How Watership Down Creates Religion

“In the beginning the universe was created. This had made a lot of people very angry and has widely been regarded as a bad move.” -Douglas Adams

Creation stories are incredibly fascinating. Every religion and mythology seems to have their own; from the Abrahamic God creating the world in seven days, to Brahma in some Hindu traditions, creating the world upon hatching from the cosmic egg Hiranyagarbha, to even little known ones like the raven creating the human race by releasing them from a cockle shell in the mythology of the Haida people. Fictional stories, particularly of the fantasy genre, have yielded some interesting creation myths themselves, like the loosely Christian-based origin of Narnia in C.S. Lewis’ eponymous books, to J.R.R. Tolkien’s Music of the Ainur creating Arda in the Ainulindalë, the first part of The Silmarillion. But perhaps the most intriguing creation story in a novel comes from Richard Adams’ Watership Down, which not only is original and smart, but is part of a larger set of beliefs and stories that are saying something very curious and compelling about the nature of religion itself.

Watership Down was published in 1972 and is about a group of rabbits searching for a new home after the destruction of their warren. Despite its modest setting in the English countryside, it has a somewhat epic nature to it, evocative of high fantasy stories and Homeric classics. A successful book, it was made into a great animated film in 1978 by Martin Rosen, which I’ve talked about already, as well as a loosely inspired childrens’ series in 1999 and a recent BBC-Netflix miniseries that’s pretty well-written and terrifically cast though very poorly animated. But what each version of the story manages to get across (with the possible exception of the T.V. series –I haven’t seen it) is the incredibly significant role the rabbits’ religion plays in their world. The tales of their mythic hero El-ahrairah, their creation story, and their adjacent beliefs have been passed down through the generations and have heavily informed their worldview; a worldview that gives them an understanding of their place in the food chain and their natural gifts.

Synopsizing that origin story briefly, the world and all its creatures were created equally by the god Frith. All herbivores, the animals of the world lived in harmony until the progenitor of rabbits, El-ahrairah sired too many offspring, who themselves spread and reproduced, eating up most of the grass,lettuce, clover, etc. When confronted about this by Frith, the arrogant Prince of the Rabbits, insisted his were the strongest of Frith’s creations and refused to stop them. In response, and to teach him a lesson, Frith gave all the other animals “unique gifts”: claws, and sharp teeth with which they could hunt and kill the children of El-ahrairah. After learning about this, El-ahrairah was found hiding in a hole he dug himself by Frith, who impressed by the Princes’ resourcefulness and humility, bestowed on him a white tail, long legs, and a greater speed than any other creature. Telling him that rabbits will never rule the world, Frith gave him these words of both warning and reassurance: “All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and when they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed.” (Adams, p. 40)

It’s a very good story, and demonstrates an understanding on Adams’ part of the purpose creation stories serve for those who believe in them. Namely that they’re a way of accounting for ones’ place in the universe and making sense of it. Rabbits live an existence where they’re hunted constantly by countless predators. In order to rationalize this otherwise nihilistic existence they would have to believe it’s a grand cosmic punishment, much like how some religions rationalize the misery and suffering in the world as well as humanity’s capacity for evil by the concept of original sin. El-ahrairah’s arrogance was his original sin, and all rabbits since have had to suffer for it. But to justify their inherent natural speed and cunning in spite of such a slight means they have to believe they were shown mercy, possibly even forgiven by Frith, and that they proved to him they were worthy of it. And that’s where El-ahrairah becomes a hero as well as their bane. While it may seem odd to continue to praise the mythic figure who doomed them, the religious precedence is there. After succumbing to temptation and being kicked out of Eden, Adam and Eve were faithful and still allowed to parent the human race. El-ahrairah was arrogant, but he also epitomized an ideal for rabbits, being prosperous, quick-witted, and confident. And the story is fashioned in such a way that Frith could be interpreted as just as much responsible as El-ahrairah for the fate of rabbits. But ultimately, it’s the second part of Frith’s promise that makes all the difference: that the rabbits will never be destroyed. Living in constant danger of a thousand enemies is much more comforting in the knowledge of eternal life for your species.

The Lapine faith that branches from this origin story has no organizational structure, which not only makes sense, but makes it more unique. Religions of other fictions, like in George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series, feel compelled to borrow the structural tenants of Christianity in particular, creating a system of priests, bishops, nuns, monks, and usually popes. But Watership Down is more interested in its religion being developed organically based on the nature of its rabbits and their creation myth. All rabbits are descended from El-ahrairah, giving them a closer connection to their deified hero. As such, his legend is more pervasive, and in addition to being Adam and Moses he’s also Gilgamesh and Robin Hood, a figure whose incredible stories are passed down orally through the generations. These stories have made El-ahrairah a more relatable figure in folklore, and many of his additional heroic quests as told in Tales from Watership Down give him a character who not only represents the greatest qualities a rabbit can possess, but also has a fleshed out personality.

Another significant figure in the rabbits’ mythology is particularly fascinating: Prince Rainbow, who is essentially Frith’s emissary to Earth with “the power of the sky and the power of the hills”. He appears in a number of rabbit tales, serving a role not unlike the Maiar in Tolkien or angels in Catholicism, the only recurring divine figure in their canon outside of Frith himself. He’s a beacon of wisdom, pointing El-ahrairah in the right direction, though also a figure to be distrusted, having at one time placed a spy in El-ahrairah’s warren. Indeed El-ahrairah -and the rabbits pride this -has a tenuous relationship with Frith, though never quite displeasing him as much as he had in the beginning. Because of this he’s regarded more like a god than the actual god of their faith. And it speaks to the rabbits’ sense of agency and myth-making that they need a god to once again make sense of their world and place in the food chain, but not one who would interfere in their lifestyle or control them; a god to be respected but not relied upon, and not really close to them. Unlike in some religions, Frith in the lapine faith isn’t a particularly present god, rabbits invoke his name but don’t usually pray to him; Prince Rainbow then is that link in the mortal world for good or bad. Tales from Watership Down includes other supernatural figures that are quite interesting, such as the King of Yesterday and the King of Tomorrow (a bison and a stag respectively) who play important roles in El-ahrairah’s attempt to attain a sense of smell, and the Three Cows of his quest for immortality. Once again, they’re the kind of characters that show up in oral mythologies, morality tales, and parables the world over, often imbued with flourish depending on the teller (the storyteller of the Sandleford rabbits is Dandelion). So in some ways it appears the rabbits’ religion is closer to early Jainism or Aboriginal spiritual traditions than the large scale pontifical institution that dominates the definition. Still, like that conglomerate, it has its’ own dogma, its’ monotheistic structure, and perhaps most curiously, its’ cult of death.

Death is an ever-present harbinger in the life of a rabbit, both in Watership Down and in the world as we know it. Natural predators are stressed in the story but also humans and vehicles, the latter referred to in Lapine as “hrududil”. These creatures are always aware of their fate and that life is short. The movie illustrates this when the one doe of the Sandleford rabbits, Violet is suddenly snatched by a hawk (her role in the group and the general regard of females in rabbit society is a discussion for another time, but also has parallels to common sexist ideas stemming from religions). The other rabbits are saddened and just move on, knowing the same awaits any one of them. Yet they don’t give up, confident they will never be destroyed. Psychologically, this is where their faith and belief in the story of El-ahrairah is a good thing, keeping them from despair. 

We see the opposite in their brief sojourn in Cowslip’s warren, where the rabbits have mostly abandoned that faith, at least the optimistic portion concerning El-ahrairah, and are much more despondent for it; perhaps because for them, death is even more frequent. Cowslip runs almost a literal cult of death, which Fiver forebodingly senses, wherein greater food is provided for the rabbits by a farmer in exchange for him harvesting them. The warren is surrounded by snares and traps, yet Cowslip and his followers refuse to acknowledge them. The only allusion to the taboo subject and the disturbing shadow of death comes from the dreadful poem of their storyteller Silverweed:

“Frith lies in the evening sky. The clouds are red about him.

I am here, Lord Frith, I am running through the long grass.

O take me with you, dropping behind the woods,

Far away, to the heart of light, the silence.

For I am ready to give you my breath, my life,

The shining circle of the sun, the sun and the rabbit.” (Adams, p. 113)

Death is not wholly to be feared by the rabbits though, and indeed Hazel’s group respect death, welcome death when the time is right. Religions as we know them have this same dichotomy. The ideas of Heaven and everlasting life for example are a way to encourage Christians to accept death while not actually worshipping it. The horror of Cowslip’s warren is that without acknowledging El-ahrairah they have no hope to balance it out. They’ve surrendered to death while Hazel’s group, though used to it, will still fight it.

What’s curious too is that in Lapine belief as in beliefs across the globe, death is personified. The Black Rabbit of Inlé is a grim reaper, literally based on the Moon Rabbit of Asian folklore. One story told in Watership Down is an equivalent to the famous game with Death, evocative of The Seventh Seal, in which El-ahrairah tries to best the Black Rabbit at bob-stones in order to save his people, temporarily losing his tail, whiskers, and ears in the process. The Black Rabbits’ role as an omen of death though is more notably a characteristic of the adaptations, where unlike El-arrairah or Frith or Prince Rainbow or El-ahrairah’s companion Rabscuttle, the Black Rabbit is the only mythic figure to actually have a role in the story present. Appearing as a mystic phantom in the movie, he first leads Fiver to an injured Hazel before returning at the end to invite the aged and dying Hazel to join his Owsla (his company), where the interesting choice is made to imply him and El-ahrairah are one and the same.

This epilogue is curious for seeming to confirm the validity of the rabbits’ faith until you realize that Watership Down is itself a myth. By the end of the story it has entered the rabbits’ heritage, Hazel-ra implicitly having earned a place in their canon almost as high as El-ahrairah. There was already one supernatural component in Fivers’ premonitions warning him of the destruction of Sandleford, the danger at Cowslips’ warren and the safety of Watership Down. But in this he’s not too dissimilar from a Biblical prophet. Indeed the characters around Hazel and Fiver fit mythical moulds: the strong, hot-headed but tactical Bigwig, the reasoning and intelligent Blackberry, the naive young innocent Pipkin, and the classical bard Dandelion. Even a villain like General Woundwart has echoes of King Darzin, the enemy of El-ahrairah. And the story is one of hope; of a group of rabbits escaping destruction, journeying to a new home and subsequently defending it from a powerful, violent aggressor. It makes for quite a fitting addition to the Lapine Bible, its stories and lessons to be passed down for generations.

Religion was not Richard Adams’ primary inspiration for the creation story, mythos, and themes of his fictional world -in fact there are just as many allusions to classical epics. But the religion created for this story, to outline the rabbits’ society and worldview, is both distinctly unique and, though perhaps not allegorical, quite insightful as pertains to its mirror of real world religious beliefs and abstracts. It’s relentlessly fascinating and more provocative I think than any of its rivals in other fictions. Watership Down, as anyone who’s read the book or seen the movie can tell you, is exceptionally successful at conveying the rabbits’ perspective, allowing you to see their world as they do. As such, it’s remarkably understandable, their devotion to a mythic hero, doctrine, and hope that they “will never be destroyed”, when existing as prey in a cruel and senseless world full of predators. That religion they’ve formed, that coping mechanism, needs the nuances it has, and their creation and application in this story originally intended for Adams’ daughters is borderline genius.

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