“What’s done is done. There is no need to speak to Edmund about what is passed,” Aslan says, and walks away.

“Hullo,” Edmund says awkwardly to his siblings. Lucy gives him a big smile and a hug. Susan follows suit, then asks, “Are you alright?”

“I’m just a little tired,” Edmund replies.

Peter jerks his head toward his tent. “Get some sleep.”

As Edmund walks away, downcast, Peter adds, “Try not to wander off.” He smiles slightly, and Edmund smiles back.

How many times have we watched this scene from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? How many times have we stopped and thought about it? Edmund had betrayed his family and their friends. Because of his errors – great errors born of greed, ignorance, and fear – all four Pevensie children were stuck in the middle of a war. Again. But this time, they had to lead it. To make things worse, soon the four children would realize that Aslan traded his own life for Edmund’s.

Despite all of this, after this scene, not one of his siblings speaks out against Edmund – not to his face, or behind his back. Not one holds on to his or her anger, resentment, or blame. They simply do as Aslan said, and move on. And we the observers are left to wonder how. How did they move on so easily?

As humans, we each have a strong desire for justice. We can easily look at this scene and see injustice – surely Edmund should be punished! He should get what he deserves. Aslan should let the White Witch have him; that would be justice. Or so we think.

Interestingly enough, one of the synonyms Google gives for ‘justice’ is ‘impartiality’. The last few sentences don’t sound impartial to me. On the contrary, they sound like someone has a bone to pick. To me, they sound more like vengeance, also known as revenge, retaliation, payback. Vengeance is anything but impartial, but instead it is fueled by anger, and good rarely comes out of anger.

Aslan knows all this and looked beyond the human perspective. He is an immortal lion, after all, the Son of the Emperor Beyond the Sea. He looks at Edmund as a parent looks at a small child, knowing exactly what Edmund has gone through. And he knows that Edmund has already learned his lesson, at the hands of the White Witch and her lackeys. Aslan does not want to lose the boy, and so he sacrificed himself in Edmund’s place, as many a parent would.

Aslan is merciful, since he doesn’t punish Edmund. He doesn’t need to – punishment is pointless if the transgressor has already learned his or her lesson, as Edmund had. I believe that when the two talked, Edmund admitted his mistakes and Aslan forgave him. Other than that, I don’t know what was said. Of course, just because Aslan showed mercy doesn’t mean that Edmund is off the hook. He would still have to atone for his mistakes, which he did in battle. Thus, mercy and justice were both served, but not vengeance.

But what about Edmund’s siblings? He had betrayed all of them. It would be human nature for them to be angry with their brother, to hold a grudge against him, to demand a clearer version of justice or seek vengeance. Instead, they listen to Aslan; they forgive and move on. Did they know that Aslan hadn’t punished Edmund? Did they know that Edmund had already learned his lesson? It didn’t matter – Aslan had already taken care of it. So Peter, Susan, and Lucy listened to Aslan and let it go. They forgave Edmund and moved on. Would they have been able to do that on their own, without Aslan’s intervention? Probably not – we humans are too good at holding on to hurts. But he did intervene, and they listened, making the effort to interact with Edmund as they always had.

How did Edmund forgive himself? What stopped him from beating himself up internally day after day? I think the answer once again lies in Aslan. Whatever he said to Edmund made him feel secure in the Lion’s forgiveness, esteem, and love. And his siblings did not reject him, but forgave him – that must have helped tremendously. Was it a struggle? Well, how could it not have been? Reading the books, it’s clear he never forgot; when dealing with Rabbadash at the end of The Horse and His Boy, the grown King Edmund reflectively says, “…even a traitor may mend. I have known one that did.” Lewis adds, “And he looked very thoughtful.” Soon after, Edmund agrees to follow Lucy’s plan to show mercy to the vicious Prince of Tashbaan. This scene makes it abundantly clear that Edmund had indeed learned his lesson, and he seems to not be disturbed by his error anymore, judging by the way he acts throughout the book (which is set before the Pevensies return to England).

How does all of this affect us? We are often hurt – purposely and accidentally – by those around us, and we often hurt others. When we are hurt, we ought to forgive those who hurt us. Once, Jesus was asked how many times a brother should be forgiven. He answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:22). This doesn’t mean we only have to forgive our brothers 490 times. We are all brothers and sisters in Christ, so “brother” applies to everyone, and seventy times seven is a numerical symbol for “always”. However, this doesn’t mean that we should let everyone off the hook; like Aslan, we should show mercy and justice.

Jesus talked about forgiveness many times during his ministry and basically everything he said boils down to this: Love people unconditionally. If you do, you can forgive them as Aslan did, as Jesus did when he spoke from the cross, “Father forgive them; they know not what they do.” Will it be hard to forgive? Of course. But not impossible. And if we can extend forgiveness to others because Jesus does, because Aslan would, why should we not forgive ourselves? Aslan would. Jesus does. We need to follow in their footsteps and love ourselves, forgive ourselves.

Does forgiving mean forgetting? That common phrase “forgive and forget” rings in our ears often enough. But forgiving does not mean forgetting. Forgiving is when we don’t allow anger to control us, but instead continue to look for the good in the other person, and to wish them well. But that does not mean we have to forget what they did and continue to trust them. Sometimes people will be like Edmund and never transgress in that way again. More often, we do things habitually, even accidentally, and these actions hurt others. If I lent my car to a friend and she crashed it by driving recklessly, I would forgive her. I might also make her pay for it, and I certainly would not let her drive my next car. Forgiveness doesn’t have to go hand in hand with forgetfulness.

What happens if we don’t forgive? We allow our anger or fear to rule us. We become angry at all, fearful of all. The old song says, “they will know we are Christians by our love,” but if we cling to anger and fear, we cannot love. Not ourselves and not others. And, as Saint Paul wrote, “If I have not love, I am nothing… I gain nothing” (1 Corinthians 13). Aslan, Peter, Susan, and Lucy forgave through love, and their lives were all the richer for it. Hopefully, we can do the same.