Category: Christianity

Explosive Clergy

On By robstroudIn Books, C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Church History, Great Authors, History, Humor, Latin, Literature, Marriage, Modern Life, Ordained Ministry, The Medieval Church, Theological Matters, Words17 Comments

What’s with pastors? As one, I probably know more than the typical person does about them – and all too often, they disappoint.

That’s a bit harsh. Most pastors are pretty selfless. That’s fairly evident in their salaries (if they even receive one). And, trust me, trying to be a faithful leader and peacemaker in any group comprised of human beings, is no easy task.

My sainted grandmother, born at the end of the nineteenth century, was the daughter of Norwegian immigrants. She was an authentic follower of Jesus, and when she was young the sermons at Fordefjord Lutheran Church* were preached in the immigrants’ tongue. We occasionally talked about how scandalized she was when one of the ministers serving the congregation pronounced “helvete vil være fullt av pastorer” (hell will be full of pastors).

Well, not “full” perhaps, but in principle he was right. And, sadly, his warning is not at all shocking to us today. We read regularly about clergy who are arrested for violating the trust of the most vulnerable. Likewise, we hear about the outrageous wealth of some ministers (including, it seems, nearly every televangelist). Even pastors in small enclaves with little access to the temptation offered by easily accessible cash, can too often succumb to the sirens of pride and power, twisting their pastoral authority into a weapon to abuse others. (It’s the opposite of the messianic promise found in Isaiah 2:4.)

It’s almost enough to drive a person from the Lord’s house. But that is not the answer, of course. Finding a truly Christian church, with a pastor earnestly (albeit imperfectly) pursuing his holy vocation, is the best course.

The Scriptures say many things about ministry, and Jesus himself provides the perfect example of willingness to lay down one’s life for the sheep.

The letter of James cautions those considering a life of “ministry” that they will face a stricter judgment than the laity (which comes from λαός which refers to the people at large).

Personally, I especially appreciate being reminded of God’s warning to religious leaders from the lips of Jeremiah. (I also appreciate the ironic tone of God’s judgment.)

“Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture!” declares the Lord. Therefore thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, concerning the shepherds who care for my people: “You have scattered my flock and have driven them away, and you have not attended to them. Behold, I will attend to you for your evil deeds,” declares the Lord.

The picture at the top of this column comes from one of Mark Twain’s travelogues. It illustrates the vindictive priest Fulbert, in Twain’s retelling of the story of Abelard and Héloïse, 12th century lovers. More about that momentarily. Abelard was a prominent philosopher who tangled for several years with Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, a significant dispute ably discussed here.

Abelard and the Inklings

Abelard (c. 1079-1142) was a philosopher who, as was common during the Middle Ages, was also a theologian. Among his contributions to religion was revising the Roman Catholic doctrine of limbus infantium (Limbo for unbaptized infants).

In popular culture, Abelard’s love affair with his eventual “wife” is more prominent than his religious pursuits. Although Abelard was a famous figure during the medieval period, he did not feature significantly in C.S. Lewis’ thought. He did, however, exert a prominent influence on Charles Williams’ Place of the Lion, a volume Lewis praised.

In “Friendship in The Place of the Lion,” Dan Hamilton provides a very accessible synopsis of Williams’ book. He describes the experience of a primary character, who is writing her dissertation on “Pythagorean Influences on Abelard.” As she struggles with the appearance of supernatural phenomena, “she encounters the specter of Abelard, a major subject of her studies. But he is dead, and powerless to give her any aid, not even a meaningful word.” The “archetypes” in the story, by contrast, possess genuine power. It is a very unique book.

Returning to Mark Twain’s retelling of the popular medieval tale, we leave the realm of platonic philosophy, and enter the world of sordid human activities. Twain, you see, was not sympathetic to Abelard’s wooing of a young student and his eventual repentance. In his account, Twain desired “to show the public that they have been wasting a good deal of marketable sentiment very unnecessarily.” If you are curious as to his perspective on the events, continue reading.

Twain’s Take on Abelard and Héloïse
(not brief, but well worth reading)

In his own words, Twain’s “faithful” version of their story – but first, he begins with a description of their shared gravesite.

But among the thousands and thousands of tombs in Père la Chaise [cemetery] there is one that no man, no woman, no youth of either sex, ever passes by without stopping to examine. Every visitor has a sort of indistinct idea of the history of its dead, and comprehends that homage is due there, but not one in twenty thousand clearly remembers the story of that tomb and its romantic occupants. This is the grave of Abelard and Heloise – a grave which has been more revered, more widely known, more written and sung about and wept over, for seven hundred years, than any other in Christendom, save only that of the Saviour.

All visitors linger pensively about it; all young people capture and carry away keepsakes and mementoes of it; all Parisian youths and maidens who are disappointed in love come there to bail out when they are full of tears; yea, many stricken lovers make pilgrimages to this shrine from distant provinces to weep and wail and “grit” their teeth over their heavy sorrows, and to purchase the sympathies of the chastened spirits of that tomb with offerings of immortelles and budding flowers.

Go when you will, you find somebody snuffling over that tomb. Go when you will, you find it furnished with those bouquets and immortelles. Go when you will, you find a gravel-train from Marseilles arriving to supply the deficiencies caused by memento-cabbaging vandals whose affections have miscarried.

Yet who really knows the story of Abelard and Heloise? Precious few people. The names are perfectly familiar to every body, and that is about all. With infinite pains I have acquired a knowledge of that history, and I propose to narrate it here, [italics added] partly for the honest information of the public and partly to show that public that they have been wasting a good deal of marketable sentiment very unnecessarily.

Heloise was born seven hundred and sixty-six years ago. She may have had parents. There is no telling. She lived with her uncle Fulbert, a canon of the cathedral of Paris. I do not know what a canon of a cathedral is, but that is what he was. He was nothing more than a sort of a mountain howitzer, likely, because they had no heavy artillery in those days. Suffice it, then, that Heloise lived with her uncle the howitzer, and was happy.

She spent the most of her childhood in the convent of Argenteuil – never heard of Argenteuil before, but suppose there was really such a place. She then returned to her uncle, the old gun, or son of a gun, as the case may be, and he taught her to write and speak Latin, which was the language of literature and polite society at that period.

Just at this time, Pierre Abelard, who had already made himself widely famous as a rhetorician, came to found a school of rhetoric in Paris. The originality of his principles, his eloquence, and his great physical strength and beauty created a profound sensation. He saw Heloise, and was captivated by her blooming youth, her beauty and her charming disposition. He wrote to her; she answered. He wrote again, she answered again. He was now in love. He longed to know her – to speak to her face to face.

His school was near Fulbert’s house. He asked Fulbert to allow him to call. The good old swivel saw here a rare opportunity: his niece, whom he so much loved, would absorb knowledge from this man, and it would not cost him a cent. Such was Fulbert – penurious . . . He asked Abelard to teach her.

Abelard was glad enough of the opportunity. He came often and staid long. A letter of his shows in its very first sentence that he came under that friendly roof like a cold-hearted villain as he was, with the deliberate intention of debauching a confiding, innocent girl. This is the letter :

“I can not cease to be astonished at the simplicity of Fulbert; I was as much surprised as if he had placed a lamb in the power of a hungry wolf. Heloise and I, under pretext of study, gave ourselves up wholly to love, and the solitude that love seeks our studies procured for us. Books were open before us, but we spoke oftener of love than philosophy, and kisses came more readily from our lips than words.”

And so, exulting over an honorable confidence which to his degraded instinct was a ludicrous “simplicity,” this unmanly Abelard seduced the niece of the man whose guest he was. Paris found it out. Fulbert was told of it – told often – but refused to believe it. He could not comprehend how a man could be so depraved as to use the sacred protection and security of hospitality as a means for the commission of such a crime as that. But when he heard the rowdies in the streets singing the love-songs of Abelard to Heloise, the case was too plain – love-songs come not properly within the teachings of rhetoric and philosophy.

He drove Abelard from his house. Abelard returned secretly and carried Heloise away to Palais, in Brittany, his native country. Here, shortly afterward, she bore a son, who, from his rare beauty, was surnamed Astrolabe. . . . The girl’s flight enraged Fulbert, and he longed for vengeance, but feared to strike lest retaliation visit Heloise – for he still loved her tenderly. At length Abelard offered to marry Heloise – but on a shameful condition: that the marriage should be kept secret from the world, to the end that (while her good name remained a wreck, as before) his priestly reputation might be kept untarnished. It was like that miscreant.

Fulbert saw his opportunity and consented. He would see the parties married, and then violate the confidence of the man who had taught him that trick; he would divulge the secret and so remove somewhat of the obloquy that attached to his niece’s fame. But the niece suspected his scheme. She refused the marriage, at first; she said Fulbert would betray the secret to save her, and besides, she did not wish to drag down a lover who was so gifted, so honored by the world, and who had such a splendid career before him. It was noble, self-sacrificing love, and characteristic of the pure-souled Heloise, but it was not good sense.

But she was overruled, and the private marriage took place. Now for Fulbert! The heart so wounded should be healed at last; the proud spirit so tortured should find rest again; the humbled head should be lifted up once more. He proclaimed the marriage in the high places of the city, and rejoiced that dishonor had departed from his house. But lo! Abelard denied the marriage! Heloise denied it! The people, knowing the former circumstances, might have believed Fulbert, had only Abelard denied it, but when the person chiefly interested – the girl herself – denied it, they laughed despairing Fulbert to scorn.

The poor canon of the cathedral of Paris was spiked again. The last hope of repairing the wrong that had been done his house was gone. What next? Human nature suggested revenge. He compassed it. The historian says: “Ruffians, hired by Fulbert, fell upon Abelard by night, and inflicted upon him a terrible and nameless mutilation.”

I am seeking the last resting-place of those “ruffians.” When I find it I shall shed some tears on it, and stack up some bouquets and immortelles, and cart away from it some gravel whereby to remember that howsoever blotted by crime their lives may have been, these ruffians did one just deed, at any rate, albeit it was not warranted by the strict letter of the law.

Heloise entered a convent and gave good-bye to the world and its pleasures for all time. For twelve years she never heard of Abelard – never even heard his name mentioned. She had become prioress of Argenteuil, and led a life of complete seclusion. She happened one day to see a letter written by him, in which he narrated his own history. She cried over it, and wrote him. He answered, addressing her as his “sister in Christ.”

They continued to correspond, she in the un-weighed language of unwavering affection, he in the chilly phraseology of the polished rhetorician. She poured out her heart in passionate, disjointed sentences; he replied with finished essays, divided deliberately into heads and sub-heads, premises and argument. She showered upon him the tenderest epithets that love could devise, he addressed her from the North Pole of his frozen heart as the “Spouse of Christ!” The abandoned villain!

On account of her too easy government of her nuns, some disreputable irregularities were discovered among them, and the Abbot of St. Denis broke up her establishment. Abelard was the official head of the monastery of St. Grildas de Ruys, at that time, and when he heard of her homeless condition a sentiment of pity was aroused in his breast (it is a wonder the unfamiliar emotion did not blow his head off), and he placed her and her troop in the little oratory of the Paraclete, a religious establishment which he had founded.

She had many privations and sufferings to undergo at first, but her worth and her gentle disposition won influential friends for her, and she built up a wealthy and flourishing nunnery. She became a great favorite with the heads of the church, and also the people, though she seldom appeared in public. She rapidly advanced in esteem, in good report and in usefulness, and Abelard as rapidly lost ground. The Pope so honored her that he made her the head of her order.

Abelard, a man of splendid talents, and ranking as the first debater of his time, became timid, irresolute, and distrustful of his powers. He only needed a great misfortune to topple him from the high position he held in the world of intellectual excellence, and it came. Urged by kings and princes to meet the subtle St. Bernard in debate and crush him, he stood up in the presence of a royal and illustrious assemblage, and when his antagonist had finished he looked about him, and stammered a commencement; but his courage failed him, the cunning of his tongue was gone: with his speech unspoken, he trembled and gat down, a disgraced and vanquished champion.

He died a nobody, and was buried at Cluny, A.D., 1144. They removed his body to the Paraclete afterward, and when Heloise died, twenty years later, they buried her with him, in accordance with her last wish. He died at the ripe age of 64, and she at 63. After the bodies had remained entombed three hundred years, they were removed once more. They were removed again in 1800, and finally, seventeen years afterward, they were taken up and transferred to Pere la Chaise, where they will remain in peace and quiet until it comes time for them to get up and move again.

History is silent concerning the last acts of the mountain howitzer. Let the world say what it will about him, I, at least, shall always respect the memory and sorrow for the abused trust, and the broken heart, and the troubled spirit of the old smooth-bore. Rest and repose be his!

Such is the story of Abelard and Heloise. (Innocents Abroad).

* Later Fordefjord was unimaginatively renamed “First Lutheran Church.”

A novel entitled Peter Abelard was published in 1933 by Helen Waddell. It is available at Internet Archive for those who prefer their history via the medium of historical fiction. The illustration below, apparently imitating a fading fresco, comes from that volume.

C.S. Lewis & Medicine

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, Christian Life, Christianity, History, J.R.R. Tolkien, Modern Life, The Bible6 Comments

[I originally penned this post in 2020, but delayed its publication due to failing in my attempt to secure permission to receive this perfect illustration. Five years later, AI allowed me to create the image shown above. Since the message remains pertinent, I’m offering my thoughts on this subject today.]

Medicines are precious. Right now we are seeing the release of the first antiviral drugs devised to protect us from the covid plague. The trials have been positive, and now the caregivers on the frontlines are receiving these protective injections.

Unfortunately, some so-called medicines are not effective. They can even be harmful. That’s the case with “patent medicines” hawked by shysters lying about their results. Originally the term was positive. According to one museum, “patent medicines originally referred to medications whose ingredients had been granted government protection for exclusivity.”

Sadly, though, “the recipes of most 19th century patent medicines were not officially patented. Most producers (often small family operations) used ingredients quite similar to their competitors—vegetable extracts laced with ample doses of alcohol.

In a previous post, I shared Lewis’ view of God’s role in healing.

In his essay entitled “Miracles,” C.S. Lewis described during World War II the Christian viewpoint that God is the author of healing. After discussing the natural order of creation, he argues that God is at work in restoring the health of the those who are ailing.

In 1962, Lewis commiserated with a correspondent complaining about the number of pills she needed to take. He acknowledges the problem, and then points to a very positive corollary.

Yes, and one gets bored with the medicines too–besides always wondering ‘Did I remember to take them after breakfast?’ and then wondering whether the risk of missing a dose or the risk of an over dose is the worst!

Yes, one gets sick of pills. But thank God we don’t live in the age of horrible medicines such as our grandparents had to swallow.

In A Grief Observed, Lewis used an illustration of physical pain to explore the emotional pain caused by his sorrow at his wife’s passing.

I once read the sentence “I lay awake all night with a toothache, thinking about the toothache and about lying awake.” That’s true to life. Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.

In some ways, psychological suffering is particularly painful. The mentally ill have historically been ostracized. For all of the neurological discoveries that have been made in recent years, the human brain remains a mystery.

Fortunately, medical science has experienced some success formulating medicines that are helpful in treating mental disorders. One problem, however, is that (like nearly all meds) psychological formulas occasionally produce extreme side effects.

C.S. Lewis’ primary experience of psychological suffering came through grief. Tweaking Optimism, a great blog, has gathered a number of Lewis’ thoughts on mental anguish. One passage he cites from The Problem of Pain aptly contrasts physical and mental suffering.

Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and frequently more difficult to bear. The common attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.”

In the same book, Lewis lifts up the truth about suffering. In cases where no cure can bring relief, he beautifully describes various ways to survive journeying through the valley.

When pain is to be born, a little courage helps more than much knowledge, a little human sympathy more than much courage, and the least tincture of the love of God more than all.

C.S. Lewis’ Prescription for Christians Today

We live in an uncertain and turbulent time. Only God knows how long this world will last, but he has promised to deliver from death and hell those who call on his name. Thus, Jesus’ followers need not live in dread or despair.

We live with hope, and look forward with enthusiasm to our Lord’s return. It is to that glorious day, the Parousia, that Lewis refers in his essay “The World’s Last Night.”

The doctrine of the Second Coming, then, is not to be rejected because it conflicts with our favorite modern mythology. It is, for that very reason, to be the more valued and made more frequently the subject of meditation. It is the medicine our condition especially needs.

An Entertaining Tolkien “Game”

The inspiration for this revisitation of Lewis’ thoughts about medicine came from a fun website I recently encountered. Some creative soul noticed the similarity between two dissimilar matters—antidepressant medications and residents of Middle Earth.

The game offers 24 words, and you are challenged to identify the group into which it falls. Is it the name of a pharmaceutical, or is it one of the characters created by J.R.R. Tolkien? One name is a giveaway, but you may find many of the others rather difficult to discern.

Kudos to anyone who gets over twenty correct. (I almost did . . . well, if sixteen is close.) Have fun, and learn something, at the very same time!

Antidepressants or Tolkien Character?

Do Not Read the Bible

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Church History, History, Latin, Martin Luther, Reading, The Bible, Theological Matters9 Comments

How would you respond if the government prohibited you from reading the Holy Scriptures? That was the situation in Great Britain when the Parliament passed the ironically named “Act for the Advancement of True Religion.”

Nearly five centuries ago, on May 12, 1543, Britain’s enlightened politicians and bishops determined that people of the “lower sort” needed to be protected from reading and interpreting the Bible themselves. 

Just sixty-one years later, King James VI/I would commission the translation of the Authorized Version, making God’s Word more accessible to all who could read English. William Tyndale (c. 1494 – 1536) had actually translated a fair portion of the Scriptures a decade prior to Parliament’s restrictive law. For this, and similar “Protestant” sins, Tyndale was strangled and burned at the stake in Belgium.

Even the so-called Great Bible had been authorized by Henry VIII in 1539. The approval decreed “one book of the bible of the largest volume in English, and the same set up in some convenient place within the said church that ye have care of, whereas your parishioners may most commodiously resort to the same and read it [emphasis mine].”

Nevertheless, not all of the powers that be apparently agreed with making the text of the Bible accessible to the common folk. We will consider this category of “inadequates” momentarily.

First let’s consider the distaste expressed by some for any modern translation of the Scriptures. (If you’ve ever attended a Bible study group you have probably encountered at least one person who insists on using the true KJV, despite the archaic language.

C.S. Lewis addressed this reticence for clear translations in an essay entitled “Christian Apologetics.” It was originally presented to Anglican priests and youth leaders in 1945.

“Do we not already possess,” [some will say] “in the Authorised Version the most beautiful rendering which any language can boast?” Some people whom I have met go even further and feel that a modern translation is not only unnecessary but even offensive.

They cannot bear to see the time-honoured words altered; it seems to them irreverent. There are several answers to such people. In the first place the kind of objection which they feel to a new translation is very like the objection which was once felt to any English translation at all.

Dozens of sincerely pious people in the sixteenth century shuddered at the idea of turning the time-honoured Latin of the Vulgate into our common and (as they thought) ‘barbarous’ English. A sacred truth seemed to them to have lost its sanctity when it was stripped of the polysyllabic Latin, long heard at Mass and at Hours, and put into . . . language steeped in all the commonplace associations of the nursery, the inn, the stable, and the street.

The Biblically Unworthy

So, who were these “lower sort” of individuals deemed unsuited for reading the Scriptures already translated into their native tongue? Well, they included “women, artificers, apprentices, journeymen, serving-men of the rank of yeoman and under, husbandmen and laborers.” Women of the gentry class were allowed an exception, being able to read the Scriptures, but only in private.

Fortunately, the law was short-lived. Henry’s son, Edward VI/I would have it repealed in the Treason Act of 1547. (Of course, this goodwill did not prevent Edward from condemning the translations of the aforementioned martyr, William Tyndale.)

Who Should Read the Bible?

The short answer is “everyone.” Yet the fact exists that some individuals are susceptible to confusion – or even to intentional twisting of the clear meaning of God’s Word. So, while the Scriptures should be accessible to all, it is wise to guide children and the easily-confused in their studies. After all, what we all desire is honest understanding and enlightenment.

This direct access is one reason Martin Luther, William Tyndale and others labored so tirelessly to translate the Bible into the vernacular. Cheerfully, “believers no longer had to read Latin [or Greek, Hebrew or Aramaic] to understand the word of God.”

As for those who would directly attempt to distort God’s inspired words, a clear example is found in the New World version paraphrase invented by Jehovah’s Witnesses. Another example, which I have discussed in the past, is the distorted abomination created by the Chinese Communist Party. 

There are also “abbreviated” versions of the Bible, which contain properly translated passages, but leave out passages that challenge preconceived positions. This would include Thomas Jefferson’s cut and paste Bible and an edition of the Scriptures developed for teaching slaves to read.

If you are interested in receiving daily notes about Christian history such as the one which prompted this post, visit the Christian History Institute.

A Curious Papal Funerary Tradition

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Church History, History, Martin Luther, Modern Life, Narnia, Numismatics, Ordained Ministry, The Modern Church4 Comments

Several unique items are buried with modern popes when they die. Most, including their vestments, point to their spiritual role as the Bishop of Rome and patriarch of the Roman Catholic Church. One, however, highlights his secular role as the leader of the world’s smallest independent nation state.

This post is not about Pope Francis’ reign, or the papacy in general. As C.S. Lewis noted in a letter to an American poet, Mary Willis Shelburne, opinions on such matters differ in sometimes unproductive ways. In response to a comment she had written about the passing of Pope John XXIII (1881 – 1963), who had convened the Second Vatican Council, Lewis astutely observed,

God’s purposes are terribly obscure. I am thinking both of your [physical] sufferings and of the removal of such a Pope at such a moment. And the horrid conclusions which some bigots on both sides will probably draw from it.

Rather than discussing the role of the Bishop of Rome, I am considering one specific aspect of the office of the Bishop of Rome – the formalities associated with the funeral and burial/interment of a deceased pope. My focus is further restricted to a single unique facet of that process. This involves the coinage of the Vatican City State issued during their reign.

Despite its status as a nation, Vatican City has declined full membership in the United Nations. This is due to the admirable goal of remaining detached from the official political tentacles associated with having an official vote. Instead, through the Holy See, the papacy’s ecclesiastical office, the Roman Catholic Church maintains a presence and voice in the UN.

Vatican City is one of the few independent states that has not become a member of the United Nations. It does hold permanent observer status, with all the rights of a full member except for having a vote in the General Assembly.

On April 6, 1964, the Holy See became a Permanent Observer Mission to the United Nations and established its Mission in New York City. This was fitting, not only because of the growing involvement of the Holy See in UN deliberations, but above all because the four pillars of the UN as enshrined in its Charter dovetail very well with four main pillars of Catholic Social Teaching . . .

The Holy See enjoys by its own choice the status of Permanent Observer at the United Nations, rather than of a full Member. This is due primarily to the desire of the Holy See to maintain absolute neutrality in specific political problems.

In accordance with tradition, “preparations are also being made for a numismatic commemoration of the Sede Vacante.” The Latin term  means “vacant seat,” and refers to the transitional period between popes. Thus, in addition to the papal coins minted for each pope, special issues are normally released during the interims. However, due to a reorganization of the Vatican’s coinage office, CoinsWeekly reports it remains “uncertain whether a 2-euro commemorative coin” will be produced for this papal interregnum.

NumismaticNews echoes the fact that due to their rarity, Sede Vacante issues rapidly increase in value. Fortunately due to their infrequency, they “ are seldom at the center of a collector’s radar. That’s probably a good thing, as it means we are not losing popes quickly or routinely.”

A number of items are traditionally included in a pope’s casket. Unsurprisingly, these include a miter, crozier, and rosary. They also include coins minted during their reign, reflecting their role as ruler of the Papal State. This last fact surprised me.

So, precisely what is the precedent being set with Pope Francis’ funeral? First, he was not buried in the Vatican, but in a basilica dedicated to St. Mary.

There was another, more significant symbol of the simplicity that characterized his papacy. While popes traditionally have three elaborate caskets nestled inside one another, Francis asked to have only one simple wooden casket with a modest zinc inner lid.

Pope Francis’ 2017 Revision of Vatican Coinage

For centuries, the portrait of the current Bishop of Rome graced coins in Rome. That tradition ended with Pope Francis. In 2017, he personally requested that his visage no longer appear on coins. This is commendable, since it was presumably based on Francis’ humility. 

This then, his image has been replaced by the papal coat of arms. Notably, every other country minting euros bears the head of its head of state. It will be interesting to see whether or not Francis’ successor follows his example.

A Brief Note on Protestant Coinage

Although there have been some historical attempts to create governmental structures led by religious leaders besides Roman Catholicism, they have been the rare exception. (The claimed leadership of the Church by sovereigns such as King Henry VIII is another case.) 

In Zurich, Huldrych Zwingli (1484 – 1531) sought to establish a theocracy, and actually perished on the battlefield resisting the Roman Catholic armies of several Swiss cantons. John Calvin (1509 – 1564) pursued similar goals in Geneva, and beyond. Calvin, however, never bore arms in his effort.

Fortunately, the “two kingdoms” theology of Martin Luther became dominant in primarily Protestant realms. It is based on the declaration Jesus made during his trial before Pontius Pilate that “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 19).

For a fascinating discussion of the implications of this theological position, consider “Martin Luther’s Farewell to Arms: The Two Kingdoms and the Rejection of Crusading.”

Turning to numismatics, it is not rare to find religious leaders portrayed on historical coinage. However, these portrayals serve as commemorations of individuals who have made a cultural or ethical contribution to a particular society – not because they sat upon a throne.

For example, Switzerland minted a 20 franc coin with the images of Zwingli and Calvin during the 500th anniversary of the Reformation.

Likewise, in 1965, the Communist government of Czechoslovakia produced a 10 korun coin in honor of the 550th anniversary of the martyrdom of Jan Hus. This particular coin, like many similar pieces, was actually minted as a non-circulating coin, intended for collectors rather than daily commerce.

This leads us to note that most coin-like pieces of metal bearing the likeness of reformers are actually medallions, not coins. As such, the vast majority of the commemoratives have been fashioned by organizations, rather than governments.

Being an amateur numismatist and a Lutheran pastor myself, I have several related items in my personal collection (none of which were costly, of course . . . since it’s just a hobby). One of my favorite items is a genuine 1 Mark coin minted in Eisenach in Weimar Germany in 1921 (pictured below). What makes it especially unusual is that due to postwar metal shortages, it was actually struck in porcelain!

This emergency coinage and currency was called “Notgeld,” which means “necessity money” because individual cities found it necessary to provide their own money when the Reichsbank succumbed to hyperinflation between the world wars.

The city of Eisenach chose the centennial of Martin Luther’s work because of his historic ties to the city. The Lutherhaus Eisenach cultural center commemorates, among other events, Luther’s early schooldays there, and his stay at Wartburg Castle where he translated the New Testament into German.

Conclusion

In light of Pope Francis’ funeral and the association it has with numismatics, it is a good time to consider how coinage has often carried a religious message. Although this was more frequent in past centuries, it still occurs today. It will be interesting to see just how many nations eventually mint coins in honor of Pope Francis. The Philippines, Samoa and the Cook Islands already have.

And even Narnia, the home of Aslan, minted coins in honor of its heroes, didn’t it?

Gathering Palms & Preparing for War

On By robstroudIn Animals, C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Just War, Military Chaplaincy, Military History, Modern Life, Nature, The Bible12 Comments

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.

The military also trains combatants and support personnel in every environment you can imagine: mountain, tropics, arctic, lunar, etc. (Just kidding about the last one . . . unless there is a classified course I’m unaware of.)

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, J.R.R. Tolkien & Naomi Mitchison

On By robstroudIn Advice to Writers, Books, C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Classics Worth Revisiting, Great Authors, History, J.R.R. Tolkien, Literature, Marriage, Modern Life, Narnia, Publishing, Reading, Roman History, Writing2 Comments

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.

C.S. Lewis & Emotions

On By robstroudIn Books, C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, Christian Life, Christianity, Counseling, Faith, Family, Grandparenting, Humor, Literature, Marriage, Ministry, Modern Life, Narnia, Publishing13 Comments

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

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Family, Grandparenting, The Ancient Church16 Comments

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.

God as the Author of Creation

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Cartoons with a Message, Christian Life, Christianity, History, Interfaith Issues, Ministry, Modern Life, The Bible, The Future, Theological Matters11 Comments

Satan is powerless versus Christians, especially those who know he exists. Yet, vis-à-vis unbelievers, he “prowls around like [an invisible] lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Peter 5). Christian “immunity” to Lucifer’s power, if not his temptations, is due to the indwelling presence of God’s Holy Spirit.

Still, for every human being, whatever their personal belief, the Devil is no mere cartoon, with whom to be trifled. I discussed this briefly in my previous post, “Only God Can Create,” which you might want to read before continuing here.

As for humanity’s vulnerability to the Devil’s influence, the consensus in paradoxically-labeled “enlightened” cultures is that he doesn’t even exist. Sadly, this cosmic lie even tricks self-described “Christians.”

This illusion plays directly into his purposes, as C.S. Lewis described in The Screwtape Letters. Screwtape, a senior demon, instructs his protégée Wormwood in the preferred method of dispelling human wariness about Evil.

The fact that “devils” are predominantly comic figures in the modern imagination will help you. If any faint suspicion of your existence begins to arise in his mind, suggest to him a picture of something in red tights, and persuade him that since he cannot believe in that (it is an old textbook method of confusing them) he therefore cannot believe in you.

Ironically, the populations of less Westernized cultures possess some immunity to this deception. Even in their traditional religions, there is a keen awareness of the existence of evil presences. In the words of The African Study Bible, “we Africans understand instinctively the stories of angelic visitations, spiritual warfare, and demonic oppression that are in the Bible.”

Christians believe in God, not the Devil. While the Scriptures attest to the personal identity of this fallen angel, acknowledgment of his existence is not salvific (i.e. it is not essential to salvation). Thus, C.S. Lewis is correct in his 1944 essay “Answers to Questions on Christianity” when he writes:

No reference to the Devil or devils is included in any Christian Creeds, and it is quite possible to be a Christian without believing in them. I do believe such beings exist, but that is my own affair.

Supposing there to be such beings, the degree to which humans were conscious of their presence would presumably vary very much. I mean, the more a man was in the Devil’s power, the less he would be aware of it, on the principle that a man is still fairly sober as long as he knows he’s drunk. It is the people who are fully awake and trying hard to be good who would be most aware of the Devil. It is when you start arming against Hitler that you first realize your country is full of Nazi agents.

Of course, they don’t want you to believe in the Devil. If devils exist, their first aim is to give you an anaesthetic – to put you off your guard. Only if that fails, do you become aware of them.

On the Matter of Creative Power

Only God can create. That was the core message of our previous discussion. C.S. Lewis recognized, as do biblically-grounded believers, that Satan is merely a sinful, fallen being, little different from humanity in that regard. This truth shatters the pagan philosophy of dualism, or the misguided notion that two equal and opposite forces (e.g. good and evil) exist in some sort of equilibrium. 

In “The Seeing Eye,” C.S. Lewis described the way in which God is beyond his creation. 

Looking for God – or Heaven – by exploring space is like reading or seeing all Shakespeare’s plays in the hope that you will find Shakespeare as one of the characters . . . Shakespeare is in one sense present at every moment in every play. But he is never present in the same way as Falstaff or Lady Macbeth. . . .

If there were an idiot who thought plays existed on their own, without an author . . . our belief in Shakespeare would not be much affected by his saying, quite truly, that he had studied all the plays and never found Shakespeare in them. . . .

My point is that, if God does exist, He is related to the universe more as an author is related to a play than as one object in the universe is related to another. If God created the universe, He created space-time, which is to the universe as the metre is to a poem or the key is to music.

To look for Him as one item within the framework which He Himself invented is nonsensical. If God – such a God as any adult religion believes in – exists, mere movement in space will never bring you any nearer to Him or any farther from Him than you are at this very moment. You can neither reach Him nor avoid Him by travelling to Alpha Centauri or even to other galaxies.

Mark Twain’s Divinized Satan

I had intended to mention Samuel Clemens in my previous article, as one who advanced the assertion that Satan possesses creative ability. Whether Twain regarded the Devil as an actual entity is certainly debatable. What is undeniable, however, is his devoted defense of Lucifer.

As Twain famously wrote in his autobiographical writings, “But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?” 

Mark Twain was (in)famous for his atheism, or his agnostic antipathy of the Christian understanding of our Creator. Not content to disbelieve, Samuel Clemens actively worked to undermine Christian faith. One of his books, Letters from the Earth, had to be printed posthumously, due its irreverent (or blasphemous) nature.

It bears a superficial resemblance to C.S. Lewis’ amazing Screwtape Letters – insofar as both fictional works present themselves as demonic correspondence. 

The similarity ends there. While Lewis provides keen insight into Evil’s tactics in wreaking havoc in human lives, Twain’s letters present Satan in a positive, even noble, light.

Letters from the Earth is only one of Mark Twain’s anti-Christian works. The Mysterious Stranger is one of his most bizarre. It evidences his long-term preoccupation with Satan, in that it was composed (in various versions) between 1897 and 1908.

The first serious rendition, The Chronicle of Young Satan, was completed in 1900. I mention it here because there is a scene in which the Devil “creates” a miniature world. Obviously it errs in attributing to Lucifer the power to create life – but to its credit, it does reveal Satan as a capricious, vain, cruel, and compassionless lord.

In 1985 a claymation film was released titled The Adventures of Mark Twain. It features the mock scene from Chronicle of Young Satan. It is quite disturbing. However, if one is curious about the subject, and wishes to be forearmed regarding such deceptions, you can view the excerpt here.

Especially for those who do choose to view Twain’s portrayal of the Devil in his fictional “youth,” I desire to end our current discussion on a positive note.

Claymation was also the medium for a long-lived Christian television series. Davey & Goliath, the story of a regular kid and his dog, ran between 1964 and 1975. Many of the episodes can be seen here.

And finally (and forever), we can celebrate with C.S. Lewis the wonder that this world we currently inhabit will not be God’s sole creation. In fact, because of Jesus’ redemptive sacrifice, we can look forward to a new cosmos, untainted by sin.

The New Testament writers speak as if Christ’s achievement in rising from the dead was the first event of its kind in the whole history of the universe. He is the “first fruits”, the “pioneer of life”.

He has forced open a door that has been locked since the death of the first man. He has met, fought, and beaten the King of Death. Everything is different because He has done so. This is the beginning of the New Creation: a new chapter in cosmic history has opened (Miracles).

Only God Can Create

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Great Authors, J.R.R. Tolkien, Modern Life, Narnia, The Bible, Theological Matters, Writing11 Comments

Satan has many disciples in this world. Some know him by other names, or worship him in spirit without recognizing his actual existence (e.g. Mammon). The irony, of course, is that the Devil is simply a posturer, or in modern parlance, a poser. And the presence of the Holy Spirit makes any single Christian more than his match.

A prime evidence of Satan’s weakness is that he is a mere created being, without any creative powers of his own. Although some would grant the Adversary a glory he does not own, the truth is that since his expulsion from Heaven, he has devolved into the Great Pretender.

C.S. Lewis never pretended to be a theologian (for whatever authority that debatable title might convey). Instead, he was a brilliant disciple of Jesus with a sincere desire to follow the teachings of the Scriptures. Lewis certainly wasn’t infallible (and he has many critics who delight in pointing out that obvious fact).

Nevertheless, Lewis’ private insights on the subject of Lucifer’s noncreative limitation are right on the biblical target. Responding to a question posed by a reader, Lewis offered his opinion. 

Dear Mrs [Belle] Allen, I think it would be dangerous to suppose that Satan had created all the creatures that are disagreeable or dangerous to us for (a) those creatures, if they could think, would have just the same reason for thinking that we were created by Satan. (b) I don’t think evil, in the strict sense, can create.

It can spoil something that Another has created. Satan may have corrupted other creatures as well as us. Part of the corruption in us might be the unreasoning horror and disgust we feel at some creatures quite apart from any harm they can do us. (I can’t abide a spider myself.) (correspondence, 11 January 1954).

No, God alone creates . . . and redeems. The impotent Devil can never create, or rescue. His utter corruption results in an admittedly powerful spiritual being (a fallen angel) who is devoted to twisting, breaking, tainting, warping, spoiling, corrupting, rotting, perverting, and ruining all that God loves.

Granted, in our fallen world, Satan can fashion an abomination from some preexisting thing he corrupts – for example, Ophiocordyceps unilateralis the parasitic fungus that turns ants into zombies – but he can never create something out of nothing. These poor abominations are an excellent example of what Lewis referred to when he described the “horror and disgust we feel at some creatures . . .”

Meanwhile, Human Beings Can Create

Well, not exactly “create” on the creatio ex nihilo (created out of nothing) sense. Only God can do that, as he did when he spoke all things into existence. Just as Aslan echoed, when he sang Narnia into being in Lewis’ Chronicles.

“And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light” (Genesis 1).

“In the beginning was the Word [Logos], and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. . . . All things were made through him . . .” (John 1)

The Lion was pacing to and fro about empty land and singing his new song. It was softer and more lilting than the song by which he had called up the stars and the sun; a gentle, rippling music. And as he walked and sang the valley grew green with grass. It spread out from the Lion like a pool. It ran up the sides of the little hills like a wave” (The Magician’s Nephew)

As for humans like you and me being able to create, that is one of God’s most precious gifts to us. In truth, we use elements already created by the Lord: clay and stone to sculpt, pigments to paint, quill and ink to write.

The Inklings understood this creative impulse quite well. They not only understood it; they lived it. 

Like Christians before and since, they recognized that our creative capacity is based in the fact that we are created imago Dei, in the image of God.

Many people mistakenly believe J.R.R. Tolkien coined the word subcreation (or sub-creation, for the hyphen-infatuated). He certainly applied it for the first time to the intentional creation of what the Oxford English Dictionary calls “the action or process of creating a fully realized and internally consistent imaginary (or ‘secondary’) world.” 

Subcreation may be considered a form of “creation by a created being.” But even the most talented of writers and artists should remember this truth, stated by a Canadian astrophysicist: “God did not grant to the devil or any of his creatures the power to create.”

There is much more to consider on this subject, but Mere Inkling readers will need to wait until my next post, when we will conclude our discussion of this fascinating matter. 

There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them.

They themselves are equally pleased by both errors, and hail a materialist or a magician with the same delight. (The Screwtape Letters).

The image above is based on the work of Émile Bayard (1837-1891), a French illustrator who was born in Cairo, Egypt.