Jeff Baldwin’s

Christianity and Literature

The Little Prince

Last issue, Mole and Water Rat reminded readers that "simple" is not the same thing as "simplistic" in Kenneth Grahame's classic The Wind in the Willows. This issue, readers see more simple truth through the eyes of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery.

Kids say the strangest things.

"I saw the purple and orange recently in the face of a tiger. I could see the individual hairs and the colors and his eyes. I can see the shape of the moon—and I like nothing better than seeing a jet plane flying across the sky leaving a vapor trail. And of course sunrises and sunsets. I can't wait to get up each day to see what I can see."

Kids say the strangest things, but sometimes the same words from adults sound stranger. The preceding awe-struck sentences are not the words of a pre-schooler, but of a 51-year-old man. Have you ever heard an adult talk like this?

As you may have guessed, this is no ordinary adult. This older man is dazzled by what he sees because he had never seen before. After living more than half a century in the dark, complicated eye surgery gave him vision for the first time. And what he sees astounds him.

"I never would have dreamed that yellow was so...so yellow. I don't have the words. I am amazed by yellow. But red is my favorite color. I just can't believe red.

"Grass is something I had to get used to. I always thought it was just fuzz. But to see each individual green stalk, and to see the hair on my arm growing like trees, and birds flying through the air, and everything—it's like starting a whole new life."

Why do such words strike us as strange?  Because adults, by and large, don't talk this way. Kids get excited about all kinds of things, from acorns to bottle caps to waterfalls to turtles. Adults have seen it all before, grown used to it, and rarely "see" anything for how remarkable it is.

This is the basic distinction between adults and children, according to The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery. As you read this odd children's story, you notice that the (adult) narrator and the little prince share a disdain for grown-ups because grown-ups don't see things for what they are. Most adults are too busy to look around.

The story opens with the narrator, a nameless grown-up pilot, describing how his childhood interest in the arts was frustrated by adults. When he was six, he drew a picture of a boa constrictor that had swallowed an elephant, but the adults—who lacked imagination—saw only a hat. So he drew the cross-section of the snake, with the elephant clearly inside. The adults advised him to set aside drawing for more important pursuits.

As the narrator grows up, he defies the odds. Though he becomes an adult himself, he still maintains his childish sense of wonder, and he hopes to meet other adults who are similarly "clearsighted."  Whenever he meets an adult who he thinks might not be blind, he shows that adult his first picture of the boa constrictor. Unfortunately, these adults always see only a hat. They are too much concerned with "matters of consequence."

And so the narrator leads a lonely life, flying planes and talking to adults about sensible things—until one day he makes a crash landing in the Sahara Desert, and finds himself faced with a desperate need to fix his plane before his water supply runs out.

It is here that he meets the little prince, a childish traveler from Asteroid B-612. As we learn about the little prince, we find that his "planet" is tiny, with nothing more than three miniature volcanoes and one small rose. The little prince has met many interesting adults (including a king, a conceited man, a drunk, and a businessman) as he traveled toward earth, but he seems to have found more wisdom from a fox than from any of these men.

The problem with these adults, and indeed most adults, is summed up by the prince as he describes another man he met—a lamplighter. The planet on which the lamplighter lived was so tiny that a full revolution took only one minute, so he was perpetually lighting and putting out his lamp. Although such a life seems absurd, the little prince did not think the lamplighter was nearly as absurd as the king or the businessman: "Nevertheless [the lamplighter] is the only one of them all who does not seem to me ridiculous. Perhaps that is because he is thinking of something else besides himself."

Why are so many adults blind to the wonders of God's creation? Because they turn their eyes inward! As children we are inherently sinful, but we have not had time to harden our hearts to the general revelation contained in God's astounding universe. It takes a lifetime of looking at ourselves and grasping at fame, money and power to blind ourselves to meteor showers, bear cubs, and the rest of this theater of power and glory.

Consider Job. As he suffers, Job cries out that God has deserted him. He believes that he could plead his case before God and receive justice if only God would stand before him. What happens?  God stands before Job— and reminds him of the mind-boggling beauty and complexity of His creation. Job realizes that he is completely unworthy to face God, despises himself, and repents.

Job could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he hadn't grown blind to God's handiwork. If he would have opened his eyes and seen, really seen, that "The earth takes shape like clay under a seal; its features stand out like those of a garment" (Job 38:14), Job would have understood that God is the all-powerful Creator and Sustainer of the universe. He would have known that God is the standard by which all things are measured, and that we have no more right to judge the standard than a speck of sand has.

Christians, of course, have seen the Light; we know the Way. Like John Newton, we were blind but now we see. Though other adults may not share the awe of the 51-year-old man seeing for the first time, we should—because we see the universe for what it really is—God's revelation of His creativity, grace, and strength.

Unfortunately, most Christians don't say things like, "I saw some bees the other day, and they were magnificent. And I jumped a covey of quail. I had heard quail before, but to see them flying—ah, what an experience." We, too, take things for granted—perhaps because, like the king and the businessman, we are only concerned with "matters of consequence," selfishly focused inward.

On what should the Christian focus? The answer lies in the two greatest commandments. (Mark 12:29-31) First, we should see God, rather than ourselves, at the center of the universe. Almost as shocking, we should see our neighbors as every bit as important as us. In fact, we should consider others better than ourselves. (Phil. 2:3)

To see in such a way is to make the most radical worldview shift man can make. Every person is born with his eyes focused inward. As we grow older, our eyes grow more focused on ourselves, to the exclusion of everything else in the world. Only Christians, set free from sin, have the power (through the Holy Spirit) to tear our eyes away and focus on God and then our neighbors. Those who seize this opportunity will occasionally suffer for their radical perspective, but they will also reap an earthly reward: though their eyes are fixed on the prize (Hebrews 12:1-2), they will see this old world anew, like one born again, and will be filled with wonder at the majesty and grace of their Creator reflected in His creation.

Christians need not fall under the curse of the grown-ups described by the little prince. God's Word—the "lamp to my feet and the light for my path" (Psalm 119:105)—illuminates all reality. As we rejoice in the wonder of that reality, we learn to look upon its Creator with awe and reverence. Who, born blind, would not revel at the opportunity to see so clearly?

Jeff Baldwin is the author of ian and the coauthor of The Summit Guide to Choosing a College. He works full-time with World View Academy, training young people at camps across the country.

Christianity & Literature by Jeff Baldwin appears in every issue of Hew Attitude. We encourage you to use Jeff's suggested reading as a supplement to your personal study of literature. Before the next issue of New Attitude arrives, serious students should read Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe.