The Essence of CS Lewis

Cafe Society
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I know that there are many CS Lewis fans here. For you, and for anyone who might be interested, I’ve jotted down a few notes on a chapter from his children’s book The Voyage of the Dawn Treader which seems to encapsulate much of his thinking and his spirit. It’s Chapter 15, “The Wonders of the Last Sea”. (Even the title is very “Lewis” – with “wonders” a kind of pale shadow, in the here and now, of the Joy that he was always seeking, but knew existed primarily elsewhere.)

The adventure has seen the boat approach the far eastern part of the Narnian world, where Aslan is believed to live. It’s also believed that you will literally drop off the end of the world if you sail far enough. Throughout the chapter, there is mention of the special quality of the light that characterises the eastern parts. Particularly “Lewis” is the idea that “there was too much” light. The meaning is that they were approaching the real world, of which our world (or indeed the Narnian world) is merely a shadow.

Lucy, who sees much that others cannot because she’s open and childlike, sees a wonderful underwater world, the description of which must be one of CSL’s great passages in his Narnia books. Another reason Lewis loved Lucy was because she seldom got bogged down by the past, but looked forward optimistically. Thus, “She could not, however, spend much time looking back; what was coming into view in the forward direction was too exciting.”

Lewis’s belief that we should look at the world from the perspective of other people is made quite explicit as Lucy and Edmund reflect back in England on why the Sea People built their city on the top of a mountain rather than in the valleys, as we would do. It’s simply because the valleys are the depths (inhabited by monsters), while the mountain tops are nearest to the surface (“in the shallows”) and places of “warmth and peace”.

Lewis’s belief that the unexpected (whether in people or things) can be of great (often the greatest) value is conveyed by the annoyance that Lucy felt at first when some fish came close to the surface and blocked out her view of the underwater world: “though this spoiled her view it led to the most interesting thing of all”. For it was this activity that led her to notice that the Sea People were actually on an underwater “hawking” expedition (using fish instead of hawks to catch their prey).

Finally, after they drink the sea water, which is not briny but sweet (“drinkable light” as the talking mouse puts it), not only could they bear the previously scarcely tolerable brightness of light, but they brightened themselves (becoming more the type of people they were designed to be, we might suppose, as the came nearer to Aslan’s place). One result of this was that they had no need for talking (reminiscent of Lewis’s oft-expressed dislike of prattlers and gossips).

Perhaps others noted this or know of other passages which almost distil the essence of the man.

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Haven’t got anything tangible to add at this point roger, as I haven’t picked up a CS Lewis work in a while, but when I was a child the Narnia series were my favourite books ever. Ever. Ever!

So yes, I’m a major fan. I think his work is superior to that of J.K. Rowling.
:d&r:

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It’s having a kid to read with that brought me back to Narnia. Some of the language is twee (esp. in dialogue), but you can overcome that by paraphrasing as you go along. The stories stand up pretty well, and his descriptions of scenery and situations are at times brilliantly evocative. He ahs a gift for creating atmosphere.

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Interesting. I’ll have to think about passages when I’m at work, and get back to this thread. Probably something in Till We Have Faces or That Hideous Strength. Oh, and your thread made me go and re-read the last few pages from George MacDonald’s Lilith, too. Have you read it, roger?

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Well, not so good as yours, but the whole of the last chapters in The Lastbattle encapsulate for me the feeling of what Lewis calls Joy- the stabbing sweetness which is desire for the home you have never seen, and long for. Jewel’s speech says it well:

“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now.”

I think that longing pervades most of his work, but I didn’t conciously recognise it for itself until I read Surprised By Joy.

Anyone else?

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I have to admit that I read a bit of GK Chesterton as a result of Lewis’s references to him, but not I think The Everlasting Man, which CSL praises, but I “drew the line” at MacDonald, especially after my brother said it wasn’t much cop! While admitting that I’ve read a few books, such as Tristram Shandy, as a direct result of Lewis’s writings, I have always tried to remind myself that the kind of slightly obsessive, and rather competitive, veneration that CS Lewis societies and the like tend to engender wouldn’t have impressed him much - to say the very least.

During the last five years I’ve been lucky enough to be doing studies which gave me the excuse to read lots of his essays, talks, sermons, etc. and I have to say they are my favourite (at the moment!). Short works like The Inner Ring and his stuff on Criticism (including his short book An Experiment in Criticism) is timeless, elegant and ultimately embracing and gracious. His Letters to Children shows that rare gift of being able to talk about the art of writing in a way which isn’t a complete turn-off. Largely, I think, because he kept it so brief and pithy without being glib. His respect for the children he wrote to (most of whom he’d never met - many of whom lived in the US, as it happens) shines through. I find it both moving and humbling.

Till We Have Faces was of course one of his favourites, and I enjoyed this very much myself. Between them, Tolkein and Lewis have had - and will continue to have - an impact which would I think make them amused, though very happy (though Tolkein will never be amused at the success of Lewis’s Christian apologetics, which he never thought much of). Perhaps this indicates a weakness in Tolkein (related to his perfectionism?). After all, if something that is not perfect helps people a lot, and is not actually wrong or evil, then surely it’s a good thing?

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Oh, easily.

I have sincere doubts that Harry Potter will be considered a “classic” series, or will even be much remembered, in ten or twenty years. Narnia, on the other hand, will live for a long, long time.

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Well, as I understand it, Tolkien was much less comfortable debating theology than Lewis was- for Lewis, it was both a duty and a pleasure. Tolkien was Catholic, he knew what he believed, and he wasn’t very interested in heavy doctrinal exploration. Lewis came to his faith through both intellect and emotion, and after a long philosophical journey. For the record, I got that impression mostly off the biography of the Inklings, as well as Surprised By Joy etc.

I love Chesterton. I had to read Orthodoxy at college, and I fell in love. I don’t always agree with him, but he’s got such style, and he’s like the entertaining, overbearing friend that you can’t get to shut up.

I agree with you about Tolkien’s perfectionism.

If you haven’t read Lilith, I recommend it. The style is a little difficult at first, or at least I found it hard to take, but the story is so beautiful that style becomes unimportant.

I will stop hijacking your thread, and if you would like to chat with me via email about Tolkien/Lewis Chesterton, I would be delighted.

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This is no hijack. I never meant for this to be about one chapter in one book. Am I giving the thread the kiss of death by saying that this is just the type of discussion I was hoping for?!

What were you studying at college, and have you ever read any Charles Williams, someone who Tolkein didn’t much care for?

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Although I’ve only read one HP book, I don’t think you have any reason to d&r. Lewis wrote timeless literature for young minds. Let’s see Rowling’s stuff be swooned over 50 years later. There’s simply not a whole other layer of meaning in the HP books like the CoN books.

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roger thornhill, I think you may be interested in the Mythopoeic Society, an organization devoted to Tolkien, Lewis, and Williams, and the people who inspired them, like Chesterton and MacDonald:

http://www.mythsoc.org/

Incidentally, although I’m generally reluctant to mention misspellings, I notice that you consistently misspell Tolkien.

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And this is a theme Lewis revisits in That Hideous Strength, as it is the major tool used in the attempted corruption of ::suffers brainfart over the name:: Studdock? It fairly leaped off the page.

I love, but do not well understand, the piece of highly-coloured mystic dialogue towards the end of Perelandra where Perelandra, Malacandra, Tor, Tinidril and Ransom are all participating in a very strange discussion about the wonders of Creation and the purposes of Maleldil. I couldn’t attempt to quote it without the book at hand. The overall sense is something like “Do not attempt to fathom the infinite mystery of God. Even when put into words that your ears can hear, it is orders of magnitude beyond what your mortal mind can grasp”.

Another “good bit” in Lewis comes in the Silver Chair, when the green witch is attempting to convince Eustace, Jill and Puddleglum that there is no such thing as Aslan, no such thing as a lion, and ultimately no such thing as an upper world beneath the sun. (Puddleglum was outstandingly cast in the BBC TV series. How could anyone have possibly improved on Tom Baker?)

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Okay. Glad I wasn’t hijacking, then.

I went to a small, Christian ecumenical liberal arts college. We had quasi-mandatory book discussion, and one of the books we did was Orthodoxy. I’d read lots of Lewis, but no Chesterton. I’ve now read Heretics, St. Francis, and The Everlasting Man. Orthodoxy is still my favourite. The course was Western civilization, which meant history of art, music, math, science and medicine, theology, philosophy, and literature. And mandatory Latin.

We have a bunch of Charles Williams’ books. I’ve read The Place of the Lion and War In Heaven. Apparently Descent Into Hell is his best. To use the technical language, he freaks me out. Strange, strange writer. I can definitely see his influence in That Hideous Strength. (The main characters are Mark and Jane Studdock.) I would say that he’s got a creepy obsession with power, and that there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of right/wrong in the books I’ve read.

Must run off to work. Hello, Malacandra! Urendi Maleldil!

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Incidentally, I work in a bookshop. If I never sell another copy of Harry Potter it’ll be too soon.

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I’ve only read a couple of Narnia books, but I’d hardly call them timeless. Like Tolkien, I think they’re rather slapdash writing and full of elements which were lifted from diferent sources and don’t fit well together.
As for that “whole other layer of meaning”–i.e. Christian allegory, for a non-believer like me, that’s the least interesting and least effective layer of Narnia.

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This is interesting, because it echoes in my mind a point raised repeatedly by Joseph Campbell in his works: the pervasive understanding in highly developed mythologies that the “transcendant” is something outside the sphere of matter and time, and all symbols, writing and even thought about it are inadequate to any expression or description of the transcendant. I wouldn’t at first glance have expected such a correlation between the thought of Campbell and Lewis, given the former’s rejection of a personal God and the latter’s firm belief. I really need to read the rest of Lewis’s canon.

“The talking mouse”!!! How dare you! His name is Reepicheep, a knight of Narnia, and one who would not stand to be slurred by someone not remembering his name. If he were here now he’d have satisfaction from you, if you were man enough to pick up the blade.

I don’t really have anything to add to the philosophical discussion, but I won’t sit idly by while one of my heroes is not treated with proper respect.

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That, to say the least, seems to be a minority opinion.

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Thanks, Wendell, for pointing out my strange misspelling of Tolkien. I wondered why (like I say to my kid, “There’s always a reason for everything”), and the best reason I could come up with was the way as a non-German speaker I had to teach myself to “reverse” the English pronunciations of words with “-ie-” and “-ei” when singing Beethoven, Brahms, etc. I think it finally got to me!

As for Lewis’s writing being slapdash, it pretty much was! In a way. His older brother acted as his secretary for much of Lewis’s most creative period, and he (and typists, editors, etc.) licked it into shape for print. He was an incredibly quick writer and a stunningly voracious reader (only if published before 1820, mind you). For all the admission of slapdashery, he could write books readers liked to read, and therefore a rush job from him was superior to most other stuff. One exception, as already noted, might be his dialogues, especially when putting words in the mouths of children. Besides the kids they took in from London during the war, he just didn’t have much experience with them, having no kids of his own, nor nieces or nephews. But the dialogue isn’t slapdash; rather the opposite, I feel - rather stilted in places.

Interesting point re Williams, consistent with what I’ve read about him. One of the most significant things about Lewis’s qualifications as a Christian writer, i.e. as one who might influence others about what it means to follow Jesus, is his attitude towards power, especially vis-a-vis other intellectuals (though I have a feeling he would have hated that word as much as he hated PhDs and what he called the “incubus of research”). There was about him almost none of the restless power hunger of other intellectuals. It’s significant too that he gave away most of his money - I think it was around two thirds.

Oh, and I did remember the rodent’s name, but sometimes the impact of one’s writing is increased by “denaturalising” things. Not calling people or things by their usual names can be surprisingly effective. Calling judges “ex-lawyers”, for example, has the merit of making people think.

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Just an interesting side note- G. K. Chesterton dictated most of his books, and didn’t revise.
In spite of Lewis’s attitude towards power he really, really liked Charles Williams’ writing. I got Figures of Beatrice out of the library when I was reading Sayers’ translation of the Divine Comedy, but I didn’t read it. Humphrey Carter’s Inklings biography has a pretty thorough description of a lot of Williams’s self-derived theology, and his deification of romantic love, and general heterodoxy gave me the general feeling (backed up by reading some of his novels) that I did not like his theology.

Incidentally, W. H. Auden (I think. Either him or T. S. Eliot, but I’m pretty sure it was Auden) loved Williams’ work, especially his poetry. Don’t know if any of it is still in print. I have this vague feeling that Eliot’s Still point of the turning world was derived from something of Williams’s. I’ll have to check.

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I’ve been meaning to read Carpenter’s book for a while. Did you know he died earlier this year? Obit here.

Nice line from him when a bit of a storm blew up around comments of the Archbishop of Canterbury about Charles and Diana that he’d included in his bio of the Archbish. He told a friend it had been a dreadful trial of his integrity for months, having the royal marriage collapse in public while he held this material in his notebooks: “My car kept trying to drive in the direction of Wapping and a whopping cheque, and I had to rein it back.” Wapping is the place where they print The Sun and The News of the World, England’s equivalent of the National Enquirer, I think. Scurrilous, anyway.