A Simple Soul

I'm a simple soul, so have been a bit wary of wading into the difficult issue of whether Muslims worship the same God as we do. I was aware that my head said yes: in so far as they worship the God of Abraham, then they worship the same God as we (and the Jews, of course) do.  Yet my feelings were less confident: not only because of the atrocities and barbarities committed in the name of Allah (Christianity, after all, is not unblemished there) but also because of the way in which they seem to conceive of God: so unutterably distant that the notion of calling God 'Father' is pretty well blasphemous; not to mention denial of Christ, the Trinity and so on. And of course, all that could also be said of the Jews.

So I was interested to read John Charmley's piece on the (always fascinating) All Along the Watchtower site. John does not duck the difficulties, and indeed links to a previous piece of his own in which he argues the case against the proposition. However, his more recent piece is more nuanced, and reconciles what the Church officially teaches with his own difficulties.

In short, it hangs on that clause I introduced earlier:  in so far as they worship the God of Abraham, then they worship the same God as we (and the Jews, of course) do. Of course, they do so in a limited way, as, like the Jews, they have not accepted the fullness of Revelation in Our Lord Jesus Christ, and consequently know far less of God (eg they deny the Trinity) and how to worship Him.

Reading today's Epistle from St John set another thought going in my mind. 'Everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God. Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love.' So, in so far as the Muslim (or Christian, come to that) is truly seeking to live out of love, he knows (however imperfectly) God.

All that then reminded me of another attempt to deal with these difficult issues: C S Lewis' in The Last Battle.

Here Emeth, surely the type of a good Muslim in Lewis' thinking, encounters Aslan: I said, Alas Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me. 

Lewis however, rejects the idea that we worship the same God: Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. 

Forced to choose between Lewis and the teaching of the Church, I naturally adhere to the teaching of the Church. But I quote Lewis because I think his insight also applies. When a Muslim (or a Christian) does things in the name of God which are against love, it is not God whom he serves, but Satan.

As I said at the start, I am a simple soul. The Church teaches that Muslims worship the same God and I accept that. The Church also teaches that their understanding of God is limited, and that they need Christ for salvation, and I accept that. The Church also teaches that, in so far as Islam differs from Christianity (and that is a very substantial amount indeed), it is a false religion.  And I accept that.

And mutatis mutandis, the same could be argued about all the Protestant denominations which reject aspects of the Catholic Faith, to unpack a little further what Archdruid Eileen says here.

Of course the state of any individual's soul is not mine (or yours) to judge.

Rowan Williams on C S Lewis

The fourth and final speaker at last Saturday's Lewis Lectures was Lord Williams of Oystermmouth, the Master of Magdalene (Cambridge) and one-time head of the Anglican Communion. His topic was C S Lewis and Fairy Tales for Adults.

I was not sure what to expect here: to be honest, I had been no fan of his as head of the Anglicans, but I had heard that he was a very good scholar. And so he proved to be.

He delivered an excellent lecture, both in terms of content and delivery. Given it was the final talk in a long afternoon (c.4.30 - 5..20, when we started at 1.30), it is a testament to his skill that he engaged us throughout.

He started by taking an observation from Lewis' Preface to Paradise Lost: how Adam's conversation differs from Satan's.  Adam's conversation is about everything; Satan's, ultimately, is always about himself.  Becoming too interested in ourselves (in a certain sense) is a moral hazard.  From this, he developed his thesis: that salutary literature and thought is always going to check the headlong career of self-absorption.

On the basis of that analysis, Fairy Tales perform well: they are a check on that tendency, relating to a world that is not ours. And that is part of their importance to the young.

Williams went on to refer to one of Lewis' essays (I think) with which I am not familiar (or don't remember), in which he describes three different ways of writing for the young.  A key point here was that to grow up is to able to see oneself afresh.

The Fairy Tale was contrasted with the School Story, particularly with regard to the types of longings they arouse, and how they deal with them. School Stories flatter the ego of the reader (of course, I could/should be the hero) and also leave the aroused desire finally unsatisfied (because I am not). Whereas Fairy Tales have a different dynamic: we don't aspire to be the heroes of them in the same way, as they are fantasy - quite removed from our reality. And they are intrinsically satisfying: they do not leave a legacy of unfulfilled desire in the same way.

Williams (and, if I recall correctly, Lewis) was quick to say that did not mean that Fairy Tales were morally better than School Stories; it was an observation about one of the differences between them. (Indeed from my understanding of Lewis, he would be more likely to have advocated the reading of both, rather than sticking to a diet of one kind or the other).

But Fairy Tale has the particular potential to make us see the spiritual and moral world anew; and that is  what Lewis often sought to do in his own writing, whether in The Screwtape Letters or the Narnia stories.

In this sense, Science Fiction (or some manifestations of it) is very close to the Fairy Tale.  Lewis' trilogy provides a device, particularly in Out of the Silent Planet, by which we can see the whole human race from the outside. (WIlliams also referred to Walker Percy's Lost in the Cosmos here, a book which I have not read, but now plan to buy).  Till We Have Faces is similarly about an individual, Orual, and her stories of herself, and the showing of faces she didn't know that she had...

One of the perspectives underpinning all of this is the realisation that what we do, think and want is a very small part of a very rich and complex environment, but our perspective risks making it seem quite otherwise.

Realistic fiction, on this view, always runs the risks attendant on our identifying too closely with the characters.  That is not to say that Lewis did not like it: he loved Tolstoy and George Eliot for example. But the risk is ever-present.

Williams also considered the very different anthropology of Tolkien, which he characterised as marked by the Norse sense of man confronting the universe; heroic in that sense. Lewis sympathises with that (cf his comment in The Weight of Glory that 'you have never met an ordinary person') but is also keenly aware of the danger of regarding oneself as heroic, as evidenced by those in The Great Divorce who think they are heroes.

A key difference between Tolkien and Lewis, in Williams' view, is that Lewis is aware of the ironic nature of human stories.  Our stories will always end up seeming ridiculous. Reepicheep exemplifies this: he is a hero, but not the kind of hero he aspires to be. We become better by not attending to ourselves and our concerns: sublime not knowing is where wisdom begins - and is fraught with possibilities of irony and comedy.

In summary, Fairy Tales are good for adults (particularly those who think that they have grown out of them) because they can reawaken perceptions we had once but have had trained out of us: to 'become like little children…'

Of all the four talks, perhaps this was the one that made me think most about Lewis' writing in a new way, and for that alone, I am very grateful.

Michael Piret on C S Lewis

The third of Saturday's talks on Lewis was by Michael Piret. Piret is possibly the least well-known of the four speakers (for the previous two, see here and here. My account of the fourth, Lord Williams of Oystermouth [Rowan Williams] will follow).  Piret is the current Dean of Divinity at Magdalen (that is, the Chaplain) and his topic was Lewis the Bald - A Five Act Drama.

Both Mrs T and I assumed that was a typo on the programme, and was meant to be Lewis the Bold; but we were both mistaken.  For the really exciting thing we learned in this talk was that there is a previously unknown work by Lewis that exists only in manuscript in the archives of Magdalen College.

Apparently, for many years, the Vice President of the College has kept an official register. In former times (up until around 1920) this was in Latin, and was an official record of College business: who had been elected to fellowships, taken degrees and so forth. 

Then it was realised that this was simply duplicating what was readily available elsewhere, and was somewhat pointless. So a new custom arose, of writing it in English, and recording things of a more informal nature, which might be of interest to future readers.

There was a brief return to Latin, but from about 1925, the register is in English, and is a prose summary of various interesting bit of college news.

However, when he was Vice President, Lewis wrote a five act drama instead.  This play features real College characters, not very heavily disguised; however, only Lewis and two servants retain their real names.  Other characters are given names which amused Lewis for various reasons - and his successor as Vice President, has helpfully pencilled in the initials of all the real names of the dramatis personae.

I cannot give an account of the play here, as we were asked to turn off any recording devices, and I took that to mean that this part of the afternoon was confidential. I surmise that Magdalen intends to publish the work at some stage, and reasonably enough does not want anyone to steal their thunder.

However, it became very clear that Lewis was not a success in the role of Vice President. It was customary to elect the next most senior person who had not held the role to the job for a year, and then re-elect him for a further year.  Lewis was not re-elected. In later years, when asked to stand for a similar administrative role, he said that anyone who had worked with him in such a capacity would never want to do so again, as he was both 'meddlesome and forgetful.' Many memoirs of the time recall his failure to get details (times, places and purposes of meetings, for example) correct, and his lack of interest in the daily workings of the role, such as answering official correspondence (whereas he was punctilious with regard to unsolicited private correspondence, as his Letters testify).

There's not much more I can say about this talk, except that it was very enjoyable and well delivered - and that the prospect of a previously unknown work of Lewis' (albeit a fairly frivolous one about a fairly dull period in his life) is an exciting one: certainly the extracts to which we were treated were admirably entertaining.

Walter Hooper on C S Lewis

The second lecture in the series on C S Lewis yesterday was delivered by Walter Hooper (for the first, and a little background, see here).  His topic was Memories of C S Lewis.

It is fair to say that Walter Hooper is a Lewis fan; in fact, he loved Lewis with great affection and devotion.  That came through every word of his talk.

He started by describing his first encounter with Lewis' writing (his Introduction to Letters to Young Churches) and the impact that had on him.  Then he got a friendly bookseller to send him everything that crossed his shelf by Lewis, and read them in the order they arrived; an eclectic order, but one which introduced him to the breadth of Lewis' thinking and writing.

He talked about taking Miracles with him into the army, and how it held his attention right through military training, being whipped out and read in bunkers and in the midst of learning to fire artillery, and so on.  What really struck him was how profoundly Lewis believed in the truths of the faith he was proclaiming.

He remarked that many people, reading the many genres in which Lewis wrote, seem to see him almost as different men; but Hooper's perspective, due in part to reading his books in such a random order, was that he was one man with many geniuses.  He also recalled meeting Bob Jones, the famous preacher, at that time, and asking him what he thought of Lewis. 'That man… that man smokes a pipe…; that man drinks liquor….; But I do believe he is a Christian.'

He then recalled his first meeting with Lewis: he had started to write an academic book on him ('fortunately, never finished…') and wrote to him.  He was invited to The Kilns, and remembers his surprise at Lewis' accent.  He had always read him in an American one (Hooper's accent is actually a lovely soft Southern lilt).

He arrived at tea time, and discovered Lewis to be a monumental tea-drinker. Eventually he needed the loo, but being American, asked for the bathroom. Lewis showed him to the bathroom (which was devoid of a lavatory) and gave him towels and soap, asking, as he left him there, if he had all he needed for a comfortable bath.  Hooper had to summon up his courage to descend to the drawing room, and explain what he really needed.  Lewis laughed uproariously and told him that would teach him not to use euphemisms.

On leaving, he was invited to the Inklings meeting the following Monday at the Lamb and Flag (this was when Lewis had accepted the job at Cambridge, returning to Oxford for the weekend, and staying on on Mondays for this important commitment).  There, he said, Lewis did little talking, but threw things around for others to comment on: 'he brought out the best in you; you were your best in his company.  He was the cause of wit in other men.'

Hooper mentioned that he said to Lewis that he struggled to remember that Lewis had ever been married and Lewis responded: 'I've always been a bachelor at heart.' Hooper, understandably didn't feel that he should criticise Lewis' late wife, but Lewis pressed him on her views of Southern (US) Men, until he had to say he disagreed.  He felt dreadful, but Lewis was delighted.  He saw the purpose of conversation as being to argue towards truth, and loved rational opposition (though he hated to lose an argument).

His conversation was always bracing, it was always 'about something; arguing with Lewis was like entering a beauty contest. You had to be ready to be told you were ugly.'

In his work as Lewis' private secretary, Hooper came to find out about the Agape fund; for many years, Lewis had put all the money from his writing and broadcasting into this fund, and it was distributed anonymously to people in need, particularly to widows and orphans.

He was happy to talk about his own books if pressed, but only because they were a topic of mutual interest.  He took the same approach to discussing them as to discussing any other book. But Hooper learned, for example, that Puddleglum was modelled on Lewis' gardener.  For example, when Lewis was taking Joy (who was very ill) to Greece, this gardener said, as the taxi arrived to take them to the airport: "I just heard on the wireless: an airplane had just come down. Everybody on it was killed, Mr Jack. Every one of them: bodies burned beyond recognition. Every single one of them, Mr Jack. Good bye."

Hooper was so given to quoting Lewis, that between them the phrase 'As C S Lewis has said…' became something of a joke. If Lewis wanted a cup of tea, he might say: 'As C S Lewis has said, it is time for some tea. And as C S Lewis has said, you are going to make it.'

He also recalled a story about the young Jack.  When his father was planning a family holiday in France, in 1907 (so Lewis would have been about 8) Jack marched into his father's study: 'I have a prejudice against the French!' 'Why is that?' his father asked. 'If I knew why, it wouldn't be a prejudice!'  So his critical appreciation of language was evident from an early age. And as Hooper pointed out, it is hard to find a better definition of prejudice.

Listening to Walter Hooper for an hour was a great privilege.  His recollections were both entertaining and thought provoking, and I left feeling I understood Lewis just a little more; and glad that I had met someone who knew and loved him so well.

Alistair McGrath on C S Lewis

Yesterday, Mrs T and I were privileged to go to an afternoon of lectures on C S Lewis in Oxford.  The Lectures were in the Grove Auditorium, Magdalen; I was pleased to see inside, as this was built only recently, in a style known as Magdalen Vernacular.  I had previously admired it from outside, as sitting well with the College architecturally, and the inside was also good, including acoustically.

There were four lectures, each very different, and each very good.

The first was by Alistair McGrath, on the relationship between Lewis and Magdalen. In terms of this relationship, one of the key points he made was the importance to Lewis of the interdisciplinary nature of Oxford College life: how the Fellows of all disciplines would eat together every day, and get to know and understand something of each others' disciplines.  He cited as an example, the nobel-prize winning Peter Meadowar, who was a Fellow at the same time, and possible links in the thinking between the two.

Magdalen was also the place where Lewis learned and refined his skills as a lecturer: he resolved truly to engage with undergraduates, and to memorise his lectures as an aid to this.  These skills led not only to his drawing large crowds to his lectures (unlike, say, Tolkien, who apparently mumbled his way through his…) but were also foundational in securing his broadcasting career with the BBC, and his lecturing beyond academe (eg round the airbases of the country for the RAF during the War).

One of his other strengths developed at this time, presumably at least in part in the Magdalen SCR, was his ability to bring sharp minds together, and get the best out of all of them.  That was very much the ethos of the Inklings, the informal grouping of friends who met both in the Eagle and Child (and later the Lamb and Flag) and in Lewis' rooms in New Buildings to discuss their writing (among other things).

It was not all easy: after the War, Lewis was less happy at Oxford. He was criticised for writing popular rather than academic books (and Christian ones at that). He responded by producing several academic books that have stood the test of time: his Preface to Paradise Lost, the Allegory of Love, and his History of English Literature.

He was also (with Tolkien) on the losing side of an argument in the Faculty about including more modern English texts in the Literature syllabus.  I had not realised that English Language and Literature were such new disciplines at Oxford; indeed, that seems to be (at least in part) why Lewis went into the field: he had originally studied Classics but failed to find an appointment.  English was seen as the new growth area, so he studied for a degree in that too, eventually landing the new Fellowship in English Language and Literature at Magdalen.

It was in his rooms at Magdalen, of course, that he famously first discovered belief in God, and then a little later, in Christianity.

Alistair McGrath explained all this, and much more (such as Lewis' problem with games and typing: his thumbs), in an engaging and erudite way, and also took questions at the end, such as what was the problem between Betjeman and Lewis? and what accounts for Lewis' popularity in the USA? All in all, an excellent start to the afternoon.  He was followed by Walter Hooper, whose talk I will blog about in due course.

Memories of CS Lewis

I have been reading various pieces about C S Lewis, honouring the anniversary of his death, and thought I'd add my ha'porth.

I don't remember him myself, as I was only a babe when he died, and we never met; but my late mother attended his lectures in Oxford, and became good friends (as a result) with Charles Williams.

What she said about Lewis was firstly that you could always tell when he was lecturing (which he did in Magdalen Hall) because the pavement outside Magdalen would be four or five bikes deep for a hundred yards or so.  He was by all accounts an outstanding lecturer, and undergraduates loved to hear him.

Another thing she said was that he was an excellent teacher (which is not always the same thing). Infinitely patient with even the simplest question: and keen to lead any student on from a very basic question to a rich and profound understanding of the matter at hand.

There has been a lot of speculation about whether he would have converted to Catholicism had he lived longer.  Walter Hooper clearly believes that he would have done so, others believe he would not.  They cite what is sometimes referred to as his tribal Northern Irish protestantism that hated the Catholic Church.

My mother's view was different.  She said that whilst, as noted above, he was infinitely patient with even the most basic question, there was one exception.  That was when people asked whether he would convert to Catholicism.  That question he gave short shrift - but the drift of his answer was always the same: that he (and the Church of England) was part of the Catholic Church. Thus he saw no need to convert.

My own hunch, for what it's worth, is that as the CofE drifted inexorably away from its tradition he would have found that notion challenged, and that the ordination of women would have been the last straw and prompted him to convert (had he not done so previously). But that, of course, is mere speculation.