”
~C. S. Lewis
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