“An army marches on its stomach.”* Military leaders have long recognized that it is difficult to arouse soldiers weakened by deprivation. Sadly, though, even a king of Israel could be foolish enough to ignore that and order his soldiers to fast before a battle.
While logisticians rarely receive the accolades of their peers who serve directly in combat, they have always been vital members of successful military ventures.
While they are concerned with securing and transporting all requirements, such as ammunition and medical supplies, there is a single necessary requirement for all campaigns. Without sustenance, soldiers will desert the flag and even the most steadfast will fall.
Nutritional value is the first priority. Palatability has historically been a distant afterthought. This has given rise to innumerable jokes made by veterans about the “combat rations” provided to them. While these “menus” have vastly improved in recent years, they remain fodder for much humor.
And even the most delicious food choices become monotonous when they are limited to a small range. In 2002, I visited a remote military detachment supplied with adequate pallets of Meals Ready to Eat, but begging for variety. They had hundreds of meals available, but only two or three different meal options! Civilians, in contrast, can readily purchase a far wider range of entrees.
During the Second World War, the United States invested major efforts in making the combat meals more appealing. Various candies found their way into K-rations, in addition to necessities like toilet paper and cigarettes. In a comprehensive overview of the history of rations, the U.S. Army Quartermaster Foundation points to the main reason for complaint during WWII.
Like other unpopular items, misuse was a contributing factor to the waning popularity of the K ration. Although designed to be used for a period of two or three days only, the ration occasionally subsisted troops for weeks on end. . . . Continued use reduced the acceptability and diminished the value of the ration.
Adding confectionaries to rations made the meals more welcome. Chocolate was always a favorite, but the initial American versions left much to be desired.
My research was, in fact, prompted by a recent post on “Chocolate in WWII” in Pacific Paratrooper. (It is one of the very best military blogs on the internet.) They describe how the military approached a major American confectioner with a simple list of requirements (the last one is best appreciated by older veterans).
The Hershey Chocolate company was approached back in 1937 about creating a specially designed bar just for U.S. Army emergency rations. According to Hershey’s chief chemist, Sam Hinkle, the U.S. government had just four requests about their new chocolate bars: (1) they had to weigh 4 ounces; (2) be high in energy; (3) withstand high temperatures; (4) “taste a little better than a boiled potato.”
Sadly, many “who tried it said they would rather have eaten the boiled potato.” Well, it was the thought that counted, right?
There is a legend that during the war a German officer was confronted with American desserts and determined that the abundant resources of the United States signaled doom for the Nazi cause. The story likely has a fictional origin.
In the 1965 film Battle of the Bulge, Wehrmacht Colonel Hessler, shows his commanding general a treasure confiscated from American soldiers.
Hessler: “General, before you go, may I show you something?”
General: “What is it?”
Hessler: “A chocolate cake.”
Kohler: “Well?”
Hessler: “It was taken from a captured American private. It’s still fresh. If you will look at the wrapping, general, you will see it comes from Boston.”
Kohler: “And?”
Hessler: “General, do you realize what this means? It means that the Americans have fuel and planes to fly cake across the Atlantic Ocean. They have no conception of defeat.”
C.S. Lewis & Rations
Military rations during the First World War were more primitive than those provided twenty years later. One difference for the British is that they were granted a half gill of rum (or a pint of porter) each day.
This alcohol distribution was at the discretion of the commanding general, which meant that it was not available in the trenches. This was in the spirit of the American “General Order Number 1,” which typically applies to alcohol, and sometimes prohibits its presence throughout an entire theater. (I can personally attest to the ability of some elements, such as Special Ops, to circumvent such restrictions.)
C.S. Lewis wrote with some frequency about the rationing endured by the British public, during and after the world wars.⁑
Unfortunately, I’ve only uncovered one Lewisian reference to his own experience with military cuisine. In a 1917 letter to his father, he reveals that meals were not always appealing, even during training, prior to deploying to the war zone.
First of all came the week at Warwick, which was a nightmare. I was billeted with five others in the house of an undertaker and memorial sculptor. We had three beds between six of us, there was of course no bath, and the feeding was execrable.
The little back yard full of tomb stones, which we christened ‘the quadrangle,’ was infinitely preferable to the tiny dining room with its horse hair sofa and family photos.
When all six of us sat down to meals there together, there was scarcely room to eat, let alone swing the traditional cat round. Altogether it was a memorable experience.
A Hobbit, a Wardrobe, and a Great War describes how WWI affected C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. After relating a passage following Miraz’s defeat of Caspian’s force, when the momentarily defeated were “a gloomy company that huddled under the dripping trees to eat their scanty supper,” the author observes:
The military blunders, the fruitless acts of bravery, the bone-chilling rain, the meager rations: there were many days and nights just like these along the Western Front. Imaginary beasts aside, such scenes could have been lifted from the journal of any front-line soldier.
Like Tolkien, though, Lewis includes these images not for their own sake, but to provide the matrix for the moral and spiritual development of his characters . . .
Rations in Ukraine
Although the eyes of the world are riveted today on the war in Ukraine, there are currently 110 armed conflicts being monitored by the Geneva Academy. However, since Ukraine is in the news daily, it is worth noting both modern armies are employing military rations.
Apparently, Ukrainian troops have great Meals Ready to Eat (MREs). “Most importantly, when making, eating, or even talking about the food, the men seem to be genuinely happy.” The MRE link in this paragraph contains the details, including the note that “among the contents, you’ll find a small packet of dried apricots and a dark chocolate bar.”
There is also a vendor on ebay who sells what are purported to be captured Russian supplies, including a confiscated chocolate bar. The candy appears to be conventionally purchased, but could be part of an illicit chocolate conspiracy finding its way to the Russians from Latvia. “The Russian confectionery company ‘Pobeda’ ПОБЕДА has been producing chocolates, truffles, waffles and other types of sweets for more than six years in Ventspils, via a Latvian subsidiary.”
A month ago in Russia, “Pobeda” received thanks from an organization called the “Battle Brotherhood” for the fact that since the beginning of the Ukrainian war, the company has sent at least 15 tonnes of its products to Russian soldiers.
Chocolate does indeed appear to fuel armies. For a fascinating article on how chocolate can also be used to promote propaganda, check out this Ukrainian site.
Russian propaganda continues to dehumanize Ukrainians with the help of outright fakes.
Another “proof” of our apparent bloodthirstiness was the image of a chocolate bar with a remarkable name “Death of Alyoshka.” A portrait of a boy in a helmet with a mourning ribbon is placed on the wrapper of the confectionery. Propagandists claim that Ukrainians wish Russian children dead.
Become an MRE Connoisseur
If you are curious about the contents of various international MREs that are available for purchase by civilians, visit MREmountain, which began “in 2017 when people discovered the hobby of trying army rations.”
Most veterans, I suspect, would find the “hobby” of eating military rations rather peculiar. But then again, you can check out the French options, which the site labels “The best MRE in the world.” Only there, I imagine, could one discover “meals not found in any other MRE like Kebob Meatballs, Duck Confit, Deer Pate, Wild Boar.”
And, of course, France’s 24-hour ration also includes chocolat müesli, chocolate biscuits, five snack bars (at least one of which is pure chocolate), and a hot cacao packet. Yummy. It appears that les Français also consider chocolate to be a staple of modern soldiers.
* This quotation has been attributed to Napoleon and Frederick the Great. Whatever its modern origin, it is obvious starvation and its frequent companion, disease, have crippled as many armies as blade and shot.
A few days ago marked the anniversary of the 1277 death of Pope John XXI. I knew nothing about this particular Pontiff, but the mention I read described his passing due to the collapse of the ceiling of his residence. That piqued my interest, but the following forced me to spend some time researching to learn more: “The name was a mistake – there was never a John XX.”
One of the very few email lists I’ve never regretted signing up for is “Today in Christian History” produced by Christianity Today.
Each day it provides brief notes about several historical events that happened on that particular day. Most of the notes describe historically watershed incidents. Others are simply curious, though they were naturally momentous to those involved.
The opening of this post offers an example from the latter category. Unlike the reign of Pope Francis, who ascended a decade ago and has indicated he has no intention of “retiring” before death (as did his humble predecessor Benedict XVI), the unfortunate John XXI sat on the papal throne for a mere nine months.
Despite this brief reign, there are several interesting things about Pedro Julião. (I’ll save the one I regard as most important for last.)
First of all, John XXI was Portuguese. Hailing from the Iberian Peninsula, he represents no less than 50% of the popes who came from Portugal. The first, Damasus I (305-84), came from the Roman province of Lusitania, which included a portion of Spain in addition to modern Portugal.
One paradox of the Papacy is that the Pope is the Bishop of the diocese of Rome, presiding over a physical geographic locale, while he is simultaneously the Bishop of the “Holy See,” meaning that he serves as the episcopal head of the entire international Roman Catholic communion.
Due to the physical location of the Roman Patriarchate, it is unsurprising that a majority of the individuals who have followed Saint Peter as Pontiff have been Italian. World Population Review says 217 of the 266 Popes have been from Italy. “A distant second is France, which has had a total of 16 popes.”
J.R.R. Tolkien was a truly devout Roman Catholic, but C.S. Lewis recognized that the church headquartered in Rome was merely one part of the Body of Christ whose unity he argued was founded in an understanding of the Mere Christianity Lewis propounded. Much to Tolkien’s chagrin, his good friend Lewis never converted to Roman Catholicism.
Roman Catholics still seek C.S. Lewis’ imprimatur. One prominent Roman Catholic apologist, Joe Heschmeyer, has a personal blog delightfully titled Shameless Popery. (I highly respect truth in advertising like his website exhibits.) In “C.S. Lewis’ Surprising Argument for the Papacy,” he argues that Lewis’ argument for a traditional view of marriage offers support to the rationale for papal authority.
Unlike some Protestants, C.S. Lewis was not tempted to construct a strawman out of the papacy. In an interesting passage from his monumental history of English Literature in the Sixteenth Century, he emphasizes the shared legacy of Roman Catholicism and robust Protestantism.
To be sure, there are standards by which the early Protestants could be called “puritanical;” they held adultery, fornication, and perversion for deadly sins. But then so did the Pope. If that is puritanism, all Christendom was then puritanical together.
In much the same way that C.S. might argue that “all Christendom” shared not only a common moral awareness, but also a mutual understanding of God’s self-revealed Triune nature.
In addition to being a rare specimen as a Portuguese Pope, John XXI studied medicine and is thought to have been a noteworthy pharmacologist. In fact, the apartment in the papal palace in Viterbo which collapsed on him was constructed so he would have a quiet place in which to pursue his medical studies.
Second, as already mentioned, another peculiar thing about John XXI, is the choice of his papal name. There never was a Pope John XX. One would imagine the church bureaucracy would keep accurate records of these sorts of things. Even more strangely, there is more than one explanation for why Pedro Julião became John XXI at his consecration.
According to Brittanica “Marianus Scotus and other 11th-century historians mistakenly believed that there had been a pope named John between antipope Boniface VII and the true John XV.” Consequently, “they mistakenly numbered the real popes John XV to XIX as John XVI to XX” requiring that they subsequently be “renumbered XV to XIX.” Yet, for some reason, “John XXI and John XXII continue to bear numbers that they themselves formally adopted on the assumption that there had indeed been 20 Johns before them.”
As a result, the title John XX presumably remains available for any future Bishop of Rome who might wish to further confuse the matter. We may have to wait until the Parousia to learn the full facts in this convoluted matter.
A third distinctive of John XXI is that he rescinded a very common sense decree established by his predecessor Gregory X, only two years prior to John’s ascension. (Actually, Adrian V was elected pope between the two, but Ottobuono de’ Fieschi died shortly after his election, before he could even be ordained to the priesthood. (There must be another interesting tale there.)
Returning to the story of the rescinded canon . . . Apparently there was a long papal vacancy (nearly three years) before Gregory X was elected. To avoid such predicaments in the future, at the Second Council of Lyon Gregory pushed for this sensible rule: if the new pope is not elected in a reasonable time frame, encouragement would be provided to the conclave by having their episcopal meals and other rewards gradually diminish!
The entire, fascinating “constitution” is available at Eternal World Television Network. Here is the essence:
We learn from the past how heavy are the losses sustained by the Roman church in a long vacancy, how perilous it is . . . We intend in no way to detract from [previous rules primarily instituted by Pope Alexander III], but to supply by the present constitution what experience has shown to be missing.
If, which God forbid, within three days after the cardinals have entered the said conclave, the church has not been provided with a shepherd, they are to be content for the next five days, every day both at dinner and supper, with one dish only. If these days also pass without the election of a pope, henceforth only bread, wine and water are to be served to the cardinals until they do provide a pope.
While the election is in process, the cardinals are to receive nothing from the papal treasury, nor any other revenue coming from whatever source to the church while the see is vacant.
For some unrevealed reason, John XXI revoked this rule, and it was back to business as usual. The decision to do so was one of John’s few official acts.
C.S. Lewis, Once Again
One reason Christians of all denominational traditions find much to appreciate in C.S. Lewis comes from the fact he was much more interested in edifying believers than tearing them down. He preferred to promote Christian unity over division.
One of his close friends, with whom he carried on a long term correspondence was a Benedictine monk named Bede Griffiths. Ironically, while Griffiths became renowned for his embrace of elements of Hindu spirituality, the priest appeared less tolerant of C.S. Lewis’ Protestant doctrines. In a letter from 1936, Lewis’ frustration on that score comes through loud and clear.
One of the most important differences between us is our estimate of the importance of the differences. You, in your charity, are anxious to convert me: but I am not in the least anxious to convert you.
You think my specifically Protestant beliefs a tissue of damnable errors: I think your specifically Catholic beliefs a mass of comparatively harmless human tradition which may be fatal to certain souls under special conditions, but which I think suitable for you. . . .
As well – who wants to debate with a man who begins by saying that no argument can possibly move him? Talk sense, man! With other Catholics I find no difficulty in deriving much edification from religious talk on the common ground: but you refuse to show any interest except in differences.
These words were written (1) privately, to a friend, (2) in the form of an extemporaneous letter, and (3) tinged with the frustration of returning to a familiar “debate” with a recalcitrant disputant.
Fortunately, however, we possess an essay written by Lewis on the same subject which was composed in the opposite context. It was intentionally composed for a general audience, written in C.S. Lewis’ natural painstakingly logical and clear literary voice, and composed in his conciliatory spirit with a focus on affirming what is shared and illuminating – but not dwelling upon – differences.
In 1944 C.S. Lewis penned an essay entitled “Christian Reunion.” Sadly, it was never completed for publication during his lifetime. This brief work reveals his deeper thoughts on interdenominational distinctives, and the overriding unity Christians possess through our relationship in Jesus Christ. It is written primarily to a Roman Catholic audience, in a respectful and genuinely compassionate tone.
A Pilgrim in Narnia has provided the universal (“catholic” with a small “c”) Church a great service in reproducing the full text of the essay here.
Dr. Dickieson also provides a concise and helpful introduction. I offer only a selection from Lewis’ essay here, as befits the nature of our current discussion.
I know no way of bridging this gulf [between the major Christian traditions]. Nor do I think it the business of the private layman to offer much advice on bridge-building to his betters. My only function as a Christian writer is to preach “mere Christianity” not ad clerum [to the clergy] but ad populum [to the people].
Any success that has been given me has, I believe, been due to my strict observance of those limits. By attempting to do otherwise I should only add one more recruit (and a very ill qualified recruit) to the ranks of the controversialists. After that I should be no more use to anyone.
When therefore we find a certain heavenly unity existing between really devout persons of differing creeds – a mutual understanding and even a power of mutual edification which each may lack towards a lukewarm member of his own denomination – we must ascribe this to the work of Christ . . .
Ultimately, C.S. Lewis’ reservations about Roman Catholicism rested where they do for most thinking Christians who belong to other denominations. Its focus can be distilled down to a “disagreement about the seat and nature of doctrinal Authority.” Although he does not expressly state the conviction here that Scripture supersedes the ultimate weight of a single opinion, say of someone such as Pope John XXI, that is the concern.
We will end with C.S. Lewis’ astute analysis of the two parts of the Christian family as they view one another across the proverbial Tiber. In doing so, I offer the fruits of my own recent theological quest. Precipitated by a contemporarily trivial event during the thirteenth century, it culminated in another deep draught from the wisdom of C.S. Lewis.
The difficulty that remains . . . is our disagreement about the seat and nature of doctrinal Authority. The real reason, I take it, why you cannot be in communion with us is not your disagreement with this or that particular Protestant doctrine, so much as the absence of any real “Doctrine,” in your sense of the word, at all.
It is, you feel, like asking a man to say he agrees not with a speaker but with a debating society.
And the real reason why I cannot be in communion with you is not my disagreement with this or that Roman doctrine, but that to accept your Church means, not to accept a given body of doctrine, but to accept in advance any doctrine your Church hereafter produces. It is like being asked to agree not only to what a man has said but to what he’s going to say.
Postscript
As an illustration of the C.S. Lewis’ point about authority resting in the current “successor of Peter,” consider the decisions rendered by Gregory X and John XXI about papal enclaves. It seems to me that the first admonition about not indulging those in attendance was wiser than the subsequent decision to restore the earlier policies. But then, that may simply be due to the fact that I’m a Protestant. Unless the rules have been revised since John’s passing, I assume most Roman Catholics would agree that he was led by the Holy Spirit in reversing the decree of the Second Council of Lyon.
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 Americanrelates,
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.
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.
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.”
Just because someone did something extraordinarily stupid does not mean that another fool should repeat the act. And C.S. Lewis would agree.
This summer a (likely unemployed) Coloradan decided to push a peanut to the top of Pikes Peak – a 14,115 foot American landmark – using his nose. Talk about stupid. His ambition was to be the first person in the twenty-first century to accomplish this pseudo-impressive goal.
That’s right, “in the twenty-first century.” Oddly, he is the fourth man (women are too intelligent, IMHO) to waste time in this pursuit, but the others proved their mettle in the twentieth century.
Simple stupidity is not the oddest motivator of irrational actions. Some people feel compelled to pursue death-defying activities. Those of us who would prefer to avoid danger whenever possible, are confused by others who embrace it.
Quite recently, “the body of an American mountaineer whose daring achievements brought her acclaim among some of the world’s most elite climbers was found . . . on a peak in Nepal.” Apparently, she climbed the “world’s eighth-highest peak” so she could ski down from its peak.
Hilaree Nelson, 49, and her romantic and climbing partner, Jim Morrison, were trying to ski down Manaslu . . . An avalanche apparently blew her off a cliff onto the south face of the mountain, opposite of their intended route of descent.
Tragic, most would agree. Foolish, many would add.
Doing something silly falls lower on the FDS (foolishness disorder spectrum) than does taking arbitrary and utterly unnecessary risks.
C.S. Lewis offers some interesting counsel to a woman who shared concern about the marital frustrations of someone close to her. (Yes, people actively sought his advice.) He ranks ignorance very low on the scale of relationship problems.
It is a great joy to be able to ‘feel’ God’s love as a reality, and one must give thanks for it and use it. But you must be prepared for the feeling dying away again, for feelings are by nature impermanent.
The great thing is to continue to believe when the feeling is absent: & these periods do quite as much for one as those when the feeling is present. It sounds to me as if Genia had a pretty good husband on the whole.
So much matrimonial misery comes to me in my mail that I feel those whose partner has no worse fault than being stupider than themselves may be said to have drawn a prize! It hardly amounts to a Problem. (Correspondence, 1953).
So it is, that while obviously undesirable, stupidity is not a bad thing in itself. In “The World’s Last Night,” Lewis includes the trait in a curious list. And the passage suggests to me the dangers implicit in allowing one‘s ignorance to jeopardize their wellbeing.
Perfect love, we know, casteth out fear. But so do several other things – ignorance, alcohol, passion, presumption, and stupidity.
It is very desirable that we should all advance to that perfection of love in which we shall fear no longer; but it is very undesirable, until we have reached that stage, that we should allow any inferior agent to cast out our fear.
It is precisely when what I would identify as stupidity inspires dangerous activities, that C.S. Lewis would rule it to be detrimental. And this brings us to the question of why some few people do what the majority of us “saner” people would avoid.
Why Do People Pursue Risky Activities
For our discussion here, I am not including people who face danger due to their vocations. Doubtless some “first responders” and military members relish brushes with death, but they are in the minority. Most are not eager to court death.
It has been debated as to why some people are drawn to the most hazardous of so-called “extreme sports.” The uncharitable might attribute a vulnerability to the siren call of danger to mere stupidity, but there are other factors at work.
However, some people are conditioned by their upbringing to participate in unsafe behaviors (e.g. base jumping, smoking or alligator wrestling). And, in recent years, we have been hearing more about genetic dispositions to such activities. It appears there is some merit to the notion of there being a “risk taking gene.”
A major 2019 study reported in in Nature Genetics “identified . . . 99 [genetic] loci associated with general risk tolerance.” An accessible discussion of the study says, “the genetic variants identified in the study open a new avenue of research on the biological mechanisms that influence a person’s willingness to take risks.”
In any case, DNA is only one, limited factor. Researchers confirmed “non-genetic factors matter more for risk tolerance than genetic factors. The study shows evidence of shared genetic influences across both an overall measure of risk tolerance and many specific risky behaviors.”
Lacking the fear gene is not quite the same thing as being courageous. As noted above, a person may face danger because of a valid reason. Thus “first responders” and most military members I served as a chaplain were not foolhardy. They didn’t take unnecessary risks. But most were willing to place themselves between very real threats and those they were protecting.
If you personally are of an adventurous nature, I encourage you to take sensible precautions. Avoiding rafting on Class VI rapids and cave diving – anywhere – would be a good place to start..
And for the less daring among us, perhaps we can avoid foolish pursuits that are merely a waste of time. It seems apparent to me that time spent serving others in a food bank, or mowing the lawn of a disabled neighbor, constitute a far better use of our time.
Beards come, and beards go. Yet humanity offers no consensus on their value. Perhaps that is because there are so many diverse styles, ranging from restrained to insane.
C.S. Lewis mentioned in passing the “biblical” style of beards in a 1939 letter to his brother Warnie.
For instance the presence of the revolving bookcase in the study has just introduced me to a book of Minto’s mother’s which is well worth studying. It is called Gems of Literature/Elegant, rare, and Suggestive…
The engravings are of a sort you can probably imagine – damsels with those peculiar comic-section or peg-top legs and eyes raised to heaven and old men with what can only be called Biblical beards.
Facial hair is a personal choice. But when that choice becomes deadly, perhaps society should intervene. Take the case of Hans Steininger, a sixteenth century burgomaster in the Austrian-German city that would one day become the birthplace of Adolf Hitler.
Some mental disorder apparently compelled him to have scissors banned from his city, lest a single hair on his magnificent beard be severed. Seriously, he died because he tripped over his chin whiskers during a major fire in 1567.
Steininger usually kept his prodigious beard hair rolled up and stuffed in a pocket, but during the commotion he was running around with it hanging free. In the midst of the chaos, he managed to step on his own beard, sending him tumbling down a flight of stairs and breaking his neck…
The full-body illustration at the church shows Steininger’s beard bifurcated into two scraggly strands, stretching down past his feet. And tucked away in the local district museum is the town’s most hirsute artifact: the 450-year-old beard of Steininger.
Even in ancient times, everyone recognized an unkempt beard was a liability, particularly in combat. In The Life of Theseus, Plutarch states this was why Alexander the Great ordered his soldiers in his phalanxes to shave.
They write also that this was the reason why Alexander gave command to his captains that all the beards of the Macedonians should be shaved, as being the readiest hold for an enemy.
Although I sported a modest mustache for a short time back in the day when Tom Selleck starred as Magnum P.I., I’ve never been a big fan of facial hair. Seeing Steininger’s likeness reinforces that.
Add to that the biblical warning from Leviticus: “When a man or woman has a disease on the head or the beard, the priest shall examine the disease. And if it appears deeper than the skin, and the hair in it is yellow and thin, then the priest shall pronounce him unclean.” (Leviticus 13).
Historical Biases
While well-maintained beards are okay, two additional (historical) factors contribute to my discomfiture. First, as a student of the American Civil War, I find myself repelled by the odd appearance choices of people such as General Ambrose Burnside. Although he gave his name to “sideburns,” that’s hardly what I would call these monstrosities. (Also called mutton chops, which is precisely what the cultured bon vivant should have adorning their cheeks.)
The second reason for my wariness is due to the affinity of too many pastors in my own denomination for beards. I doubt they wear them to wow the ladies. Perhaps they think the beards make them appear more distinguished?
Actually, I’ve become desensitized to most pastors who opt for facial hair – with one bizarre exception. To employ a cliché literally: for the life of me, I can’t understand why anyone living in the twenty-first century would opt for a “chin curtain.” I understand the Amish have an affinity for them, but who ever considered those German Anabaptists fashionable?
Sadly, because my church also possesses a strong Germanic strain, I’ve discovered more than one minister bearing this mark of Cain. Perhaps they hope to emulate the denomination’s first president, the Rev. Dr. C.F.W. Walther. If so, my advice is they follow his example of conscientious pastoral care, and dispense with the externals. (I will concede that his black leather suit does look rather dapper, being that the image was captured for posterity in the mid-1800s.)
C.S. Lewis & His Beard
I can forgive C.S. Lewis for aligning with the beard-faction on at least two occasions. That’s because there were extenuating circumstances.
In 1924 he wrote to his father about an illness that led to what may have been his first transgression.
My dear Papy,
I got chicken pox and am only now out of quarantine. I have of course been quite well enough to write for some time but I don’t know whether you have had this complaint and thought it better not to chance infecting you: I am told that the older you are the less likely it will be to ‘take’, but the worse if it does.
I had a pretty high temperature at the beginning and some very uncomfortable nights of intense perspiration, but it soon passed off.
The danger of cutting any of the spots on my face of course made shaving impossible till this very day and I had a fine beard. I have left the moustache which would excite ‘poor Warren’s’ envy, but I shall probably get tired of it in a few weeks. It is very stiff, and all the hairs grow in different directions and it is thicker on one side than on the other.
In a 1931 letter to his childhood friend, Arthur Greeves, he mentions offhand as he closes that he has altered his appearance.
I suppose you have heard about Warnie’s peerage – for gallantry during the recent manoeuvres. I have grown a beard – Good night.
In two letters written in 1956, C.S. Lewis would describe the illness-induced beard he had mentioned to his father. He humorously describes its imperfections. The first was written to a young fan.
Your mother tells me you have all been having chicken pox. I had it long after I was grown up and it’s much worse if you are a man for of course you can’t shave with the spots on your face. So I grew a beard and though my hair is black the beard was half yellow and half red! You should have seen me.
The following month he shared more details with a longtime correspondent.
The Tycoon may count himself lucky to have got chickenpox before he reaches the age of shaving brushes and razors. I had it in my late 20’s and grew a beard which was part yellow and part red though my hair is black – a very striking colour scheme.
Apart from that, though, I think it a very good sort of illness on the whole. A nice long quarantine which by sentencing one to solitary confinement secures one against pupils, committees etc. But no doubt it had no such charms for you.
Seeing C.S. Lewis adorned with a beard would surely make for an odd photograph. Especially one taken in color.
Postscript
Forgive me. I’ve vented more than I intended. Wear whatever hairstyle you prefer. However, I would caution you that if your beard drags on the ground, it’s best to carry an emergency set of shears, lest you stumble during an emergency stampede.
As a treat for those who have read to the end of this column, here is an image from Gems of Literature. I suspect these were two of the “Biblical beards” to which C.S. Lewis referred.
Bonus for beard aficionados: For a curious look at a guy whose quest is to see how many facial hair variations he “can check off from the chart of facial hair types,” visit this site.
One contemporary challenge to democracy in the United States is judicial activism. This is the term for jurists who mistakenly think they are in the legislative branch of the American government.
While too many Courts pursue this unconstitutional path, it is refreshing to see one federal Court actually “legislating” within its actual purview.
The District of Columbia Circuit of the United States Court of Appeals has mandated which fonts can and cannot be used for court documents. The National Law Journal says the official shunning of the Garamond font has set “lawyers abuzz.”
The Court—quite correctly—notes that serif fonts are much more legible than sans serif fonts like Arial.
But that has not saved Garamond, which appears slightly smaller than some other serif fonts. Apparently the fact that all documents must also be printed in a 14 point size does not adequately compensate for the difference.
If you would like to read the formal notice you can find it here.
Consistent with the Court’s magnanimity, while briefs “must be set in a plain, roman style,” they will graciously allow “italics and boldface [to] be used for emphasis.”
C.S. Lewis had a proper respect for the legal system. How could it be otherwise for a man whose own father was a solicitor? Yet one wonders what Lewis would have thought about this strict new requirement in the colonial Courts.
Counting Our Blessings
Since the Court has spoken on the matter of fonts, the question must be settled. After all, to whom could it be appealed?
However, we should be grateful that they have limited their judicial caprice to barring sans serif fonts. After all, they could have reinstated Court Hand.
The various forms of writing in which English medieval documents . . . are preserved to us are all derived from an increasingly current writing of the same script which . . . are known to us collectively as Court Hand, that is the writing of the Courts. (Palaeography and the Practical Study of Court Hand).*
Yes, I realize Court Hand dates back to the medieval era, and reinstating it in contemporary American courts would seem asinine on its face, but that certainly doesn’t make it implausible in our current judicial milieu.
C.S. Lewis appreciated the quality of Court Hand. In 1943 he wrote a letter to Gerald Hayes (1889-1955), who was Chief Cartographer for the Admiralty. Hayes had provided some maps for one of C.S. Lewis’ favorite authors, E.R. Eddison. Two of these maps can be found at Inventing Imaginary Worlds.
Hayes gifted C.S. Lewis with a copy of one of these illustrations. Lewis responded with an invitation to visit the Inklings, appreciation for the unique “treasure,” and a compliment about Hayes’ skillful handwriting.
You must come & [visit] our little confraternity if you ever are in Oxford & receive in person my repeated thanks for what is one of my notablest treasures. It has given me again what I have not had for years & years, the old pleasure in a ‘present.’ I wish I could write either modern or court hand as you do!
Fortunately, we live in a digital age when we need not labor to replicate ornate fonts. We can simply add them to our computers and voilà, there they are. In case the Courts resume such a requirement, you may want to add a Court Hand font to your computer today. Even if you do not anticipate being involved in litigation, and simply enjoy elegant fonts, you can find a free copy here.
* You can download a free copy of this book—which belongs in every writer’s library—from the Internet Archive.
And, here is a handy reference sheet for the next time you need to decipher court hand.
One of the earliest lessons children learn is how many senses the human being possesses. You know the answer off the top of your head, right? Five. But, apparently, that’s no longer correct. Oh, you may think I must be including that long-time poser, extrasensory perception (ESP), which purports to be a sense of sorts beyond the five we all experience. If you thought that . . . sorry, but you are wrong again.
We all agree on the basic five: the faculties of sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch. To this list, science has recently added several other senses we experience. They’re not actually new; Adam and Eve knew them too (with the possible exception of nociception). They actually make sense (in the other use of the word), as well. Here they are:
Proprioception – perceiving where your body parts are relative to one another, and the strength of effort being employed in movement
Thermoception – sensing temperature
Equilibrioception – perception of balance
Chronoception – sensing the passage of time
Interoception – feeling internal needs such as hunger and thirst
Nociception – experiencing pain
More expansive lists exist as well. Some are discussed online at The United Kingdom’s Sensory Trust. The Trust is devoted to “sensory design . . . [using] nature and the outdoors to improve the health and wellbeing of people living with disability and health issues.” They describe how “neurological classification” can result in numbers up to fifty-three. (It makes one long for the simplicity of the past when we followed Aristotle’s citation of only five.)
C.S. Lewis’ Celebration of Life
You can pick up nearly any one of Lewis’ essays or fiction, open to any page of his autobiography, read almost any of his letters, and you will see his love for nature. And Lewis is often quite vivid in his description of his encounter with God’s creation. The sights, sounds and smells he describes make the depictions real. Consider his description of Tash, the “god” worshipped by the Calormenes, in The Last Battle.
[King Tirian said] “What foul smell is this?”
“Phew!” gasped Eustace. “It’s like something dead. Is there a dead bird somewhere about? And why didn’t we notice it before?”
With a great upheaval Jewel [the unicorn] scrambled to his feet and pointed with his horn. “Look!” he cried. “Look at it! Look, look!” Then all six of them saw; and over all their faces there came an expression of uttermost dismay.
In the shadow of the trees on the far side of the clearing something was moving. It was gliding very slowly Northward. At a first glance you might have mistaken it for smoke, for it was gray and you could see things through it. But the deathly smell was not the smell of smoke. Also, this thing kept its shape instead of billowing and curling as smoke would have done. It was roughly the shape of a man but it had the head of a bird; some bird of prey with a cruel, curved beak. . . . It floated on the grass instead of walking, and the grass seemed to wither beneath it. . . .
[They] watched it for perhaps a minute, until it streamed away into the thicker trees on their right and disappeared. Then the sun came out again, and the birds once more began to sing. Everyone started breathing properly again and moved. They had all been still as statues while it was in sight.
From a more philosophical, even metaphysical perspective, Lewis ponders the senses experienced by angels in his poem, “On Being Human.” He describes the differences between how angels and humanity experience God’s creation. Lewis suggests that in exchange for their unblurred perception of cosmic reality, they lack the more mundane (i.e. earthly) experience of physical perception of creation.*
Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence Behold the Forms of nature. They discern Unerringly the Archtypes, 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, charm’d interior, This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares With living men some secrets in a privacy Forever ours, not theirs.
This notion that we comprehend things the angels cannot—for example, the indwelling of God’s Holy Spirit—is expressed in the spirit of the First Epistle of Peter. These wondrous miracles are “things into which angels long to look.”
As amazing as our human senses are, we should never delude ourselves into thinking they are infallible. Far from it. As precious as they are, due to our fallen nature, they possess two shortcomings. First, they may misperceive reality. Such is the case with allodynia, in which a person “feels pain from non-painful stimuli,” such as a light touch or a cool temperature.⁑
The second limitation comes in the obvious fact of our finite nature. We are simply incapable of perceiving, much less processing, all the information that washes over us. Perhaps you would join me in identifying with C.S. Lewis’ description of himself in A Grief Observed.
Five senses; an incurably abstract intellect; a haphazardly selective memory; a set of preconceptions and assumptions so numerous that I can never examine more than a minority of them-never become even conscious of them all. How much of total reality can such an apparatus let through?
The number of human senses is not important. Our recognition of their divine source is, however, of eternal import.
* Chris Armstrong, Senior Editor of the Christian History Institute, wrote an exceptional article on the importance of our senses. Citing C.S. Lewis’ “On Being Human,” he declares our senses are the only means by which we can “know God.”
Nor is sense-knowledge about God through his Creation, second-class knowledge. Lewis expresses this idea memorably in his poem “On Being Human,” which compares the angels’ incorporeal way of knowing with our way—to the advantage of the latter.
The Christian History Institute publishes the exceptional Christian Historymagazine, which is offered for a simple donation. They also provide free, downloadable copies of past issues. I strongly encourage your support of this superb ministry.
⁑ From Medical News Today. “Some people feel extreme pain from something minor, such as a paper cut. Feeling increased pain or being hypersensitive to mild pain is called hyperalgesia. Individuals with allodynia, however, feel pain when something is ordinarily painless.”
Where do all the satellites go when their utility ends? No, they don’t all just burn up on reentry into the Earth’s atmosphere as their orbits decay. Many are too large for that, and they must be escorted to a remote and desolate Spacecraft Cemetery.
While a great deal of debris and smaller satellites burn up upon re-entry, larger items—including entire space stations—need to be disposed of in a way that keeps the hazardous materials out of public circulation. And what better place than the dark depths of the ocean? Among the craft that have been scuttled at the spot are unmanned satellites . . . and, possibly most remarkably, the entire decommissioned Russian space station, Mir.
The isolated location of this unique graveyard is near the “oceanic
pole of inaccessibility,” which marks the location on earth which lies the
farthest from any land. The cemetery, which is already the final resting place
for more than 260 spacecraft from Russia, Europe, Japan and the United States,
lies on the deep seabed approximately 1,500 miles between Pitcairn Island,
Easter Island, and Antarctica.
This remote locate is truly mysterious. Members of my critique group expressed concern that residual extraterrestrial elements aboard the satellites might birth some variation of ゴジラ [Godzilla]. Another member, steeped in the Lovecraftian lore of the Cthulhu mythos, pointed out that this “oceanic pole of inaccessibility” is virtually identical with the location of R’lyeh, the subterranean cavern wherein Cthulhu awaits his terrible awakening. In response to these observations, I reminded my colleagues that I happen to be writing nonfiction.
The international space race formally launched in 1957 when the Soviet Union placed Sputnik in orbit. The United States scrambled to catch up, and in 1959, the USSR placed the first human in space. Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin was preceded by a precious little dog, the first living being to reach out for the stars. Her name was Laika, and we will consider Laika’s sad tale in a moment.
C.S. Lewis & the
Space Race
The realm of space was not unfamiliar to Lewis. From 1938 to 1945 he authored three volumes of science fiction that would come to be known as the Space Trilogy (or Cosmic Trilogy).
In one book he describes the danger posed to spacecraft by
interstellar debris. Presumably similar dangers led to the early demise of some
of the residents of the Space Cemetery. In the first volume, Lewis describes
the protagonist’s initial exposure to the “undimensioned, enigmatic blackness.”
The period spent in the spaceship ought to have been one of terror and anxiety for Ransom. He was separated by an astronomical distance from every member of the human race except two whom he had excellent reasons for distrusting. He was heading for an unknown destination, and was being brought thither for a purpose which his captors steadily refused to disclose.
All was silence but for the irregular tinkling noises. He knew now that these were made by meteorites, small, drifting particles of the world-stuff that smote continually on their hollow drum of steel; and he guessed that at any moment they might meet something large enough to make meteorites of ship and all. But he could not fear. He now felt that Weston had justly called him little-minded in the moment of his first panic. The adventure was too high, its circumstance too solemn, for any emotion save a severe delight. (Out of the Silent Planet)
Lewis’ initial foray into space was influenced by H.G. Wells’ First Men in the Moon. In The War of the Worlds, the second chapter is entitled “The Falling-Star.” It describes the terrible dangers that can fall from space. Earth’s “greatest authority on meteorites, stated that the height of its first appearance was about ninety or one hundred miles.” So common are meteorites that “no one seems to have troubled to look for the fallen mass that night.” However, the next morning they discovered,
An enormous hole had been made by the impact of the projectile, and the sand and gravel had been flung violently in every direction over the heath, forming heaps visible a mile and a half away. The heather was on fire eastward, and a thin blue smoke rose against the dawn.
It is precisely due to the destruction that would be caused
by a crash-landing catastrophe such as this, that the nations of the world have
identified an unpopulated spacecraft cemetery.
This international competition, one of the most publicized
elements of the Cold War, unfolded as C.S. Lewis was at the height of his
professional influence. Unlike many, who regarded sputnik’s orbit as alarming,
Lewis offered a measured, yet realistic, assessment of the advance.
I don’t feel that ‘Sputnik’ in itself is anything very dangerous, but one doesn’t like the underlying implication, i.e. that its existence proves that Russia is far ahead of your country in inter-continental missiles. (Letter to Vera Gebbert, 12 November 1957)
Lewis understood that the race to control the thermosphere
and exosphere would not be won in a day. His insight was affirmed as the United
States overtook the Soviets’ early advantage and planted a flag on the moon.
In his preface to a theological book, Lewis refers to
Sputnik in passing, using its fame as a counterpoint to what is truly lasting
and of profound significance.
Dr. Farrer is far too wise and workmanlike in his pastoral office to waste any time on being topical. You will find nothing here about the [nuclear] Bombs or Sputniks. What is usually called ‘the contemporary’ is in fact a composite picture of the recent past, based on secondary sources (chiefly newspapers) and touched up with guesses about the future.
Dr. Farrer . . . has no leisure to spare for such a phantom. He deals with what is really and knowably contemporary–with the august and terrible coincidence of the present moment and the eternal, in which each one of us lives. He is never speaking to the abstraction ‘modern man,’ always to you and me. (Preface to Austin Farrer’s A Faith of Our Own)
C.S. Lewis recognized well how the flash of “the contemporary”
served to outshine what was of lasting import. He recognized Sputnik’s
scientific breakthrough for what it was. And then he turned his attention to
more significant concerns.
The space race, however, never ended. Today we see another
shift in the transnational race for space with many nations vying for a role in
exploration of the solar system. Likewise, after a period of rewarding
international cooperation, the three superpowers are now all actively pursuing
the militarization of space. Where it will end only our descendants will
witness.
Still, like C.S. Lewis, we have personally witnessed much progress when it comes to humanity’s desire to touch space. And many of the most powerful memories have involved tragedy.
Soyuz 1 (1967) and Soyuz 11 (1971) cost four lives. In the West, entire crews were lost in three disasters: Apollo 1 (1967) and Space Shuttles Challenger (1986) and Columbia (2003). Humans, though, were not the only ones to sacrifice their lives in the exploration of space. In our next post, we’ll reflect on the price paid by animals in beginning this extraplanetary journey.
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