Gathering Palms & Preparing for War

The Christian church has just celebrated Palm Sunday, and I recalled one of my favorite memories in preparing for the journey through Holy Week.

When I was stationed in Guam a few years ago (in the nineties), I enjoyed the annual tradition of gathering all of the palms to decorate the chapel and provide for worshippers in our very own jungle. Each year the chaplains and chaplain assistants, our whole team, would spend half a day gathering leaves that would put to shame any stateside palms.

Taking place in a tropical jungle, the event was sweaty, but fun. Good fellowship and even some seasonal early-Easter music. Fortunately, this didn’t take place during the typhoon season, as when the island was smashed by Super Typhoon Paka during our residency.

Jungles are fascinating places. Because the word possesses some rather ominous and even threatening overtones, a number of years ago they were rechristened “rainforests.” Even though most are tropical, there are temperate rainforests, such as in the Olympic National Forest, whose mountains I admire daily from our backyard.

C.S. Lewis alluded to the negative connotation of jungles in his study of “Vivisection,” with its repudiation of animal cruelty.

In justifying cruelty to animals we put ourselves also on the animal level. We choose the jungle and must abide by our choice.

A Modern Use for Jungles

In recent years, the jungles of Guam have been put to a military use. Unsurprisingly, soldiers and their Marine, Navy and Air Force cousins, must be prepared to do their jobs in a wide range of environments. That results in the existence of a variety of training settings, tuned to the specific needs of particular career fields.

For example, I served as the Wing Chaplain at Fairchild AFB where the USAF trains its pilots and aircrew members how to survive when they find themselves in unfriendly settings. Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (SERE) training saves lives.

Anyway, not long ago the Air Force established a Jungle Agile Combat Employment (JACE) Course in, of all places, Guam.

This new course took knowledge from the U.S. Marine Corps Jungle Warfare Training Center and the Lightning Academy in Hawaii and tweaked it for non-combatant career fields to be prepared under the USAF’s Agile Combat Employment (ACE) concept.

This is part of America’s shift in focus to the threats in the Pacific theater. China has never renounced, and constantly proclaims, its intent to force the Republic of China (Taiwan) into their fascist empire. Of course, the fate of Hong Kong reveals just how unbenevolent the so-called People’s Republic is when it comes to maintaining any semblance of democratic freedoms. 

C.S. Lewis, of course, had much to say about the tragedies of fascism and war. However, that is not the focus of this reflection. Instead, the theme of this post reflects two thoughts. 

The less important idea, to which I have paradoxically devoted the most space, is the value of memories. Guam occupies a very special place in my family’s history, in part because all three of our kids were there during their teens. Lifechanging events occurred there.

And it was the wonderful people, military friends and wonderful Chamorro residents that made the most lasting impressions. Remembering the harvesting of palms, and recently learning about the jungle training course turned my thoughts back to that Micronesian paradise.

What’s Truly Vital

The infinitely more important message in this post is to acknowledge the holiest of seasons in which we find ourselves. Beginning with Palm Sunday’s celebration of the joy experienced by God’s people as they welcomed their Messiah into Jerusalem, we have the opportunity now to also join together with Jesus and our brothers and sisters in the faith as we:
~ commemorate the institution of the Lord’s Supper on Maundy Thursday,
~ contemplate the despair of the disciples as they stood at the foot of the cross as Jesus breathed his last mortal breath on Good Friday, and
~ celebrate in awe and wonder how our Savior rose from the grave and encouraged his disciples before ascending to Heaven and resuming his place at the right hand of God the Father. 

Christ’s atoning death, and his glorious resurrection, give us hope in the depths of our despair. And his promised return ensures us that there truly will come a day when we need never again prepare for war – or ever taste the pain of death.

We do well to heed C.S. Lewis’ encouragement to his friend Don Giovanni Calabria in 1948, when the priest was distraught over the troubles transpiring around the world.

Tomorrow [Easter] we shall celebrate the glorious Resurrection of Christ. I shall be remembering you in the Holy Communion. Away with tears and fears and troubles!

United in wedlock with the eternal Godhead Itself, our nature ascends into the Heaven of Heaven. So it would be impious to call ourselves “miserable.”

On the contrary, Man is a creature whom the Angels – were they capable of envy – would envy. Let us lift up our hearts! At some future time perhaps even these things it will be a joy to recall.

C.S. Lewis, the Brothers Grimm & Snow White

You may blame the recent cinematic debacle that is Snow White on a declining Film Studio or the Brothers Grimm, but C.S. Lewis is innocent.

That’s not to say the Grimms didn’t have an influence on the great Oxbridge professor, a subject we’ll explore momentarily. But it was the German folk tales published by academics Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm who published the classic fairy tales that Walt Disney mined so effectively. 

They also popularized CinderellaHansel and GretelLittle Red Riding HoodThe Princess and the Frog, and Rapunzel. Disney began the transformation of these tales into visual treasures as early as 1921 when he founded Laugh-O-Gram Studio in Kansas City, Missouri.

In addition to films, over the years Walt gleaned memorable Grimm stories for a multitude of cartoon shorts, including The Brave Little Tailor and The Four Musicians of Bremen.

Obviously, Walt Disney himself respected the source material for the stories and wielded his editorial prerogative in an appropriate manner. Tragically, the same cannot be said for his corporate heirs. Likewise, the Brothers Grimm bear no culpability in this area.

C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien & Snow White

The truth is, although Lewis and Tolkien appreciated literary fairy tales, neither of the preeminent Inklings were enamored with Disney’s animated treatment of the stories. Curiously, the two distinguished dons actually attended the theater together to view the trailblazing novelty that was Snow White.

They were particularly disappointed with the dwarves, seeing just how different they were from the genuine legends about them. Lewis even wrote “Dwarfs ought to be ugly of course, but not in that way.” Atlas Obscura has an entertaining article about their “movie date” and notes some of the elements they also enjoyed in the feature.

In his lectures published as A preface to Paradise lost, C.S. Lewis elaborates on his response to the Disney version of the tale.

That strange blend of genius and vulgarity, the film of Snow-White, will illustrate the point. There was good unorginality in the drawing of the Queen. She was the very archetype of all beautiful, cruel queens: the thing one expected to see, save that it was truer to type than one dared to hope for.

There was bad originality in the bloated, drunken, low-comedy faces of the dwarfs. Neither the earthiness, the avarice, nor the wisdom of true dwarfs was there, but an imbecility of arbitrary invention.

But in the scene where Snow-White wakes in the woods both the right originality and the right unoriginality were used together. The good unoriginality lay in the use of small, delicate animals as comforters, in the true Märchen [fairy tale] style. The good originality lay in letting us at first mistake their eyes for the eyes of monsters.

If you want to read more about the subject, you can do no better than read Joe Christopher’s article on the subject.

For an interesting argument that fellow Brit G.K. Chesterton would have loved Snow White for the very reason that moved the Inklings to criticize it, see “Tolkien and Lewis disliked Snow White. You know who wouldn’t have?

C.S. Lewis & Grimm’s Fairy Tales

Like his friend, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis was a champion of classical fairy tales. Neither was apologetic for it, although Lewis admitted to being shy about it when he was young. In an essay titled “On Three Ways of Writing For Children,” he wrote,

When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.

In a great post called “Old Enough For Fairy Tales: C.S. Lewis’ “The Chronicles of Narnia” the writer describes this distinction to which Lewis alludes.

The Chronicles of Narnia are not children’s stories. They are fairy tales—but that is precisely why they are not children’s stories. If you can’t understand, you haven’t been listening. Go back and read the quote from Lewis’ essay again. Children are not the only audience for fairy tales.

In 1954, C.S. Lewis apologized to a German professor for being unable to understand the nuances of his volume on philosophy. In doing so, he referred to his youthful reading of the Brothers Grimm in their original German (available at Internet Archive).

I look forward to reading the book (when the translation arrives! My German is wretched, and what there is of it belongs chiefly to the libretto of the Ring and Grimm’s Märchen – works whose style and vocabulary you very possibly do not closely follow).

If you are in the mood for reading Grimm’s Fairy tales today, and your German is sadly lacking, Project Gutenberg has just the translation for you . . . as long as you can read English.


Addendum [added 10 April 2025]

The Brothers Grimm were far more than simply folklorists. They were respected professors at the University of Göttingen. They were devout Christians and worked with other prominent Germans. 

Goethe assisted them at a crucial moment in collecting their tales, and the philosopher Friedrich Schleiermacher provided copyediting assistance. Jacob’s work on German mythology had a pronounced influence on the composer Richard Wagner (World Magazine).

They also began compiling the Deutsches Wörterbuch (Germany dictionary) in 1838, with the first volumes published in 1854. It was the first dictionary to include historical usages of each word, preceding the Oxford English Dictionary, which was initiated in 1857 with its first edition published in 1884.


Bonus Trivia: The dwarves were unnamed until their debut on Broadway in 1912. And on that day they were christened Blick, Flick, Glick, Plick, Snick, Whick and Quee.

Literary Translators Beware

Translating literature from one language to another is a valuable, yet often undervalued, skill. It breaks the linguistic shackles restricting the benefits of good books to those literate in the language in which they are composed.

You can think of it this way. Without the dedicated efforts of translators, someone familiar only with English – e.g. as is, sadly, the case with most Americans – could never read the works of ancient Greeks or Romans. Asian philosophy such as the Four Books and Five Classics of Confucianism would be virtually unknown in the West.

Even contemporary literature from most of the world would be beyond our access. And, obviously, God’s written Word would only be accessible to those who mastered Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek.

While C.S. Lewis is seldom thought of as a translator, it was indeed one of his talents. That doesn’t mean he devoted serious energy to translation. That was not his vocation. On the contrary, in 1945 he wrote: “People praise me as a ‘translator,’ but what I want is to be the founder of a school of ‘translation.’” (I discussed this a number of years ago in “C.S. Lewis’ School of Translation.”)

Dedicated translators have played an invaluable role throughout recorded history. A number of people still make translation their life’s labor. Yet, there are dark clouds on their horizon.

Is there a Future for Translation by Human Beings?

A recent literary journal alerted me to advances in artificial intelligence, which now jeopardize the future of professional translators. 

Back in 2023, an article in Forbes compared the respective advantages and challenges of the two methods. They accurately identified one distinction between a truly fluent human and an artificial substitute.

Language is complex, and culturally specific expressions such as idioms and metaphors, as well as ambiguous or ungrammatical sentences and other context-dependent word choices, can be challenging for AI algorithms.

Unsurprisingly, that same year the American Translators Association offered a more critical opinion in “Machine Translation vs. Human Translation: Will Artificial Intelligence Replace the World’s Second Oldest Profession?

We already mentioned that computers don’t possess our human capacity to comprehend meaning. The creative process, especially when it comes to translation, is the pinnacle of meaning. Human translators translate meaning, not words. The art of translation is understanding the meaning of the original text and then transforming it into something that communicates the same message (or evokes the intended emotion) but might not superficially look like an exact equivalent. . . .

But both now and then, professional translators are here to stay. Equipped with unique human skill and a toolbox full of tech, they’re ready to continue helping the world navigate the tricky business of multilingual communication – transporting messages appropriately, creatively, consistently, and securely to whatever audience you aim to reach. 

In short: machine translation can help when it doesn’t count, but professional human translation is there for you when it does.

Related to expressly literary translations, in contrast to mundane subject matter, the current issue of Poets & Writers contains a piece titled “AI Threatens Literary Translation.” When a European subsidiary of Simon & Schuster announced they would begin limited use of AI for this purpose,

Reactions rose in a flurry: Writers, publishers, and translators contended that AI would produce “bland” work. They lamented the possibility of lost jobs. The European Council of Literary Translators’ Associations resisted the standardization of an idiosyncratic process, stating that the imagination, understanding, and creativity that translation demands are “intrinsically human.”

This informative essay acknowledges that “AI isn’t new to translation either. Literary translators sometimes input segments of their source text into AI-based technologies . . . to generate ideas for particularly thorny passages. But these tools have to be used ‘very carefully . . . because the translations it produces are error-ridden and devoid of flow or beauty.’”

A Quick Experiment with AI Translation

Before completing this post I took a brief (less than ten minute) excursion to ChatGPT to experiment with their translation tool.

The results appear below (all produced in a mere handful of minutes). First I asked the AI to compose a sonnet on the subject of translation. Then I requested translations of that sonnet in five different languages. I have included the sonnet and the final two lines of each translation below.

You can perform a more elaborate experiment yourself, especially if you are familiar with more than one language. This would enable you to compare the accuracy of the translation. Or, perhaps one might take a translated version and translate that back into the original language, to see how closely it relates to the starting point.

In my experiment, the AI was constrained by needing to maintain the original’s form as a sonnet. I assume that if it were simply a literal translation, it may have modified the vocabulary and grammar. Each translation included footnotes. To illustrate how elaborate some of these notes were, I’ve reproduced those which appeared with the translation into Aramaic.

Frankly, if this is what these early AI prototypes are capable of, it appears to me that professional translators may truly have something to be worried about.

The Sonnet

In languages vast, where meanings hide and shift,
A translator’s art gives voice to what is known.
Through words, they bridge the gap, a timely gift,
To carry thought from one to others’ throne.

The rhythm, tone, and essence all must stay,
Though words may bend, they still must hold their grace.
A careful hand must guide the text’s relay,
To keep its heart while moving through time and space.

Yet oft the meaning’s lost in fleeting sound,
Or tangled in the strings of foreign speech.
But still they strive, where words and thoughts are bound,
To bring the message close, within our reach.

A translation’s not just words that blend –
It’s worlds revealed, with meaning without end.

~ Latin ~

Translatio non est solum verba iuncta –
Sed mundi patent, et mens non est puncta.

~ Old English ~

Nis anginn of wordum gemenged anum –
Ac worulda onwreah, and andgit ne swylt.

~ Classical Greek ~

Οὐ γάρ μόνον λέξεις αἱ μεταφράσεις,
ἀλλὰ κόσμοι φαίνονται, ἄνοια οὐδέποτε.

~ Middle Egyptian ~

𓏏𓂋 𓅓𓏏 𓊪 𓏏𓏤 𓆑𓏏 𓊵𓏤,
t r mt ḏbꜥ t ft ḏbꜥ
(“A translation’s not just words that blend –”)

𓂋 𓅓𓏏 𓆑𓏏 𓊵𓏤 𓏏𓏏𓀀.
r mt ft ḏbꜥ t t
(“It’s worlds revealed, with meaning without end.”)

~ Classical Aramaic ~

ܬܪܓܡܐ ܠܐ ܗܘܐ ܒܠܚܘܕ ܡܠܐ ܕܡܬܚܠܛܢ,
ܐܠܐ ܥܠܡܐ ܡܬܓܠܝܢ، ܘܡܕܡ ܠܐ ܚܒܠ.

Notes on the Translation:
1. Classical Aramaic Grammar & Style: The sentence structure follows Classical Aramaic syntax as used in ancient texts. Some phrases had to be adapted poetically since direct translations of modern concepts do not always exist.
2. Vocabulary Adjustments: “Translator” = ܡܬܪܓܡܢܐ (metargemana), a direct and historically accurate term. “Translation” is expressed as ܗܫܬܘܪܬܐ (hishtorta), meaning “interpretation, explanation.” “Essence” is translated as ܡܗܘܬܐ (mehutā), meaning “nature, essence.” “To bridge the gap” = ܡܫܬܪܝܢ ܓܦܐ (meshatrin gapé), literally meaning “to stretch wings” (a poetic expression).
3. Preserving the Poetic Flow: The rhythm and parallel structure of the original sonnet were carefully kept. Adjustments were made for metrical and phonetic balance in Aramaic.
4. This version captures the spiritual and poetic depth of the original while remaining faithful to the Classical Aramaic linguistic style.
5. Would you like an audio recording or a version in Syriac script for authenticity? Let me know how you’d like to refine it!

And all of this in ten minutes. Unfathomable . . .

C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien & Naomi Mitchison

Have your feelings about particular authors changed over time? C.S. Lewis’ attitude toward the work of prolific novelist Naomi Mitchison illustrates this type of progression.

Mitchison’s work possesses a direct link to another Oxford Inkling – J.R.R. Tolkien – whose Fellowship of the Ring she read in proof and favorably reviewed. Brenton Dickieson provides a priceless letter written by Tolkien to Mitchison in 1954.

Naomi Mary Margaret Mitchison was a Scottish novelist who lived more than a century (1897 – 1999). She penned more than ninety books, primarily historical fiction, and including science fiction.

With the outbreak of the First World War, Mitchison joined a Voluntary Air Detachment in a London hospital. (Other familiar women who served in a VAD included Agatha Christie and Amelia Earhart.)

Politically she identified as a Socialist. She was sufficiently leftist that George Orwell regarded her as unsuited for writing anti-Soviet materials for the United Kingdom during the Cold War.

Mitchison’s brother, J.B.S. Haldane, did not equivocate on his radical views, announcing his position as a Marxist. He was a scientist and his atheism brought him into serious disagreement with the Christian views of C.S. Lewis. (I will devote my next post to that interaction.)

Coincidentally, artist Pauline Baynes (who also worked with C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien), provided the illustrations for at least one of Mitchison’s children’s books, Graeme and the Dragon. This quick review offers a concise synopsis and discussion of “the charming illustrations [which] go a long way toward making this a fun read.”

An additional coincidence: the same year Lewis published The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Mitchison also published a fantasy novel for children. The Big House involves time travel and some occultic themes associated with Halloween, etc.

For a thorough synopsis of The Big House and comparison to Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, check out this essay from the University of Glasgow. (That reviewer’s preference is clearly for Mitchison’s more complex approach with its themes related to class struggle.)

C.S. Lewis’ Perspective on Naomi Mitchison

I cannot locate any mention of C.S. Lewis by Mitchison, but he did mention her in passing in several pieces of correspondence. In essence, he praised her skill, but was put off by her graphic use of violent imagery.

In a 1932 letter to Arthur Greeves, he writes:

I thought we had talked about Naomi Mitchison before. I have only read one (Black Sparta) and I certainly agree that it ‘holds’ one: indeed I don’t know any historical fiction that is so astonishingly vivid and, on the whole, so true.

I also thought it astonishing how, despite the grimness, she got such an air of beauty–almost dazzling beauty–into it. As to the cruelties, I think her obvious relish is morally wicked, but hardly an artistic fault for she could hardly get some of her effects without it.

But it is, in Black Sparta, a historical falsehood: not that the things she describes did not probably happen in Greece, but that they were not typical–the Greeks being, no doubt, cruel by modern standards, but, by the standards of that age, extremely humane.

She gives you the impression that the cruelty was essentially Greek, whereas it was precisely the opposite. That is, she is unfair as I should be unfair if I wrote a book about some man whose chief characteristic was that he was the tallest of the pigmies, and kept on reminding the reader that he was very short. I should be telling the truth (for of course he would be short by our standards) but missing the real point about the man–viz: that he was, by the standards of his own race, a giant. 

Still, she is a wonderful writer and I fully intend to read more of her when I have a chance.

C.S. Lewis echoed his concern in a 1942 letter to another of his regular correspondents, Sister Penelope. “I gave up Naomi Mitchison some time ago because of her dwelling on scenes of cruelty. But I recognise real imagination and a sort of beauty in the writing.”

In 1951, C.S. Lewis congratulated author Idrisyn Oliver Evans (1894–1977) on the publication of The Coming of a King; A Story of the Stone Age. Ironically, speculative fiction set in this ancient era, referred to as “Prehistoric SF,” was also the setting of works such as H.G. Wells’ Story of the Stone Age series, which you can read here. Naomi Mitchison also dabbled in the prehistoric field. Lewis wrote to Evans: 

I congratulate you. And I think it is a great thing to put that idea of the Stone Age – which is at least as likely to be the true one – into boys’ heads instead of Well’s or Naomi Mitchison’s. It’s all good. The marriage customs are amusing . . . I hope it will be a great success. 

In 1959, C.S. Lewis provided some wise counsel to a young, aspiring author. The American student was contemplating a volume about the Roman subjugation of Gaul, which Lewis encouraged.

A story about Caesar in Gaul sounds very promising. Have you read Naomi Mitchison’s The Conquered? And if not, I wonder should you? It might be too strong an influence if you did (at any rate until your own book is nearly finished). On the other hand, you may need to read it in order to avoid being at any point too like it without knowing you are doing so.

I don’t know what one should read on Gaul. Apart from archaeological finds (Torques and all that) I suppose Caesar himself is our chief evidence? He will be great fun and I hope you will enjoy yourself thoroughly.

Which side will you be on? I’m all for the Gauls myself and I hate all conquerors. But I never knew a woman who was not all for Caesar – just as they were in his life-time.

C.S. Lewis’ most significant mention of Naomi Mitchison occurs in his brief 1943 essay, “Equality.”

It delivers a brilliant discussion of the subject, one that merits full reading. He commends one of Mitchison’s insights into inequality – although, ironically, she relates it to eroticism.* (You must read it in full context to understand how it supports his independent argument.)

This last point needs a little plain speaking. Men have so horribly abused their power over women in the past that to wives, of all people, equality is in danger of appearing as an ideal. But Mrs. Naomi Mitchison has laid her finger on the real point. Have as much equality as you please – the more the better – in our marriage laws, but at some level consent to inequality, nay, delight in inequality, is an erotic necessity.

Mrs. Mitchison [in The Home and a Changing Civilization] speaks of women so fostered on a defiant idea of equality that the mere sensation of the male embrace rouses an undercurrent of resentment. Marriages are thus shipwrecked.

A final reference to Mitchison brings us back around to my early note that she reviewed Fellowship of the Ring. C.S. Lewis refers to her review in his own, suggesting that she has not gone quite far enough in her praise.

Nothing quite like it was ever done before. ‘One takes it,’ says Naomi Mitchison, ‘as seriously as Malory.’ But then the ineluctable sense of reality which we feel in the Morte d’Arthur comes largely from the great weight of other men’s work built up century by century, which has gone into it.

The utterly new achievement of Professor Tolkien is that he carries a comparable sense of reality unaided. Probably no book yet written in the world is quite such a radical instance of what its author has elsewhere called ‘sub-creation.’

Sadly, Naomi Mitchison was less enamored with the subsequent volumes in The Lord of the Rings . . . but this post has already condensed more than enough information.


* An article in Michigan Feminist Studies notes how Naomi Mitchison’s recurrent references to sexual themes distracted from broader matters throughout her literary career.

Despite Mitichison’s attempts to move the discussion of her body of work from the salacious, it is the frank and open inclusion of sexuality that continues to intrigue her critics and reviewers. Racy, heated passages of Mitchison’s historical novels inspired comment from poet W.H. Auden in the 1930s (“Monstrous Sex: The Erotic in Naomi Mitchison’s Science Fiction”).

The essay’s thesis is what one might expect in a journal devoted to contemporary feminism.

I intend to demonstrate that the ribald sexuality of Mitchison’s work registers as more than merely provocative. Sexual encounters between female characters and aliens, as well as those between women, threaten an imperialising capitalism that dictates who may be loved in a gendered, racialised order.

Must Writing be a Solitary Endeavor?

It’s often said that “writing is a solitary task.” I find that’s only half true.

Sure, each individual is responsible for putting the words on the page (AI-cheats aside), but sharing your work with others before publishing it provides amazing dividends.

Not only can “other eyes” see flaws we are too close to the piece to recognize, good critiques often include suggestions to make our writing stronger.

I’ve occasionally described the benefits I’ve received from being a member of writers [critique] groups around the globe. I titled one of my posts “Be an Inkling,” because this mutual sharing was central to those brilliant minds who gathered together in Oxford.

In 1967, J.R.R. Tolkien described his reason for using that particular word in just such settings. He said he used the word Inkling as “a ‘jest,’ because it was a pleasantly ingenious pun in its way, suggesting people with vague or half-formed intimations and ideas plus those who dabble in ink.”

I too find it “pleasantly ingenious” and have echoed it here in my own domain. 

Conferences can be helpful too, but my experience is that nothing surpasses the encouragement that emanates from the mutual commitment shared by writers who physically gather to share their creations.

I noted above two concrete ways writing friends can contribute to strengthening our work. However, this third element – encouragement – cannot be underestimated. It was precisely this element that brought that masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings, to the world’s attention.

A Pilgrim in Narnia provides a superb account of C.S. Lewis’ essential role in boosting the confidence of his friend J.R.R. Tolkien. He cites a letter in which Tolkien describes how Lewis’ most precious gift was in challenging him to complete his opus.

The unpayable debt that I owe to him was not ‘influence’ as it is ordinarily understood, but sheer encouragement. He was for long my only audience. Only from him did I ever get the idea that my ‘stuff’ could be more than a private hobby. But for his interest and unceasing eagerness for more I should never have brought The L. of the R. to a conclusion.

Melancholy Transitions

Critique groups are weighing on my mind, since the one I’ve been part of for many years has come to its end. The passing of various members during the past decade left too few of us to continue, and we few who were left are mourning the fact that it was not sensible to continue meeting regularly.

It is another reminder of Solomon’s wisdom when he wrote, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.”

Sadly, I lack the energy to help establish another new writing fellowship at this point in my life. Perhaps I will join one of the online communities. Christian Writers looks promising.

I actually participated in an online critique community back when primitive “bulletin board systems” were giving way to the nascent internet. No doubt the modern equivalent would be far better in every way.

In the meantime, I do have a few readers I trust to review my work before submitting it to an editor. One is my very talented wife. The problem there, however, is that her love (and compassionate nature) make her too gentle when she critiques my work. 

This drawback is one side of the coin to which author Dan Brown refers when he says: “I learned early on not to listen to either critique – the people who love you or the people who don’t like you.”

This does not mean, of course, that those who love us are unsuitable candidates. It simply suggests that we need to (often repeatedly) give them permission to offer genuinely critical comments, especially when they are accompanied by suggestions for how we might improve a given passage.

In essence although people like William Faulkner are correct in stating that “writing is a solitary job,” most of us can benefit from sharing our drafts with others. 

And fortunate are those of us who discover such friendship, where our writing companions are like-minded, trustworthy, self-confident, and honest. (I personally find having a sense of humor an essential trait, as well.)

In a word, we are greatly blessed to personally become part of our own fellowship of Inklings.

Famous People You’ve Known

How many famous people have you met? Perhaps more than you realize, when you consider how in our expanding and complex world a person can achieve relative fame in a given field, while remaining anonymous to most.

Fame is a pretty lame measure of a person’s character or “worth.” Contemporary society lavishes it on “entertainers,” primarily from sports and a variety of media. Even in these highly visible fields, though, there is so much competition for attention that only an anointed few gain recognition beyond their personal fans.

The subject of notoriety is on my mind now due to the traditional January publications of lists of those who passed during the previous year.

I was surprised to see the names of two people I had met and conversed with on World Magazine’s 2024 account. And only a small number of you will recognize either of their names. After all, a figure’s prominence is frequently restricted to a particular audience, and fame, after all, is notoriously fleeting.

Fame, or notoriety, is not the true measure of a man or woman. In fact, as C.S. Lewis wrote, “even posthumous fame depends largely on accident” (English Literature in the Sixteenth Century).

David Soul was an actor and singer who starred in Starsky & Hutch. His song “Don’t Give Up on Us” topped the Billboard charts.

I met Soul back in the late 70s, when he spoke at an environmental conference. His father was also a Lutheran pastor. We were able to chat for a while at several points during the conference.

The other individual I saw on the list was a man I got to know far better.

Jim Otto was a center for the Oakland Raiders. As a teen and young adult, I was impressed by his Hall of Fame performance, and the fact that he never let an injury keep him from playing. In fact, Otto never missed a game during his 1960-1974 football career.

And then there was his unique jersey number, in honor of his name – 00. Here’s what NPR said about this exceptional athlete who had continued actively supporting the Raiders after their relocation to Vegas, and up to this very year:

Otto joined the Raiders for their inaugural season in the American Football League in 1960 and was a fixture on the team for the next 15 years.

He never missed a game because of injuries, competing in 210 consecutive regular-season games and 308 straight total contests despite undergoing nine operations on his knees during his playing career. His right leg was amputated in 2007.

“He’s a warrior,” former Raiders quarterback Rich Gannon once said. “When you think of the old-time, tough Raider, you think of Jim Otto.”

Of course, like all premier athletes who are genuinely good people, Otto may have been a true warrior on the field, but he remained an unpretentious and compassionate person in everyday life.

I got to know him when we served together on a planning team for a major Christian conference in Sacramento. I even visited him in the hospital, along with his own pastor, while he was having back surgery in Los Angeles.

Fame is not Always Beneficial

Fame is not, of course, intrinsically positive. In our modern era, people often gain it for disturbing reasons. And many of those who sought it end up resenting its demands and desiring anonymity.

I would commend to you a prayer I prayed as I composed this post: Thank you, Lord, for shielding me from fame

Naturally, if you do happen to find fame unavoidable, you can use it for good purposes, like promoting worthwhile causes. But count me as one of those who is utterly content in simply being trusted (and perhaps even respected), by those who know me best.

We’ll close with another profound thought offered by C.S. Lewis. In a 1949 letter to his friend Don Giovanni Calabria, Lewis described how he felt his literary skills decreasing. And, in genuine humility, he ponders whether it might be a divine blessing for him to lose the public renown which had become a burden.

As for my own work, I would not wish to deceive you with vain hope. I am now in my fiftieth year. I feel my zeal for writing, and whatever talent I originally possessed, to be decreasing; nor (I believe) do I please my readers as I used to. I labour under many difficulties. . . .

These things I write not as complaints but lest you should believe I am writing books. If it shall please God that I write more books, blessed be He. If it shall please Him not, again, blessed be He. Perhaps it will be the most wholesome thing for my soul that I lose both fame and skill lest I were to fall into that evil disease, vainglory.

The great irony here is two-fold. Not only has C.S. Lewis’ reputation continued to grow since his passing, so has Father Calabria’s. In fact, after his own death, Lewis’ friend was canonized a Roman Catholic saint.

I have no doubt that had he been asked if he deserved such an honor, he would have vociferously objected. That is because one essential quality of Christian discipleship is humility. In the Vatican description of his life, it notes “he served all, offering himself to do the most humiliating and courageous tasks.

Now that is an example well worth following.

C.S. Lewis & Emotions

Are you one of those people who pride themselves on not being particularly emotional? Probably not, since the pendulum has swung far in the opposite direction in our current day. (Consider how few clicks a Tik Tok influencer with “flat affect” would get.)

Most of us know some people (most commonly men – forgive me the generalization) who keep their emotions under tight rein.

Back when I was a child, in the mid-twentieth century, it was not uncommon for men to “guard” their notion of masculinity by acting emotionless. And various ethnicities, including my own ancestors, possessed a reputation for being staid.

I can’t recall my Norwegian grandfather, who died when I was about ten, ever expressing truly warm sentiments. I know he must have laughed, and my grandmother had a great sense of humor, but I have no memory of it.

For some reason, many people picture C.S. Lewis as an emotionally sober intellectual. Perhaps it’s because he wrote so many profound essays. The truth is that Lewis was extremely jovial and fun-loving. I have noted some of this humor in the past.

Like most of us, C.S. Lewis’ closest friends saw him most clearly. They witnessed his jocularity in their regular gatherings. His fellow Inklings witnessed it frequently, but I don’t see how anyone can read the Chronicles of Narnia, and perceive their author as reserved, much less grave.

One reason some readers misunderstand C.S. Lewis’ exquisite sense of humor is because it is British. For Americans, for example, appreciating British humor is an acquired taste. As reported by the BBC, the wit often includes elements of “sarcasm, understatement [and] self-deprecation.”

In The Screwtape Letters, C.S. offers an insight into one of the Tempter’s tactics in undermining human nature, in terms of being fashioned in the image of our Creator.

[Englishmen] take their “sense of humour” so seriously that a deficiency in this sense is almost the only deficiency at which they feel shame. Humour is for them the all-consoling and (mark this) the all-excusing, grace of life.

Hence it is invaluable as a means of destroying shame. [. . .] A thousand bawdy, or even blasphemous, jokes do not help towards a man’s damnation so much as his discovery that almost anything he wants to do can be done, not only without the disapproval but with the admiration of his fellows, if only it can get itself treated as a Joke.

And this temptation can be almost entirely hidden from your patient by that English seriousness about Humour. Any suggestion that there might be too much of it can be represented to him as “Puritanical” or as betraying a “lack of humour.”

Lewis’ humor was on full display to his intimate friends, and uninhibitedly on display to the world in a number of his writings. But his openness didn’t end there. 

Just Like the Rest of Us:
a Person of Humor and Grief

I don’t recall anyone labeling C.S. Lewis a “humorist” – likely because his corpus is so diverse and complex – but I think a literary critic could make that case.

Ironically, I once cited an autobiographical reference in which C.S. Lewis applied that very attribute to his own father, a serious solicitor.

In contrast, C.S. Lewis would mature to the point where he was willing to expose that deepest of emotions, grief, with the entire world. In A Grief Observed, he explored his pain in the wake of his wife’s untimely passing. Joy Davidman was the precious wife this confirmed bachelor never anticipated having, and her death crippled him.

His description of his thoughts, doubts, and spiritual struggle in the aftermath has helped many others to survive the nightmare of bereavement. Curiously, for privacy C.S. Lewis initially used a pen name for the volume. (You can read about that here.)

He did not wish to have his authorship of the book distract from its subject matter. He would have known that would only be a temporary tool, since pseudonyms are nearly always uncovered. Initially, however, it was so effective that when it was published, readers recognized it could speak to Lewis’ own grief, and offered him gift copies.

T.S. Eliot was one of its first advocates for the volumes publication, and you can read that story at Faber & Faber.

A Final Lewisian Observation on Emotions

Some people view the intensity of emotions associated with events to be a measure of their validity. If my passions are aroused by an activity, we incorrectly think, it must be real!

This error is particularly dangerous when related to so-called “matters of the heart” and matters of faith. 

C.S. Lewis was cautious in both realms. We already noted his resignation to live out his life as a single man. In terms of faith, he was just as circumspect. His conversion from atheism to Christianity was long, thoughtful, and reluctant. 

And this, I found, was something I had not wanted. But to recognize the ground for my evasion was of course to recognize both its shame and its futility.

I know very well when, but hardly how, the final step was taken. I was driven to Whipsnade [Zoo] one sunny morning. When we set out I did not believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did.

Yet I had not exactly spent the journey in thought. Nor in great emotion. “Emotional” is perhaps the last word we can apply to some of the most important events.

It was more like when a man, after long sleep, still lying motionless in bed, becomes aware that he is now awake. And it was, like that moment on top of the bus, ambiguous.

Freedom, or necessity? Or do they differ at their maximum? At that maximum a man is what he does; there is nothing of him left over or outside the act.

Certainly, many people are blessed with emotional confirmation in their spiritual lives. The obvious peril, of course, is in evaluating the veracity of something by how giddy it makes us feel. 

After all, there will always come “dark nights of the soul” when the feelings have fled . . . but Jesus, still remains.  

Divine Christmas Gifts

I hope everyone was pleased with the gifts they may have received during their Christmas celebrations. As grandparents, my wife and I delighted in the presence of our children and grandchildren as we celebrated together Jesus’ Nativity.

Which raises the subject of the proverbial “reason for the season.” My hope is that Mere Inkling’s friends will know the deep and lasting joy of receiving our Creator’s most precious gift.

In 1958, C.S. Lewis wrote to an American correspondent about one obstacle to receiving God’s gifts. He cited an observation by Saint Augustine that if we are too busy grasping less important things, we can miss out on what is truly priceless.

St. Augustine says “God gives where He finds empty hands.” A man whose hands are full of parcels can’t receive a gift.

Augustine was an ancient African bishop. One of his Christmas sermons has survived and remains quite inspiring sixteen centuries after it was first preached. I encourage you to bask in the glow of the following excerpt.

So then, let us celebrate the birthday of the Lord with all due festive gatherings. Let men rejoice, let women rejoice. Christ has been born, a man; he has been born of a woman; and each sex has been honored.

Now therefore, let everyone, having been condemned in the first man [Adam], pass over to the second. It was a woman who sold us death; a woman who bore us life. The likeness of the flesh of sin [Romans 8] has been born, so that the flesh of sin might be cleansed and purified.

And thus it is not the flesh that is to be faulted, but the fault that must die in order that the nature may live; because One has been born without fault, in whom the other who was at fault may be reborn.

Rejoice, you just; it is the birthday of the Justifier. Rejoice, you who are weak and sick; it is the birthday of the Savior, the Healer. Rejoice, captives; it is the birthday of the Redeemer.

Rejoice, slaves; it is the birthday of the one who makes you lords. Rejoice, free people; it is the birthday of the one who makes you free. Rejoice, all Christians; it is the birthday of Christ.

Rejoice, one and all. God’s undeserved gift to each of us, for all those willing to receive it, is forgiveness and eternal life. 

In his book The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis elaborates on the Augustinian analogy shared above.

Everyone has noticed how hard it is to turn our thoughts to God when everything is going well with us. We “have all we want” is a terrible saying when “all” does not include God. We find God an interruption.

As St Augustine says somewhere, “God wants to give us something, but cannot, because our hands are full – there’s nowhere for Him to put it.” Or as a friend of mine said, “We regard God as an airman regards his parachute; it’s there for emergencies but he hopes he’ll never have to use it.”

Now God, who has made us, knows what we are and that our happiness lies in Him. Yet we will not seek it in Him as long as He leaves us any other resort where it can even plausibly be looked for. While what we call “our own life” remains agreeable we will not surrender it to Him.

What then can God do in our interests but make “our own life” less agreeable to us, and take away the plausible sources of false happiness? It is just here, where God’s providence seems at first to be most cruel, that the Divine humility, the stooping down of the Highest, most deserves praise.

Remember friends, our celebration of the Messiah’s entrance into our world is not limited to a single day, or even a brief season. Every single day we can rejoice at the miracle of the Incarnation and the fact that God loved us enough to send his Son to redeem us.

C.S. Lewis & Mining Minds

When we are young, it is common for us to think of “brain” and “mind” as synonyms. Today, (potentially nefarious) scientific advances are probing the brain, to gain commercially beneficial access to the mind.

What would C.S. Lewis think? Perhaps his 1955 comment about commercialism provides a hint?

I wish we didn’t live in a world where buying and selling things (especially selling) seems to have become almost more important than either producing or using them.

Seventy years later it is strange to apply this economic principle to the ineffable nature of the mind. And it’s even more odd to apply Lewis’ observation to this situation. He would definitely consider using one’s brain more important than marketing it.

As a young man, C.S. Lewis used the word “brain” when referring to dredging up pleasant memories of past holidays. Even in 1921 he realized that memories are capable of adding a resplendent glow to past experiences.

I still feel that the real value of such a holiday is still to come, in the images and ideas which we have put down to mature in the cellarage of our brains, thence to come up with a continually improving bouquet.

Already the hills are getting higher, the grass greener, and the sea bluer than they really were; and thanks to the deceptive working of happy memory our poorest stopping places will become haunts of impossible pleasure and Epicurean repast.

It is certainly no accident one neurologist calls the relationship between brain and mind “the enchanted loom.”

So, why is it that we began with a question about the commercial incentive to secure the “brain data” of willing – and unsuspecting – people? 

Well, it turns out that since “tech companies [already] collect brain data that could be used to infer our thoughts,” it is “vital we get legal protections right” (MIT Technology Review).

Two months ago, California amended their Consumer Privacy statute to include neural data. It quite appropriately immediately follows the protection of “a consumer’s genetic data.) According to the MIT report:

The law prevents companies from selling or sharing a person’s data and requires them to make efforts to deidentify the data. It also gives consumers the right to know what information is collected and the right to delete it.

Which is crucial because:

Brain data is precious. It’s not the same as thought, but it can be used to work out how we’re thinking and feeling, and reveal our innermost preferences and desires (emphasis in original).

Brain Versus Mind

Before proceeding, let’s clarify the difference between the brain and the mind. The brain is a physical organ which controls our autonomous (typically unconscious) bodily functions such as our heart rate and digestion. It also controls our movements and, to a degree, our emotions. 

The mind, on the other hand, is not physical. It cannot be seen or touched, due to its intangible nature. It can, however, be examined and manipulated, which is another subject I have addressed elsewhere.

The mind is involved with thinking and deciding actions. When they are physical actions, such as whether to indulge in a second helping of dessert, the physical actions involved in that indulgence are relayed by the brain to the appropriate muscles required to perform the act.

The mind is commonly equated with our consciousness. As such, it exists in that realm where we can make moral evaluations and arrive at good decisions, even when they may be against our own self-interest.

Here is a simple illustration of the difference. The brain enables a body (person) to rise and possess the balance to walk along a winding path. The mind allows the person to determine which path is the noble or life-affirming option among the innumerable paths before us.

The brain can only assess a path in the physical sense, through vision, balance, etc. The mind comprehends that “path” means far more than physical orientation.

In C.S. Lewis’ address “Transposition,” he discusses his concept of how simpler concepts and knowledge are sometimes forced to attempt to convey greater knowledge. This can only be accomplished imperfectly. Britain’s monthly The Critic offers an excellent discussion of how transposition illuminates Lewis’ “philosophy of the mind.”

A transposition occurs, he argues, when a richer set of conceptual categories must necessarily be represented by a poorer set of conceptual categories.

In his essay “Is Theology Poetry?” Lewis describes how the mind transcends the physical limitations of the brain itself.

If minds are wholly dependent on brains, and brains on bio-chemistry, and bio-chemistry (in the long run) on the meaningless flux of the atoms, I cannot understand how the thought of those minds should have any more significance than the sound of the wind in the trees.

I might summarize this by declaring “we are more than our brains.” Atheists, sadly, will disagree. They acknowledge our accomplishments may leave behind some ephemeral residue, but once that brain perishes due to the lack of oxygen, everything that is/was us, evaporates, never to exist again. 

As the leader of the Church in Jerusalem wrote, without Christ and the promise of the resurrection, what hope exists? 

What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. (James 4).

And this returns us to the question of precisely what these mind scientists are after. Knowing more about the brain is valuable, so that we might prevent and treat the diseases which assail it. 

But far more valuable, I suspect, is a window into the mind. So we might discover keys to how we exercise the miracle of thought.

Knowing fallen humanity’s propensity to abuse science and technology, forgive me if I remain a bit leery of experiments such as this. And, for those who may be tempted to get involved with developing technologies and allow their brains/minds to be probed for a pittance, I encourage you to ponder the ramifications a little longer.

C.S. Lewis Bonus Material

The quotation above from “Is Theology Poetry?” may have whetted your curiosity about the broader context of the sentence. For those who are interested, read on. [Personal note: I absolutely love his phrase “mythical cosmology derived from science…”]

When I accept Theology I may find difficulties, at this point or that, in harmonising it with some particular truths which are imbedded in the mythical cosmology derived from science. But I can get in, or allow for, science as a whole.

Granted that Reason is prior to matter and that the light of that primal Reason illuminates finite minds. I can understand how men should come, by observation and inference, to know a lot about the universe they live in. 

If, on the other hand, I swallow the scientific cosmology as a whole, then not only can I not fit in Christianity, but I cannot even fit in science.

If minds are wholly dependent on brains, and brains on bio-chemistry, and bio-chemistry (in the long run) on the meaningless flux of the atoms, I cannot understand how the thought of those minds should have any more significance than the sound of the wind in the trees.

And this is to me the final test. This is how I distinguish dreaming and waking. When I am awake I can, in some degree, account for and study my dream. The dragon that pursued me last night can be fitted into my waking world.

I know that there are such things as dreams: I know that I had eaten an indigestible dinner: I know that a man of my reading might be expected to dream of dragons.

But while in the nightmare I could not have fitted in my waking experience. The waking world is judged more real because it can thus contain the dreaming world: the dreaming world is judged less real because it cannot contain the waking one.

For the same reason I am certain that in passing from the scientific point of view to the theological, I have passed from dream to waking. Christian theology can fit in science, art, morality, and the sub-Christian religious. The scientific point of view cannot fit in any of these things, not even science itself (“Is Theology Poetry?”).

Those who wish to read more about C.S. Lewis’ thoughts on Transposition and the mind are invited to read the following excerpt, in its fuller context.

. . . Transposition occurs whenever the higher reproduces itself in the lower. Thus, to digress for a moment, it seems to me very likely that the real relation between mind and body is one of Transposition.

We are certain that, in this life at any rate, thought is intimately connected with the brain. The theory that thought therefore is merely a movement in the brain is, in my opinion, nonsense; for if so, that theory itself would be merely a movement, an event among atoms, which may have speed and direction but of which it would be meaningless to use the words “true” or “false.”

. . . We now see that if the spiritual is richer than the natural (as no one who believes in its existence would deny) then this is exactly what we should expect. And the sceptic’s conclusion that the so-called spiritual is really derived from the natural, that it is a mirage or projection or imaginary extension of the natural, is also exactly what we should expect; for, as we have seen, this is the mistake which an observer who knew only the lower medium would be bound to make in every case of Transposition.

The brutal man never can by analysis find anything but lust in love; the Flatlander never can find anything but flat shapes in a picture; physiology never can find anything in thought except twitchings of the grey matter.

It is no good browbeating the critic who approaches a Transposition from below. On the evidence available to him his conclusion is the only one possible. . . .

I have tried to stress throughout the inevitableness of the error made about every transposition by one who approaches it from the lower medium only. The strength of such a critic lies in the words “merely” or “nothing but.” He sees all the facts but not the meaning.

Quite truly, therefore, he claims to have seen all the facts. There is nothing else there; except the meaning. He is therefore, as regards the matter in hand, in the position of an animal.

You will have noticed that most dogs cannot understand pointing. You point to a bit of food on the floor: the dog, instead of looking at the floor, sniffs at your finger. A finger is a finger to him, and that is all. His world is all fact and no meaning. And in a period when factual realism is dominant we shall find people deliberately inducing upon themselves this doglike mind (“Transposition”).

C.S. Lewis & Gluttony

Gluttony. If you were guilty of committing this sin, would you admit it? How, in fact, can we determine whether we (much less someone else) is a glutton? 

And, even if we do fit the description of a glutton, is it all that bad? I mean, it’s not like it is nearly as bad as any of the other so-called “seven deadly sins,” right?

Perhaps C.S. Lewis can offer some illumination on this subject? Our investigation could lead us to a curious, yet edifying, discovery. Just as it enlightened the author of “Ok Google, Who’s Fatter, Me or C.S. Lewis?

Like many of us, in his prime C.S. Lewis did not consider himself beset with the problem of gluttony. Historically, people have been more physically active when they are young – at least that was true before “addiction” to screens, keyboards and game controls became endemic.

Even a quarter century ago this trend was being seriously studied, as in “Computer Use and Physical Inactivity in Young Adults: Public Health Perils and Potentials of New Information Technologies,” which appeared in the Annals of Behavioral Medicine.

As the capacities of the new information technologies for delivering targeted, tailored health behavior change programs are developed, the issues for physical activity promotion will become particularly salient.

The emerging paradox is that this new behavior setting for physical activity program delivery is also a setting that strongly promotes long periods of sedentariness.

C.S. Lewis, obviously, lived prior to the ravages of this plague. Yet, he was not immune to the temptations of the Seven Eight Deadly Sins, as identified by the Desert Father Evagrius Ponticus.

As already mentioned, C.S. Lewis did not consider himself particularly vulnerable to gluttony. This is illustrated by a witty (and fascinating) postscript to a letter written to his lifelong friend Arthur Greeves in 1930.

P.S. When I said that your besetting sin was Indolence and mine Pride I was thinking of the old classification of the seven deadly sins: They are Gula (Gluttony), Luxuria (Unchastity), Accidia (Indolence), Ira (Anger), Superbia (Pride), Invidia (Envy), Avaricia (Avarice).

Accidia, which is sometimes called Tristicia (despondence) is the kind of indolence which comes from indifference to the good – the mood in which though it tries to play on us we have no string to respond.

Pride, on the other hand, is the mother of all sins, and the original sin of Lucifer – so you are rather better off than I am. You at your worst are an instrument unstrung: I am an instrument strung but preferring to play itself because it thinks it knows the tune better than the Musician.

GULA – J.A.G.
LUXURIA – J.A.G., C.S.L.
ACCIDIA – J.A.G.
IRA – C.S.L.
SUPERBIA – C.S.L.
INVIDIA – C.S.L.
AVARICIA – (neither, I hope)

Two decades later, C.S. Lewis would make a related observation in a letter to his friend Don Giovanni Calabria. Apologizing for the delay of his correspondence, Lewis wrote:

Nothing else was responsible for it except the perpetual labour of writing and (lest I should seem to exonerate myself too much) a certain Accidia [sloth], an evil disease and, I believe, of the Seven Deadly Sins that one which in me is the strongest – though few believe this of me.

Gluttony is Not Synonymous with Being Overweight

I meet few people who do not wish that they weighed a few pounds less than they do. That would include the elder C.S. Lewis. Listen to his self-description in a letter to a young admirer in 1954.

Self-effacing, as always, he said he was nothing special to behold: “I’m tall, fat, rather bald, red-faced, double-chinned, black-haired, have a deep voice, and wear glasses for reading . . .” (I hope this is not the only dimension of Lewis that I come to resemble more as the years pass by.)

The United Kingdom and Ireland have an historically odd manner of assessing a person’s weight. I suspect there is a bit of intentional obfuscation involved when they use the archaic measurement of “stone” rather than pounds or kilograms. 

As Britannica says, “the stone is still commonly used in Britain to designate the weights of people and large animals.” Ironically, babies are not weighed this way, presumably because few of them weigh a full stone – fourteen pounds – at birth.

In the military it was important to remain below your maximum allowable weight. This becomes a problem for a fair number of folks (a dilemma with which I’m personally familiar).

Due to the aforementioned problem with sedentary activities, meeting these height and weight guidelines has become a serious issue for many young recruits.

Still, gluttony is not synonymous with weighing more than is healthy for us. Not so, according to a great column at Intellectual Takeout.

It’s typical to associate gluttony with overconsumption, or, an excess of food or drink. But according to C.S. Lewis, that’s only one form the vice takes. The broader definition of gluttony is any inordinate desire related to food or drink. That includes overconsumption, but it also includes overselectivity regarding the type or quality of food and drink.

Derek Rishmawy discusses this Lewisian distinction as well. 

I have to admit that I struggle with gluttony. Yet those who know me probably wouldn’t suspect it. Indeed, I’m tempted to deny it myself because I don’t tend to have a weight issue . . . All the same, this is a sin I’m beginning to realize I need to be increasingly watchful against.

Of course, that confession only makes sense when you understand that there’s more than one way of being a glutton. I’ll let C.S. Lewis explain what I mean.

He cites Screwtape’s letter to his demonic protégé reveling in one of the seldom noticed “victories” of humanity’s Enemy.

One of the great achievements of the last hundred years has been to deaden the human conscience on that subject, so that by now you will hardly find a sermon preached or a conscience troubled about it in the whole length and breadth of Europe.

This has largely been effected by concentrating all our efforts on gluttony of Delicacy, not gluttony of Excess. Your patient’s mother . . . She would be astonished . . . to learn that her whole life is enslaved to this kind of sensuality, which is quite concealed from her by the fact that the quantities involved are small.

But what do quantities matter, provided we can use a human belly and palate to produce querulousness, impatience, uncharitableness, and self-concern? (The Screwtape Letters)

Now, there is something for us to examine in our own lives.

As for those troubled by their physical weight (be it higher or lower than they would like), I discovered an entertaining site where you can find out how much you would weigh on any of the other planets in our solar system.

Exploratorium lifted my spirits by informing me that on Mars I would weigh a mere 96.1 pounds! And best of all, that’s less than seven stone!


The illustration above is based on a detail from The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things painted c. 1500 by Hieronymus Bosch.