Category: Literature

Inkling Linguistics

On By robstroudIn Advice to Writers, Books, C.S. Lewis, Education, Great Authors, Great Authors, J.R.R. Tolkien, Literature, Middle Earth, Modern Life, Nature, Potentially Useful Trivia, Reading, Words, Writing11 Comments

Last week I wrote about “Learning Languages,” and I promised to follow up with a related theme – the creation of new words and languages. Let’s consider the simple matter first.

Adding New Words

Anyone can make up a new word. The problem is whether we have enough influence to have it adopted and used by another human being. (I add this qualifier to eliminate those who might attempt to skirt the question by simply training parrots to mimic the new word.) As Scientific American relates, 

When parrots are kept as pets, they learn their calls from their adoptive human social partners. Part of their appeal as pets is their ability to sing lower notes than smaller birds and so better reproduce human voices.

So, while you may be able to trick one of your parrots into repeating a novel “word,” that doesn’t count for our purposes here.

Likewise, any other birds who mimic speech, including musk ducks and corvids (ravens, crows and their ilk). In fact, let’s exclude all nonhuman “speakers” from consideration. After all, AZ Animals introduces readers to seven specific animals of different species (only one of which is avian) whose “forebrain is . . . responsible for some animals’ ability to mimic speech.” 

So, animals aside, who embraces and disseminates newly invented new words? Some words, of course, find a partially prepared or receptive audience because they are imported from other tongues. The global influence of English makes other languages especially vulnerable to its influence, which can be deeply resented. The “corruption” of mother tongues sometimes elicits reactionary responses – such as Italy’s current effort to purge English from the Italian Republic.

And some Italians are extremely serious about the task, proposing fines up to €100000. (That is not a typo; at today’s exchange rate it would be $109,857.50.) Their animus toward English follows the path established by the French, who frequently default to Napoléon’s order to refer to Britain as “perfidious Albion.” The Académie Française goes so far as to repudiate specific words, including business, cash, digital, vintage, label, and deadline.

Vocabulary adopted from other nation’s may be “new” to their most recent users, but such importation is certainly not the same as fabricating novel words from the proverbial “whole cloth.”

True Neologisms

I wrote a moment ago that creating words is easy, but persuading others to use them is quite another thing. I’ve discussed this subject in the past, in “Create a Word Today” and “Creative Definitions.” Sadly – and fittingly – none of my personal neologisms have caught on.

Popular creative writers may, however, find their fancies adopted by larger audiences. Shakespeare’s “bedazzled” was birthed in The Taming of the Shrew. The “chortle” was first heard in Lewis Carol’s “Jabberwocky.” “Pandemonium” was revealed as the capital of Hell in Milton’s Paradise Lost. And the first “Nerd” was encountered in Dr. Seuss’ If I Ran the Zoo.

Some neologists were particularly prolific. How about these few additional examples from the Bard: 

Bandit ~ Henry VI
Dauntless ~ Henry VI
Lackluster ~ As You Like It
Dwindle ~ Henry IV

Oh, and Grammarly adds, “Shakespeare must have loved the prefix un- because he created or gave new meaning to more than 300 words that begin with it.” Can you imagine a world without:

Unaware ~ Venus & Adonis
Uncomfortable ~ Romeo & Juliet
Undress ~ Taming of the Shrew
Unearthly ~ The Winter’s Tale
Unreal ~ Macbeth

Before moving on, it would be fair to note that some voices consider this achievement by Shakespeare to be “a common myth.”

It turns out that Shakespeare’s genius was not in coining new words – it was in hearing new words and writing them down before they became widespread, and in wringing new meaning out of old, worn-out words: turning “elbow” into a verb and “where” into a noun. He didn’t invent the words, but he knew how to use them better than anyone.

C.S. Lewis was not a philologist, but he did create a few novel words. The Inkling scholar who pens A Pilgrim in Narnia has written on this subject here and here.

J.R.R. Tolkien was no slouch at inventing English words himself. Some which now reside in our common vocabulary include hobbit and orc. The latter he derived from an Old English word, orcþyrs, a devouring monster associated with Hell. More surprisingly, Tolkien created the modern word “tween,” albeit in the context of hobbits, who lived longer lives than we.

At that time Frodo was still in his tweens, as the hobbits called the irresponsible twenties between childhood and coming of age at thirty-three.

Envisioning novel words is relatively simple, but inventing an entire language, is an infinitely more complex challenge. The universally acknowledged master is J.R.R. Tolkien, whose Elvish tongue has become a “living” language.* But he was not alone in building internally consistent linguistic systems. Albeit, no philologist came near to Tolkien’s expertise, which included elaborate etymologies.

Before considering Tolkien himself, we will note several other efforts of a similar kind. And, following a discussion of Tolkien, we will conclude with a note about his good friend, C.S. Lewis. For, despite the fact that Lewis was not a philologist himself, it is interesting to note that he too dabbled in creatio linguarum.

Inventing New Languages

Some “constructed languages” are formed with practical purposes. Esperanto, birthed in 1887, incorporated elements from existing languages and was envisioned as a common “international auxiliary language.” It boasts its own flag, and claims to be the native language of approximately a thousand people.

One curious use of Esperanto came in its adoption by the United States Army as the “Aggressor Language” used in twentieth century wargames. The curious can download a copy of the now-rescinded Field Manual 30-101-1, which provided guidance for its usage “which will enhance intelligence play and add realism to field exercises.”

Another genuine constructed language is Interlingua. Developed between 1937 and 1951, it is based primarily on the shared (and simplified) grammar and vocabulary of Western European languages. 

In addition to languages constructed for international use, there are a variety of tongues created for fictional applications. “To learn Klingon or Esperanto” describes how linguistic anthropologist Christine Schreyer “invented several languages for the movie industry: the Kryptonian language for ‘Man of Steel,’ Eltarian for ‘Power Rangers,’ Beama (Cro-Magnon) for “Alpha” and Atlantean for ‘Zack Snyder’s Justice League.’” While none of these could ever rival the languages of Middle Earth, her bona fide linguistic credentials place her in a context similar to J.R.R. Tolkien. The interview reveals how Schreyer balances her creative impulses with her anthropological concerns.

I teach a course on linguistic anthropology, in which I give my students the task of creating new languages as they learn about the parts of languages. Around the time I started doing that, “Avatar” came out. The Na’vi language from that movie was very popular at the time and had made its way into many news stories about people learning the language – and doing it quickly.

My other academic research is on language revitalization, with indigenous or minority communities. One of the challenges we have is it takes people a long time to learn a language. I was interested to know what endangered-language communities could learn from these created-language fan communities, to learn languages faster.

Other fictional languages that exist include R’lyehian (from Lovecraft’s nightmare cosmos), Lapine (from Watership Down), Fremen, the Arabic/alien blending (from Dune), Parseltongue (ala Harry Potter), Dothraki (from Game of Thrones), Ewokese, etc. (from Star Wars), Goa’uld and others (from Stargate), Minbari and more (from Babylon 5), and the gutturally combative Klingon and others (from Star Trek). This brief list is far from exhaustive.

Tolkien, Lewis & New Languages

The languages forged by J.R.R. Tolkien are unrivaled by any conceivable measure one might employ. They are no mere stage dressing, like some of the aforementioned examples. Even those with developed vocabularies and consistent grammar fall far short of Tolkien’s creation. In terms of the histories of his languages, his diligent etymologies beggar all other such efforts. Of course, for Tolkien this was no competition. He was driven to make his languages as flawless – not “perfect,” but realistic – as humanly possible. It was a linchpin in his subcreative labor.

As a skilled calligrapher, Tolkien devised unique alphabets to complement his languages. The letters in his alphabets were not devised as mere adornments. Tolkien left that to lesser imaginations. Nor were his scripts restricted to Tolkien’s fiction. The Tolkien Estate offers an insightful essay on “Writing Systems.”

Tolkien also used invented scripts that were not associated with any of his fictional worlds. An early example is the Privata Kodo Skauta (Private Scout Code), which appears in a still unpublished notebook from 1909 called the Book of the Foxrook. This makes use of a phonetic code-alphabet, as well as a number of ideographic symbols representing full words. . . .

Toward the end of his life, Tolkien made use of the New English Alphabet, a phonetic script that combined the logical structural principles of the Angerthas and the Tengwar with letters that looked more like Greek or Latin. The alphabet has not yet been published in full, but examples can be seen in . . . J.R.R. Tolkien: Artist & Illustrator.

The footnote below links to some resources for those who would like to learn how to speak the languages of the elves. By way of help with pronunciations, remember the following advice:

Use an Italian accent to pull off Quenya speech patterns. In general, you can kind of sound Elvish – even without following the rules of the language – by applying an Italian accent when pronouncing Quenyan words. Native Italian speakers tend to use speech patterns from their native tongues to interpret English words, which can make your Elvish sound practiced even when it isn’t.

Speak with an Irish or Scottish accent to pull off a natural Sindarin accent. Irish and Scottish speakers tend to speak English by emphasizing sounds in the front of a word regardless of the standard pronunciation. This is a pretty good method for pronouncing Sindarin words, since the vast majority of them stress the first syllable.

For those who want to quickly capture some Elvish script without the effort of studying, consider the English to Elvish online translator, which is offered by the company that fashioned The One Ring for Peter Jackson’s cinematic epics. I decided to test the translation tool and posed the question: “Does AI translation of English to Quenya actually work?” The software swiftly complied.

It looks elegantly correct, but unfortunately, I’m unable to personally verify its accuracy. And I must confess to modest trepidation since the site advises:

“USE CAUTION BEFORE COMMITTING TO ANY TATTOOS, INSCRIPTIONS AND ENGRAVINGS” [triple emphasis in original].

The Jens Hansen site sells jewelry, as befits the fasioners of The One Ring. In addition to hosting the translator, they offer a free pdf document called Elvish 101 in 5 Minutes. It’s an interesting document, but it reveals a limitation I assume is shared by the online generator. It is a resource for transliterating, not translating, words. Not quite the same thing . . . but the script still looks elegant. 

Tolkien was the master of creating languages for his subcreation, but C.S. Lewis also used the same technique in the writing of his Space Trilogy. Each work focuses on an individual planet in our solar system, which is referred to in the books as the Field of Arbol.

While a number of languages have developed over time, the original language, known as Old Solar, is retained by some, and learned by the series’ protagonist Dr. Elwin Ransom. Ransom is a philologist at Cambridge, and as he is modeled after Tolkien, it’s no surprise his first name means “elf friend.”

In Perelandra, Ransom describes how a language he learned on Mars was once shared by all.

“It appears we were quite mistaken in thinking Hressa-Hlab the peculiar speech of Mars. It is really what may be called Old Solar, Hlab-Eribol-ef-Cordi. . . . there was originally a common speech for all rational creatures inhabiting the planets of our system: those that were ever inhabited, I mean – what the eldila (angels) call the Low Worlds. . . .

That original speech was lost on Thulcandra, our own world, when our whole tragedy [the Fall] took place. No human language now known in the world is descended from it.”

Lewis’ use of Old Solar is sparing, but a partial lexicon can be found at FrathWiki. There, for example, you will learn that “honodraskrud” is Old Solar for a “Groundweed; an edible pinkish-white kind of weed, found all over the handramit” of Malacandra (Mars).

The accomplishments of Tolkien and Lewis are difficult to compare. These two brilliant scholars shared a great many interests, but wrote with far different goals. We rightfully expect genius to vary between such individuals. This is well illustrated by their differing treatments of constructed languages, as Martha Sammons describes so well in War of the Fantasy Worlds.

Tolkien began with invented languages and then developed an elaborate mythology to create a world where his languages could exist. Lewis’s works began with mental pictures; he would then find the appropriate ‘‘form’’ to tie together the images. . . .

[Tolkien’s] penchant for historical and linguistic detail is unparalleled. In contrast . . . Lewis uses just enough language, geography, and science to make his novels believable.

While either approach may inspire those among us who aspire to writing, we best avoid attempting to emulate either author. Best, I believe, to compose our epics with the language that most naturally flows from our pen.

* While some fans of Klingon and Na’vi may learn to speak in those tongues, the students of the languages of Arda, typically possess greater ardor for the languages of Middle Earth. For example, an online guide to learning Elven languages begins by answering the question, “why study Elvish?” And a free online course for learning Quenya is offered here. Among the Quenya dictionaries, the finest free example is available at Quenya-English Dictionary English-Quenya Dictionary.

Learning Languages

On By robstroudIn Advice to Writers, C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, Education, Great Authors, History, J.R.R. Tolkien, Literature, Reading, The Bible13 Comments

C.S. Lewis possessed a gift for languages. Although he was not a philologist like his friend J.R.R. Tolkien, Lewis was well educated and read and spoke a variety of languages.

In fact, when he and his wife played Scrabble, they allowed for the use of words from any language! For the record, though, he does confess to a German professor that his grasp of that tongue is “wretched.”

The only bona fide genius I’ve known was a classmate at the University of Washington. While I was struggling with classical Greek, in preparation for seminary, at the age of 23 Bruce already possessed four master’s degrees and was closing in on his PhD in Linguistics. He spoke fifteen languages, but could read nineteen.

Of course, that is still a small portion of the 7,168 languages Ethnologue tells us are in use today.

This enormous number – which doesn’t include unknown languages spoken among untouched people groups – accounts for the fact that thousands of Christians are laboring now in groups such as Lutheran Bible Translators to make the Scriptures available to all people.

Sometimes this involves creating a written language itself, where only an oral version exists. The largest such organization, Wycliffe Global Alliance, reports that “Bible translation is currently happening in 2,846 languages in 157 countries.”

While the Bible’s translation is certainly of utmost importance, it is wonderful to know that other valuable literature is also made available to readers who could not decipher the language in which it was originally composed. 

Lewis, in fact, was a translator in his own right. Beyond the literal translation of works from one tongue to another, Lewis also functioned as a “translator” of complex concepts and eternal truths. I once described this as C.S. Lewis’ bilingualism.

How many extremely intelligent and well educated people do you know . . . who can actually communicate with those of us possessing normal human intelligence? That talent is a rarity.

And it is precisely what makes C.S. Lewis such an unusual man. He was brilliant. Yet he could communicate with the common person – even the child – just as easily as he conversed with his fellow university dons.

C.S. Lewis mastered a number of modern languages, but it was his study of historic languages that especially inspired him. Icelandic, with its similarity to Old Norse, is one example about which I have written. 

. . . J.R.R. Tolkien and his friend C.S. Lewis established a group called Kolbitár which was devoted to reading Icelandic and Norse sagas. The word itself means “coal biter” and refers to those in a harsh environment drawing so close to the fire’s warmth they can almost bite the coals.

Another example is Old English. Along with Middle English, birthed by the Norman Conquest, these were essential elements of his training as one of the preeminent English scholars of Oxford and Cambridge. And these languages were not merely dusty relics. I encourage the curious to read “C.S. Lewis’s Unpublished Letter in Old English,” which appeared in the journal VII.

In 1926 C.S. Lewis wrote his friend Nevill Coghill a letter in Old English, a language also known as Anglo-Saxon. Unreadable for most current readers of Lewis, it understandably does not appear in his three-volume Collected Letters.

In the essay, George Musacchio provides an illuminating outline of Lewis’ diverse expertise with languages, both “foreign and domestic.” Lewis began the letter to his friend with the following salutation.

“Leowis ceorl hateð gretan Coghill eoorl luflice ond freondlice.”
Which translates as: “Lewis the churl bids to greet Coghill the earl.”

Is English Really that Difficult to Learn?

English is reputed to be one of the most challenging languages to learn. (More on this in a moment.) For example, the simple sentence which follows consists of a mere seven words, but holds seven different meanings, dependent upon which word is emphasized.

“I never said she stole my money.”

This example comes from an article entitled “English is Hard, But Can Be Understood Through Tough Thorough Thought Though.”

Rosetta Stone answers the question of how hard it is to learn English by saying “it depends on your first language.” 

In addition to the fact that “spelling is a poor indicator of pronunciation,” English possesses numerous “specific rules,” and complements this burden with the fact that “some rules have lots of exceptions.” The complexity is due to the language’s history, which also gave rise to its mammoth vocabulary.

English has a lot of words—Webster’s English Dictionary includes approximately 470,000 entries, and it’s estimated that the broader English vocabulary may include around a million words. . . .

English has such a broad vocabulary because it’s a blend of several different root languages. While English is a West Germanic language in its sounds and grammar, much of the vocabulary also stems from Romance languages, such as Latin, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese.

One result of combining these various root languages is that the English vocabulary includes a ton of synonyms . . . And unfortunately, most of these synonyms aren’t fully interchangeable, so the exact word you choose does have an impact on the overall meaning.

It turns out English doesn’t even rank in the top three most difficult languages for the speakers of the five largest language groups. The ranked listings do include, however, Arabic, Japanese, Russian, and Mandarin.

So, let’s reverse the question for a moment. Which languages are the most difficult for a native English speaker to learn? Unbabel lists ten. Fortunately, only one of them is on my wish list.

Babbel Magazine has an article approaching that question from the opposite end. Which language is easiest for English speakers to learn.

This may come as a surprise, but we have ranked Norwegian as the easiest language to learn for English speakers. Norwegian is a member of the Germanic family of languages — just like English! This means the languages share quite a bit of vocabulary, such as the seasons vinter and sommer (we’ll let you figure out those translations).

Another selling point for Norwegian: the grammar is pretty straightforward, with only one form of each verb per tense. And the word order closely mimics English. For example, “Can you help me?” translates to Kan du hjelpe meg? — the words are in the same order in both languages, so mastering sentence structure is a breeze!

Finally, you’ll have a lot more leeway with pronunciation when learning Norwegian. That’s because there are a vast array of different accents in Norway and, therefore, more than one “correct way” to pronounce words.

An article I wrote seven years ago hints at that same conclusion. I made this informative, and mildly threatening, illustration for “Norse Linguistic Invasion.”

Oxford Royale Academy lists several reasons why English is especially challenging to new students. The following issue of “irregularities” also plagues countless native speakers.

One of the hardest things about English is that although there are rules, there are lots of exceptions to those rules – so just when you think you’ve got to [come to] grips with a rule, something comes along to shatter what you thought you knew by contradicting it.

A good example is the rule for remembering whether a word is spelt “ie” or “ei:” “I before E except after C.” Thus “believe” and “receipt.”

But this is English – it’s not as simple as that. What about “science?” Or “weird?” Or “seize?”

There are loads of irregular verbs, too, such as “fought”, which is the past tense of “fight”, while the past tense of “light” is “lit.” So learning English isn’t just a question of learning the rules – it’s about learning the many exceptions to the rules.

The numerous exceptions make it difficult to apply existing knowledge and use the same principle with a new word, so it’s harder to make quick progress.

And even some of the normative “rules” are difficult to grasp. One example is that there’s a very specific order that adjectives must be listed ahead of a noun. According to Rosetta Stone,

The adjective order is: quantity, opinion, size, age, shape, color, origin/material, qualifier, and then noun. For example, “I love my big old yellow dog.” Saying these adjectives in any other order, like “I love my yellow old big dog,” will sound wrong, even when otherwise the sentences are exactly the same and communicate the same thing. Keeping rules like this in mind can be tricky, and it takes a lot of practice to get it right.

Adjective order is seldom considered, in part because it’s not considered good writing to string too many such words together. But apparently there are right and wrong ways to organize any such list.

Royal Order of Adjectives

Most students aren’t taught about adjective order in school and instead learn it through listening and reading. In English, the rules regarding adjective order are more specific than they are in other languages; that is why saying adjectives in a specific order sounds “right,” and deviating from that order makes a statement sound “wrong,” even if it’s otherwise grammatically perfect.

And, since we’re talking about English, even this Royal Order of Adjectives rule has exceptions! 

The hierarchy is not absolute, and there is some wiggle room among the “fact” categories – size, age, and so on – in the middle.

Native speakers are often delighted when they learn about this law and discover how flawlessly they apply it. It even went viral in 2016 . . . The tweet attached a paragraph by etymologist Mark Forsyth . . . giving an example that uses all the categories according to the OSASCOMP hierarchy: “a lovely little old rectangular green French silver whittling knife.”

I do not ever recall being taught (or reading on my own) about the “Royal Order of Adjectives.” Nevertheless, I don’t feel too embarrassed at acknowledging my previous ignorance, since even Lewis himself was comfortable in expressing gratitude for being introduced to new words. For example, when he thanked Dorothy Sayers for enlarging his vocabulary with her work on Dante.

So, is English all that challenging? Well, C.S. Lewis did his part to make it less daunting, joining a public debate in Britain, with an unexpected argument. Discussing English’s previously noted problem with inconsistencies and confusion in spelling, the don offered a simple solution.

In a column on Lewis and the history of words, I included an extended passage from a letter Lewis wrote challenging a contemporary British effort to “reform” spelling. Surprisingly, he argued against the necessity for uniformity in spelling. After explaining why our language functions as it does, he advocates:

As things are, surely Liberty is the simple and inexpensive ‘Reform’ we need? This would save children and teachers thousands of hours’ work.

Surely all but the most diehard grammarians would be sympathetic to his argument.

Next week I plan to write about another linguistic matter closely associated with the Inklings – the creation of new words and languages.

The Church at War

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Church History, Classics Worth Revisiting, G.K. Chesterton, Just War, Martyrdom Today, Military History, Modern Life, Narnia, The Medieval Church, Theological Matters12 Comments

Why would Christian Scriptures commend people for waging war? War, after all, is nearly universally condemned – even as it remains a relentless curse in various corners of our world.

One young pastor was “charged” with a duty that belongs, by biblical extension, to all believers. “This charge I entrust to you [that] you may wage the good warfare, holding faith and a good conscience” (1 Timothy 1).

The reason followers of Jesus are encouraged to actively train for and engage in war is because our enemies are not other human beings. We discussed this fact in our last conversation, as we considered the theological concept of the Church Militant.

To call the Body of Christ “militant” is misleading to those who don’t understand spiritual warfare, the fact that “we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against . . . the cosmic powers over this present darkness . . .” (Ephesians 6).

Unfortunately, because all of us are imperfect (i.e. fallen), Christians can sometimes fail to distinguish between our true enemies and those who witlessly follow their banner. For an excellent discussion of this, from a Roman Catholic perspective, I recommend you read “The Church Militant or the Church Belligerent?”

Another worthwhile read is “G.K. Chesterton and the March of the Church Militant.” There, Joseph Pearce shares Chesterton’s vivid description about how Gothic cathedrals visualize the martial aspect of the Christian Church.

The truth about Gothic [architecture] is, first, that it is alive, and second, that it is on the march. It is the Church Militant; it is the only fighting architecture.

All its spires are spears at rest; and all its stones are stones asleep in a catapult. In that instant of illusion, I could hear the arches clash like swords as they crossed each other. The might and numberless columns seemed to go swinging by like the huge feet of imperial elephants.

The graven foliage wreathed and blew like banners going into battle; the silence was deafening with all the mingled noises of a military march; the great bell shook down, as the organ shook up its thunder.

The thirsty-throated gargoyles shouted like trumpets from all the roofs and pinnacles as they passed; and from the lectern in the core of the cathedral the eagle of the awful evangelist crashed his wings of brass (“The Architect of Spears”).

As a master of words and wit, Chesterton’s writing rarely disappoints. You can download a free copy of The Man Who was Chesterton, which includes this essay, from Internet Archive.

C.S. Lewis did more to equip us for spiritual warfare with The Screwtape Letters than a thousand clergy with a hundred thousand sermons. As one Baptist theologian summed it up in an article about spiritual warfare:

On the subject of spiritual warfare, Lewis is a helpful guide. I’ll remember what he taught: There is an enemy. He seeks my destruction. And this is war.

There is a brilliant quote about this supernatural confrontation, ascribed (apparently in error) to the historical Martin Luther.

If I profess, with the loudest voice and the clearest exposition, every portion of the truth of God except precisely that little point which the world and the devil are at that moment attacking, I am not confessing Christ, however boldly I may be professing Christianity.

Where the battle rages the loyalty of the soldier is proved; and to be steady on all the battle-field besides is mere flight and disgrace to him if he flinches at that one point.

C.S. Lewis echoes this sentiment in The Magician’s Nephew. When Aslan questions the humble man whom he would crown the first King of Narnia, he poses a query which reveals the man’s courage and humility.

“And if enemies came against the land (for enemies will arise) and there was war, would you be the first in the charge and the last in the retreat?”

“Well, sir,” said the Cabby very slowly, “a chap don’t exactly know till he’s been tried. I dare say I might turn out ever such a soft ’un. Never did no fighting except with my fists. I’d try – that is, I ’ope I’d try – to do my bit.”

“Then,” said Aslan, “you will have done all that a King should do.”

If anyone would follow Christ, neutrality is not an option. Though some temporary retreats are inevitable, in God’s strength, we are empowered to continue our (in reality, the Lord’s) advance.

The battlelines are drawn, and they are real. As C.S. Lewis proclaimed in “Christianity and Culture” – “There is no neutral ground in the universe. Every square inch, every split second is claimed by God, and counterclaimed by Satan.”

The image above, “Livonian Sword Brother” (a member of a military monastic order) was created by JLazarusEB and is used here in compliance with the Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND 3.0 License.

History in Retrospect

On By robstroudIn Advice to Readers, C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Church History, History, Modern Life, Reading, The Future, Theological Matters4 Comments

This title, “History in Retrospect,” is of course redundant. There is no other way to consider history than by looking back at the past – from our current vantage point.

That is why it’s impossible to view history completely objectively. Since each of us measures things from our personal worldview, the same event means vastly dissimilar things to different people.

When people are hyper-partisan, they are incapable of reasoning with others who view events differently. The history of the United States is currently the subject of intense (too often extremist) debate by its citizens. Balanced people, the type I prefer talking to, admit the shortcomings in our history, and praise the accomplishments.

There are those, sadly, who believe their nation can have done no wrong. There are others who relish condemning the country’s imperfections. Those in the latter camp remind me of the prejudice exhibited by Nathanael, one of Jesus’ future disciples, when he dismissed his brother’s enthusiasm about the Messiah with the words “can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (John 1).

C.S. Lewis was a gifted writer and academic. He was also a historian, especially an expert in literary history. His volume in the Oxford History of English Literature reflects that fact quite clearly.

Lewis was not only brilliant, in many ways he revealed great wisdom. Listen to these remarks about history from a letter he wrote to one of his casual correspondents in 1952.

You are not the kind of correspondent who is a ‘nuisance:’ if you were you would not be now thinking you are one – That kind never does.

But don’t send me any newspaper cuttings. I never believe a word said in the papers.

The real history of a period (as we always discover a few years later) has very little to do with all that, and private people like you and me are never allowed to know it while it is going on.

Educated originally as a “journalist,” I’m forced to agree completely with Lewis. Every word in print today is suspect. Those who do not read critically are on dangerous ground. And, of course, it’s not just newspapers and journals that demand caution. Digital media are even worse.

For that reason, we should never pretend any publication is 100% reliable. However, one magazine that I believe honestly strives toward that goal, is World Magazine. I appreciate the fact that it approaches subjects from my own theistic (Christian) worldview. By default, that makes it makes it untrustworthy to those who possess an anti-Christian worldview.

The open-minded individuals I referred to above, ever a minority, are willing (even eager) to read articles written by people from a range of perspectives. And it is for you, the honest and inquisitive people, that I suggest you consider adding World to your reading list.

Andrée Seu Peterson, recently wrote a provocative article discussing a recurrent historical phenomenon. It is entitled “A gathering in Switzerland: Little-known meetings can have massive outcomes.”

Down through history there have been little conferences attended by small numbers of elites that have quietly changed the world while the rest of mankind was going about its mundane business unawares. . . .

In June of 1494 King Ferdinand II of Aragon, Queen Isabella I of Castille, and King John II of Portugal drew a demarcation line like a vertical knife edge running from North to South poles, trampling established communities as it divided the Western world between Spain and Portugal.

People falling on one side of the line would henceforth speak Spanish and people on the other side would speak Portuguese.

Echoes of C.S. Lewis’ cautions about the “inner ring!”

Considering the “End of History”

History is defined in a variety of ways. To avoid politically charged definitions, let’s turn to a source in that most-neutral nation, Switzerland. In the description of their doctoral program in the field, the Universität Basel says “history examines past events, processes and structures [and] is both a cultural studies and a social sciences discipline.”

The point being that history relates to humanity, rather than our planet as an entirety. Thus, history won’t end with death of our solar system “in about 5 billion years [when] the sun will run out of hydrogen.” Even the most optimistic advocates of a starfaring future for humanity would likely admit history will end long before that.

Christians, on the other hand, foresee a future history without end. Yes, this earth will pass away, but our Creator has promised a new heaven and a new earth that will not echo the perishable nature of our fallen world.

In light of this conviction, Peterson includes a sobering observation in her essay about history.

People living in the Stone Age didn’t know they were living in the Stone Age. People alive at the time the monks in Ireland furiously copied Greek and Latin Bible manuscripts as fast as the Huns and Visigoths could torch the libraries of Europe didn’t know they were living through the near destruction of Western civilization. Such things are clear only in hindsight.

No Christian pretends to know the day of Christ’s return. In fact, Jesus expressly said “concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven . . . Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect” (Matthew 24).

Speculation about the Day of the Lord has rarely been beneficial. Suffice it to know that we should remain, at every possible moment, “ready.”

C.S. Lewis wrote another letter in 1952 which addresses this principle. His friend Don Giovanni Calabria (1873-1954), who was canonized by John Paul II in 1999, had written to Lewis sharing his impression that the day of the Lord’s return was drawing nearer.

Lewis reminded the priest of something Calabria already knew quite well. And it’s something well worth being reminded of today.

The times we live in are, as you say, grave: whether ‘graver than all others in history’ I do not know. But the evil that is closest always seems to be the most serious: for as with the eye so with the heart, it is a matter of one’s own perspective.

However, if our times are indeed the worst, if That Day is indeed now approaching, what remains but that we should rejoice because our redemption is now nearer and say with St John: ‘Amen; come quickly, Lord Jesus.’

Meanwhile our only security is that The Day may find us working each one in his own station and especially (giving up dissensions) fulfilling that supreme command that we love one another.

Lewis closes his letter with an affectionate prayer and promise, worthy of emulation in our own lives. “Let us ever pray for each other.” A sentiment I share with you.

Judging by Appearances

On By robstroudIn Advice to Writers, Books, C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, Education, Great Authors, J.R.R. Tolkien, Literature, Publishing, Reading, Writing13 Comments

If books should not be judged by their covers, how much more true is it that we should avoid judging people by their initial appearance?

We don’t want others to be hasty in determining who we are, right? We need to take some time to get to know people before coming to “conclusions” about what they are like.

Yet we still tend to look at someone and – right away – assess whether they are trustworthy or not. I confess it is sometimes challenging for me to maintain an open mind. For example, teardrop tattoos (especially when accompanied by neck ink that combines letters and numbers), make me nervous.

First impressions are usually by their very nature superficial. Which means they often prove to be wrong. That’s true about people . . . and books.

Lewis scholar Dale Nelson recently sent me an interesting review of the book The Inklings, written by Humphrey Carpenter in 1978. The fascinating thing about the piece was that it was written by Lord David Cecil (1902-1986), who was himself an Inkling.

One of the things which drew my attention was his physical description of several of the members, especially C.S. Lewis. Without citing the maxim, he declares how misleading first impressions may be.

[Charles] Williams was the most obviously odd. Very tall, and indisputably ugly with a high forehead and with gleaming spectacles, he yet diffused a curious charm that came from an enthusiastic warmth of spirit united to a comic lack of inhibition. . . .

Lewis at first sight appeared less unusual; stocky, red-faced, loud-voiced, he might indeed have been taken for an innkeeper or even a butcher.

Such a mistake would not have displeased him, he liked to think of himself as representing the common man, in contrast to the sophisticated intellectual.

These observations were interesting, but there was something far more thought-provoking in the (excellent, by the way) review. More about that in a moment. First let’s return for a moment to the issue of book covers.

What about the Cover of the Book You are Writing?

I discussed covers, and Lewis’ thoughts thereon, in this post.

It’s unsurprising that with all of their many reprintings, the writings of C.S. Lewis have been published with a wide range of covers. Some of this can be attributed to the artistic fads of the decade in which particular editions saw print. More important, I believe, are the arbitrary tastes of publishers.

When it comes to self-publishing, authors are in complete control over the image that graces their literary creations. While I make no pretense of being an artist, I must confess at being shocked by the shoddy quality of many such works. Surely they are aware that the very best of writing can be marred by dreadful packaging. By the same token, even weak literature has received wider dissemination than it merited, due to stunning or alluring graphics.

The internet is filled with posts on this subject. These are representative:

“Against Popular Advice, Books Continue to Be Judged by Their Covers” says, “for some, this can be a bitter pill to swallow, because writers want to believe that their work will speak for itself.”

The reality is that every person who steps into a book shop or browses books online is judging books by their cover, even if only subconsciously. I’m not saying that the judgment is always correct. Some books have amazing covers but are comprised of some pretty bad writing. I’d guess that many more amazing books are hiding behind bad cover art. The challenge is to get readers to pick up your book in the first place. That’s where the artwork comes in.

Another writer contends that potential readers do consider a host of matters. In “Why ‘Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover’ is Bad Advice,” the writer nevertheless admits it is the single most important element in winning an audience (short of a celebrity endorsement).

Readers are going to keep on reading and judging based on a whole host of criteria. The cover is just one of the many factors that are taken into account. Like other aspects of a book, it holds valuable information about the story kept inside.

Disregarding it is bad advice. Instead, why not try judging a book by its cover? Maybe next time you peruse the shelves of your neighborhood bookstore or scroll through the numerous titles listed online, you can select books purely based on the cover.

You never know, that could tell you everything you need to give that book a chance.

Covers are not the only factor in enhancing your book’s reception. Consider as well the nature of the paper in printed copies, as I discussed in “The Ugliest Book,” about a Mayan codex.

Now, back to the book reviewer.

David Cecil’s Thoughts on His Own Identity as an Inkling

After graduating from Oxford, Cecil briefly taught Rhetoric in London, before returning to Oxford, where he taught English. During his career, he wrote various works, including a number of literary biographies. These include: The Stricken Deer or The Life of Cowper, English Poets, Hardy the Novelist.

David Cecil was an accomplished man, and a true Oxford Inkling. The curious aspect is how, as the son of a marquess (bearing a courtesy title), socializing with a different caste, so to speak, would bond so well with the rest of the Inklings. Fortunately, Cecil briefly explains why he valued the fellowship in this book review.

Usually one of them would read aloud a piece from some book he was writing. . . . The meetings were also occasionally attended by persons who did not share The Inklings’ distinctive point of view but who liked spending an evening in their company.

I myself was one of these; I found such evenings enjoyable and stimulating; and all the more because the spirit of The Inklings was in piquant contrast to those of the Oxford circles in which I spent most of my time.

A final gift to those who treasure Lewis and his companions comes in Cecil’s incisive understanding of their unifying bond.

The qualities . . . that gave The Inklings their distinctive personality were not primarily their opinion; rather it was a feeling for literature, which united, in an unusual way, scholarship and imagination.

Their standard of learning was very high. To study a book in translation or without a proper knowledge of its historic background would have been to them unthinkable; they were academic in the best sense of the word.

But – and this is what made them different from most academics – they also read imaginatively. The great books of the past were to them living in the same way as the work of a contemporary. . . .

Simply they read their books in the spirit in which they were written. And they could communicate their sense of this spirit to their hearers so that, for these also, these great books sprang to fresh, full life.

This was a unique achievement in the Oxford of their time.

It appears the Inklings would be among the last to judge a book, or a person, by their cover.

Music, Muses & C.S. Lewis

On By robstroudIn Advice to Writers, Animals, C.S. Lewis, Classics Worth Revisiting, Good Music, History, Literature, Modern Life, Music, Mythology, Potentially Useful Trivia, Writing4 Comments

Why do so many modern musicians – including some who are commercially successful – appear to suffer from amusia?

Well, I suppose that diagnosis is a matter of opinion, since “amusia” has come to refer to a particular medical disorder related to “the inability to recognize musical tones or to reproduce them.” More on that in a moment. First let’s consider the original meaning of the word.

It begins with the Greek Muses. While “muse” has morphed into anything that inspires a creative soul, it did not begin that way. The Muses began as personifications devoted to nine children of Zeus and Mnemosyne (Memory). During Europe’s revival of Classical themes, they were associated not only with the arts, but with culture and refinement in general.

In Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis records his admiration for one of his early teachers. This man taught him to love poetry, and although he practiced corporal punishment (standard for the era), embodied “perfect courtesy.” On an occasion he was sent to the headmaster, who misperceived that Lewis had acted inappropriately. After dispelling the confusion, this teacher, who treated his students as “gentlemen,” matter-of-factly said “you will have to be whipped if you don’t do better at your Greek Grammar next week, but naturally that has nothing to do with your manners or mine.”

The idea that the tone of conversation between one gentleman and another should be altered by a flogging (any more than by a duel) was ridiculous. His manner was perfect: no familiarity, no hostility, no threadbare humor; mutual respect; decorum.

“Never let us live with amousia” was one of his favorite maxims: amousia, the absence of the Muses. And he knew, as Spenser knew, that courtesy was of the Muses. 

Muses, from this perspective, undergird civilization. But the Muses are fickle. One cannot create their own Muse. Inspiration comes to us of its own volition. It can’t be commanded.

Nearly four years ago, I posed this question in Mere Inkling: “Who is Your Muse?” Various literary figures have written paeans to the muses which inspire their work. In that column I also noted how our animal companions* often exert an influence on our own creativity.

The link between inspirational Muses and music itself is strongly intertwined. Consider, for instance, Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), who was brilliant, but much to be pitied. He despised God, but he did love music. In “Amousia: Living Without the Muses,” Classicist Stephen Halliwell discusses the importance of music for enjoying a meaningful existence. He begins with a quote from Nietzsche, and points out a Platonic corollary. 

Without music life would be a mistake . . . So, famously, wrote Friedrich Nietzsche in . . . Twilight of the Idols. As always, Nietzsche had deeply personal reasons for the force and pathos of this aphorism; music did indeed help to keep him alive. . . .

[W]e can detect in Nietzsche’s stark utterance, I would like to suggest, a trace and resonance of Greek feeling. We might even wonder whether in formulating his maxim Nietzsche was subconsciously remembering the passage in Plato’s Philebus where Protarchus, asked by Socrates whether music, as one of the ‘impure’ arts, is needed for the mixture of a humanly desirable life, says that he certainly takes it to be necessary – ‘at any rate,’ as he puts it, ‘if our life is really to be a life of some kind.’

Without music, Protarchus . . . seems to take the idea to be practically self-evident, human ‘life’ would hardly be worth the name at all.

Amusia as a Medical Condition

I suggested above that the caterwauling of some musicians suggests they are tone deaf, but in fact there is a genuine medical condition called amusia. It traces its beginning to the Muses we have been speaking about, and suggests their absence.

In “The Genetics of Congenital Amusia (Tone Deafness),” we learn that “congenital amusia . . . is a lifelong impairment of music perception that affects 4% of the population.” What’s more, “the pitch disorder has a hereditary component.”

In amusic families, 39% of first-degree relatives have the same cognitive disorder, whereas only 3% have it in the control families.

As the husband of a gifted music teacher, the father-in-law of another, and the grandfather of a number of extremely talented children, I understand the Greek principle. While I would miss music’s grace if I was stricken with amusia, I know a number of precious people for whom that would be one of the most terrible fates imaginable.

C.S. Lewis and Music

Like most of us, C.S. Lewis enjoyed some forms of music while others left him exasperated. Wagner, bravo. Church hymnody, not so much. A recent article by John MacInnis, a professor of music, goes so far as to claim: “music listening and discussion factored regularly in C.S. Lewis’s relationships, and love for music inspired his creative endeavors and prompted his best thinking.”

I agree with the first part of this, and will attribute the “best thinking” declaration to the hyperbole of one who has devoted his own life to music.

The author of “A Medium for Meeting God” explores in  detail the effect of Wagner’s work, and the sense of Northernness it imprinted on Lewis’ psyche.

In 1934, Lewis, along with his brother Warnie and J.R.R. Tolkien read Wagner’s operas together in German, in anticipation of attending performances of the Ring cycle. MacInnis points out that Lewis enjoyed the music of Sibelius (also “evocative of Northern landscapes) and likened it to Wagner as an expression of natural or earthy music. This he contrasted to Beethoven, which he also enjoyed, and thought of as “noble” and even spiritual.

As for church music, Lewis had mixed feelings. I’ve written about that in the past, in “Good, Bad and Ugly Hymns.” Most of us would agree that music enriches our lives. Our tastes vary, of course, just as they do with literature.

And, speaking of which, just as there are tone deaf individuals who should avoid recording music . . . most of us have encountered writers who suffer from a literary variant of amusia. And, lacking the influence of anything remotely like a muse, would not the world be a more harmonious place if they simply laid down their pens.

* When we got our youngest border collie as a puppy, I named her Calli. Actually, that’s what we call her, but her given name is actually Calliope. I named her after the Muse of epic poetry with the hope she might inspire my writing.

Since she’s our fifth border collie, I should have known better. The very last thing Calli wants me to do is sit at the computer composing documents (no matter how interesting or edifying). “Get out of that chair and get some exercise with me,” she says plaintively with her body, voice, and pleading eyes.

She’s plenty loving, and her insistence on activity may well add years to my life, but if I look to her to help me write more productively, I’m guaranteed disappointment.

An Author with the Heart of an Inkling

On By robstroudIn Advice to Readers, Books, C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, Christian Life, Christianity, Dorothy Sayers, Family, Great Authors, J.R.R. Tolkien, Modern Life, Ordained Ministry, Reading, The Modern Church, Theological Matters, Writing7 Comments

C.S. Lewis and Frederick Buechner never met, yet they are “friends” because they share so many similarities as authors writing from a Christian perspective. In terms of Buechner’s themes and range of his writings, this award winning American author and ordained Presbyterian minister may have as much in common with C.S. Lewis as his own British Inklings. So let me introduce Frederick Buechner and his writings.

Do you read primarily to relax and allow your imagination to soar? Or, do you normally select “useful” books, with the potential to be applicable to meeting the challenges of real life?

During my college years, I enjoyed scifi and fantasy. I still have a weak spot for alternative histories. But my seminary years had a subtle effect on my reading. With time always at a premium as a young pastor with a family, I had so many practical, pastoral books and journals to study, that I seldom had time for something so frivolous as “fiction.” Fortunately, semi-retirement has released me from that restrictive literary diet.

I’ve finally found some time to unpack a few of the boxes of books sitting in my garage. (The fact we moved them into the garage around 2010 would be embarrassing if it got out, so I ought not to mention it here.)

As one would expect, I’ve encountered many pleasant surprises. A number of books I had been missing have turned up, I’ve found some that are even more timely today than when they were stored, and—best of all in the minds of my adult children—I’ve been able to part with about two-thirds of the titles, and recently donated about 150 volumes to a local charity.

One of the titles I am currently reading is Frederick Buechner’s Telling Secrets. I had picked up a copy when it was highly recommended to me, only to discover it was a memoir. Being a “practical pastor” who always had too many utilitarian books to read, I set it aside . . . only to pick it up twenty years later.

And what a joyous surprise it has been. Buechner is in his nineties, and is widely respected. He has been a prolific writer, and has received numerous awards for his fictional works. Readers, particularly from the Reformed branch of Christianity have been especially fervent fans of the Presbyterian pastor and theologian. My friend, Brenton Dickieson is quite fond of Buechner and has written about him in A Pilgrim in Narnia on several occasions. He notes that Buechner quotes a number of the Inklings, including Tolkien, Williams and Lewis.

I vaguely recall the Lewis connection being one reason my fellow Air Force chaplain recommended Telling Secrets to me. But I had forgotten that the first section is entitled “The Dwarves in the Stable.” This is, of course, an allusion to an extremely momentous scene in The Final Battle, the final volume of the Chronicles of Narnia. It was originally published as an independent essay, as this entertaining post points out.

Buechner shares a dark family secret, the consequences of his father’s suicide in 1936. Listen to how movingly he describes the secret’s power:

His suicide was a secret we nonetheless tried to keep as best we could, and after a while my father himself became such a secret. There were times when he almost seemed a secret we were trying to keep from each other.

Buechner moves on to relate the suffering the family experienced during his daughter’s battle with anorexia. He shares few details, since “it is not mine to tell but hers.” Nevertheless, he describes setbacks in the struggle causing him to feel as though he “was in hell.”

I choose the term hell with some care. Hell is where there is no light but only darkness, and I was so caught up in my fear for her life, which had become in a way my life too, that none of the usual sources of light worked any more, and light was what I was starving for. . . .

I remained so locked inside myself that I was not really present with them at all. Toward the end of C.S. Lewis’s The Last Battle there is a scene where a group of dwarves sit huddled together in a tight little knot thinking that they are in a pitch black, malodorous stable when the truth of it is that they are out in the midst of an endless grassy countryside as green as Vermont with the sun shining and blue sky overhead.

The huge golden lion, Aslan himself, stands nearby with all the other dwarves “kneeling in a circle around his forepaws” as Lewis writes, “and burying their hands and faces in his mane as he stooped his great head to touch them with his tongue.” When Aslan offers the dwarves food, they think it is offal.

When he offers them wine, they take it for ditch water. “Perfect love casteth out fear,” John writes (1 John 4:18), and the other side of that is that fear like mine casteth out love, even God’s love. The love I had for my daughter was lost in the anxiety I had for my daughter.

This is just a single example of the sensitive wisdom Buechner shares throughout this grace-filled work.

After I finish Telling Secrets, I look forward to reading two of Buechner’s novels already on my shelf, Godric and Brendan. They are both historical fiction, telling the stories of two sainted monks from the twelfth and sixth centuries respectively.

I encourage any of you unfamiliar with his writings to explore his work. If an autobiography can be this good, I’m eager to take a journey through what I have no doubt will be quite an adventure in his fiction.

Buechner possesses an additional connection to C.S. Lewis, which has the potential to last centuries. He describes his decision to offer his personal papers to Wheaton College, where they are available in the archives. The theologian describes his decision in this humble manner.

Wheaton College [has] a great collection there of the manuscripts and papers of people like C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, George MacDonald, J.R.R. Tolkien, Dorothy Sayers, and the like, and because I could think of no more distinguished company than theirs among whom to have my own literary remains molder, a year earlier I had offered them everything I had stowed away over the years in cardboard boxes and scrapbooks and manila folders; and to my delight they said that they would be delighted to have it.

If you would enjoy learning more about the relationship between Buechner and the Inklings, check out this fine article; “C.S. Lewis and Frederick Buechner: Literary Expression of Faith” is available for download. It’s quite enlightening.

Bonus Insight

The second chapter of Telling Secrets is entitled “The White Tower.” Many Inkling fans will jump to the conclusion (especially after reading this post) that it is a reference to the citadel of Minas Tirith, the capital of Gondor. Like me, they would be incorrect.

Buechner is not alluding here to Tolkien’s masterpiece. On the contrary, he is referring to the central tower which was the old keep of the Tower of London. Ironically, that very keep, the White Tower, was built by a Norman monk who became the Bishop of Rochester. His name . . . Gundulf.

Buechner chose this metaphor for the human condition for the following reason.

I think here of the Tower of London. More particularly I think of that oldest part of it, known as the White Tower, which was built by William the Conqueror in the eleventh century. On the second floor of it there is a small Norman chapel called the Chapel of Saint John. It is very bare and very simple. It is built all of stone with twelve stone pillars and a vaulted ceiling.

There is a cool, silvery light that comes in through the arched windows. . . . The chapel is very silent, very still. It is almost a thousand years old. You cannot enter it without being struck by the feeling of purity and peace it gives. If there is any such thing in the world, it is a holy place.

But that is not all there is in the White Tower. Directly below the chapel is the most terrible of all the tower’s dungeons. It has a heavy oak door that locks out all light and ventilation. It measures only four feet square by four feet high so that a prisoner has no way either to stand upright in it or to lie down at full length. There is almost no air to breathe in it, almost no room to move. It is known as the Little Ease.

I am the White Tower of course. To one degree or another all of us are.

Please Forgive My Sesquipedalianism

On By robstroudIn Advice to Writers, C.S. Lewis, Education, Latin, Potentially Useful Trivia, Reading, Words7 Comments

Long words can be daunting. Even for native speakers. The illustration above comes from The Japan Times, and reveals how the challenge is magnified for others.

I love learning new words. And, since these treasures frequently drift out of my vocabulary because I fail to use them, I often have the joy of re-learning unique words.

Sesquipedalianism is actually a genuine word which can be validly applied in a variety of settings. After all, haven’t we all encountered a sesquipedalianist or two, who uses especially long, and occasionally obscure words?

How many syllables are required before a word grows too long? To a monosyllabic individual, two might be deemed excessive.

Seriously, it’s not the length of a word that matters, it’s the word’s familiarity. For example, “familiarity” has six syllables, and everyone reading Mere Inkling knows its meaning. (I resisted saying “is familiar with . . .”) On the other hand, “carbuncle” is only trisyllabic, and yet the only people likely to know its definition are either those in medical professions, or unfortunate individuals who have suffered from one.

But it’s not only unfamiliarity that causes confusion; misunderstanding can result from a lack of context. Let’s take “trisyllabic,” a word even an active reader seldom encounters. As used in the paragraph above, the context (along with the prefix and root), provide us with more information than a person needs to recognize its meaning.

In a famous letter from 1956, C.S. Lewis included the following advice:

Don’t use words too big for the subject. Don’t say “infinitely” when you mean “very”; otherwise you’ll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite.

Great advice, just as one would expect. However, this does not constitute a blanket rejection of “big words.” Lewis is simply reminding us that our prose must not be more complicated than it needs to be. Thus, the title of this column uses a precise word – rather than saying “Please Forgive My Practice of Using Long and Sometimes Obscure Words” – since Mere Inkling readers are quite capable of uncovering a definition if a particular word is unfamiliar.

Plus, as I hinted above, many of us enjoy expanding our vocabularies.

In the aforementioned correspondence, Lewis offered additional useful advice. Another dictum is: “Always prefer the plain direct word to the long, vague one. Don’t implement promises, but keep them.”

Here too the great writer is astute. However, this caution is not actually about the length of words. Lewis’ desire for clarity in communication leads him to reject “vague” words, which coincidentally happen to be longer than those he refers to as “direct.”

Using longer words than necessary is not, of course, always a good thing. While it comprises neuron-stretching play for word lovers, it can easily be misperceived by others as “showing off.” (Note: I’m not defending those cases in which the writer or speaker really are attempting to impress others with their verbal dexterity.*)

You can easily find collections of the longest words in English. While some cheat, including “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” others are more scrupulous. Despite doing just that, I like the list at grammarly because of their definition of one of the words they include.

Floccinaucinihilipilification
The estimation of something as valueless. Ironically, floccinaucinihilipilification is a pretty valueless word itself; it’s almost never used except as an example of a long word.

I’m not currently planning on adding floccinaucinihilipilification to my personal vocabulary, but don’t let me dissuade you from doing so.

Learning new words often reaps extrinsic benefits. As a historian who enjoys learning about the Latin language, I found the following definition, and illustration, from the Cambridge dictionary quite interesting.

The act of considering something to be not at all important or useful – used mainly as an example of a very long word:

The honor of being the longest non-technical word goes to floccinaucinihilipilification.

The word . . . is “an 18th-century coinage that combines four Latin prefixes meaning ‘nothing.’”

Oh, and one final suggestion. When visiting the Cambridge site, in the likelihood you’ll someday wish to use this word in conversation, take a moment to make certain you learn to pronounce in the U.K. or American manner, as appropriate for your location.

* I am not here referring to the Irish bred Bay Colt for some curious reason named “Verbal Dexterity.”

Resurrection Bodies, Angels & C.S. Lewis

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Faith, Ministry, Modern Life, The Bible, The Modern Church, Theological Matters4 Comments

And just what will those heavenly bodies be like..? And what about those angels..?

Among the many things that Christians look forward to, as an unearned gift from God, is a new body. This resurrected body will not be like our old (i.e. former) body… but it will be similar to the bodies of our first parents, Eve and Adam. So, in a sense, one might say it’s a bit like that old, old (i.e. original) body.

Sadly, there’s a lot of unnecessary confusion about what awaits us after death. While the Lord doesn’t give us all the details (which we wouldn’t be able to comprehend right now anyway), he does make the big picture clear. Here are some facts (based on the Scriptures as interpreted for 2,000 years within the orthodox Christian faith).

1.  You can’t do enough good works to deserve to enter heaven. It’s all about God’s mercy and grace.

If you think you can be good enough to get there on your own . . . sorry. If you therefore don’t think it matters at all how you live… you will end up just as sorry.

2. In heaven, God’s redeemed will not be incorporeal spirits. We’ll have bodies, just as our Maker intended from the day he breathed life into Adam’s lungs. Christians affirm belief in the “resurrection of the body.”

As to the nature of the bodies, God doesn’t leave us ignorant. One of the best New Testament descriptions is found in First Corinthians.

Even the Old Testament prophet Job proclaimed the wonders of a bodily resurrection when, in his own flesh, he would see the Lord.

God’s written word includes more about our resurrection bodies. One, from the letter to the Christians in Philippi, says, “the Lord Jesus Christ . . . will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body.” This verse, like the stained glass image above, inspires me to wonder what that body will be like. Like Jesus’ own resurrection body, we learn.

Perhaps also like humanity’s unfallen human bodies portrayed here in colored glass. If the artist’s vision is accurate, I’m eager to welcome back the hair that once adorned my head, and to enjoy those stunningly defined abs, that I unfortunately never possessed.

Writing to his friend Arthur Greeves, Lewis clarified the biblical definition of resurrection.

I agree that we don’t know what a spiritual body is. But I don’t like contrasting it with (your words) “an actual, physical body.” This suggests that the spiritual body wd. be the opposite of “actual” – i.e. some kind of vision or imagination. And I do think most people imagine it as something that looks like the present body and isn’t really there.

Our Lord’s eating the boiled fish seems to put the boots on that idea, don’t you think? I suspect the distinction is the other way round—that it is something compared with which our present bodies are half real and phantasmal. (19 August 1947)

3. Human beings never become angels. One of most common mistakes about heaven is that people (“good” ones, at least) become angels after they die. They don’t. Period. Angels are angels and people are people – two separate beings, each with their own nature. Angels are majestic, most certainly, but they were not blessed like humanity to be created in the very image of God.

And never forget, not all angels are good. Those fallen ones, in fact, no longer merit their identification as angels. Better to label them as what they’ve become, demons.

As for people being intrinsically distinct from angels, C.S. Lewis wrote a poem that contrasts angelic and human personhood.

On Being Human by C. S. Lewis

Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archetypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.

The Tree-ness of the tree they know – the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth’s salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves’ fall and rising sap;

But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
– An angel has no skin.

They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang – can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.

The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf’s billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
– An angel has no nerves.

Far richer they! I know the senses’ witchery
Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb’d sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.

Heaven will be wondrous. Not only will we get to worship the One who created and redeemed us, there is so much more we have to look forward to. Enjoying a new, unflawed body . . . hobnobbing with angels who sang to celebrate Christ’s Nativity . . . and waiting in line to enjoy a beverage with C.S. Lewis.

The picture above is of a stained glass window in the Basilica of Our Lady of the Children in Châteauneuf-sur-Cher, France. Olive Titus, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Inklings, Libraries & Architecture

On By robstroudIn Books, C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, Education, History, J.R.R. Tolkien, Literature, Modern Life, Reading, Writing10 Comments

If you were to embark on a university education today, which sort of campus would you prefer?

(1) A university featuring “vaulted ceilings that draw the eye upwards and outwards . . . the frivolous artistic detail that announces the importance of the unimportant [or] the interplay of light and shade that marks the great Gothic masterpieces, the brilliant proportions of the best classical buildings, and the elaborate grandeur of the Baroque.”

(2) A modern campus comprised of “buildings entirely lacking in charm, grace, or playfulness [featuring] the boxy utilitarian grimness of official educational architecture.”

A second question clearly betrays my own preference. Which academic setting do you imagine C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and their fellow Inklings would most esteem? Tolkien, after all, was not complaining in a letter to his future bride when he wrote “I have got to go to the college library now and get filthy amongst dusty books . . .”

The quotations included in the choices above come from a thought-provoking essay just posted on the website of First Things. The British writer, Niall Gooch, melds wit and genuine insight as he offers an answer to the question “Why are Universities So Ugly?” I highly commend it to you.

Libraries are of particular interest to many of us who treasure the Inkling ethos. And the article includes a delightful discussion of the treasure houses “now called ‘Information Centers’ or ‘Knowledge Hubs.’”

Books increasingly appear to be an afterthought, squeezed into the small spaces not occupied by banks of computers or the glass rooms designated as group work areas. Quiet has been banished to special Silent Study rooms, where those dangerous oddballs who wish to sit still by themselves and concentrate on one thing for a long period can be safely segregated from the normal people.

Inkling Libraries at Cambridge and Oxford

In 1959, C.S. Lewis wrote to T.S. Eliot. Both men served on the Commission to Revise the Psalter. Lewis mentions that he will be hosting an upcoming meeting of the Commission at Cambridge, and that he had secured one of the libraries for their use.

I can’t find the name and address of the secretary of our Commission on the Psalms. As you are in London could you kindly let her know that I have rescued the use of the inner library at Magdalene for our July session? It would be convenient if she told me – for the benefit of the servants – what our daily hours of sitting are likely to be. I also look forward to it.

Although Magdalene College has a distinguished history, it too has joined the revolution offering more contemporary Information Centers. They proudly declare “The New Library is . . . a purpose-built space in College for Magdalene students to meet, work, relax and find inspiration.”

As for the “Inner Library,” to which Lewis referred, I believe it to be what is presently called “The Old Library.” It fittingly includes among its special collections, “the books and manuscripts of T.S. Eliot (Honorary Fellow).”

A revealing history of “The Architectural Evolution of Libraries” begins with the question: “Can you have a civilized society without a library?”

In this article, we trace the typology of the library through history, highlighting twelve of the most important libraries in the world, from Ancient Alexandria to Raleigh, North Carolina, where robots retrieve books from storage.

A fitting close to our consideration of libraries comes from a letter written by J.R.R. Tolkien in 1966. The English Faculty of Oxford University had commissioned a bust of Tolkien – to be sculpted by his daughter-in-law. It presently resides in the English Faculty Library, which undoubtedly displays the elegant architecture of the classical university.

I feel much honoured, and so also does my daughter-in-law (the sculptress), by the Faculty’s wish to place the bust of me in the English Library in some prominent position – if on second thoughts you do not think a storied urn would be better. I shall be most pleased to present it to the Faculty.

It occurs to me that the plaster bust is rather fragile and very easily damaged. I suggest, therefore, that I should have it cast in bronze for presentation (at my own cost). I have already referred the matter to the sculptress who knows how these things are done.

Once in bronze it would then be unaffected by any dignities or indignities offered to it. I often used to hang my hat on the Tsar of Russia’s bust, which he graciously presented to Merton.

The illustration accompanying today’s post is the bust of Tolkien referred to in his correspondence. (In light of this column’s discussion, one can hardly ignore the rather utilitarian architecture revealed through the window behind the celebrated author.)