Archives For Courage

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It is sad that a lie spoken with conviction can often mislead, while truths communicated timidly are frequently overlooked or doubted.

It was 20 July 1940. C.S. Lewis wrote to his brother Warnie about his thoughts after listening to one of Hitler’s many speeches. The German Army had already occupied the Bailiwicks of Jersey and Guernsey in the Channel Islands.

Unbeknownst to the two veterans of World War One, just four days before Lewis wrote this letter, Hitler issued Führer Directive #16, setting into motion Operation Sea Lion—initiating planning for the invasion of Britain itself.

The fact that both men recognized the malignancy* that was Adolf Hitler, makes Lewis’ candid comment which follows, all the more powerful.

Humphrey came up to see me last night (not in his medical capacity) and we listened to Hitler’s speech together. [The BBC offered a running translation.] I don’t know if I’m weaker than other people: but it is a positive revelation to me how while the speech lasts it is impossible not to waver just a little.

I should be useless as a schoolmaster or a policeman. Statements which I know to be untrue all but convince me, at any rate for the moment, if only the man says them unflinchingly.

The same weakness is why I am a slow examiner: if a candidate with a bold, mature handwriting attributed Paradise Lost to Wordsworth, I should feel a tendency to go and look it up for fear he might be right after all.

Lewis recognized as a flaw his particular susceptibility to implicitly trusting boldly made statements.

This human vulnerability lies at the heart of the infamous declaration of another demagogue, Vladimir Lenin, that “a lie told often enough becomes the truth.”

I suspect many of us share this inclination to trust words we hear spoken with conviction. At the same time, we are probably much less vulnerable to their manipulation than Lewis was, if for no other reason than because our modern ears have become dulled to the incessant and strident lies flooding the public forum.

A Note for Christian Writers

Skillfully treading the line between the modern deities of Pluralism and Tolerance becomes more challenging each day.

The temptation is to temper our message, to timidly whisper what we know to be true. Thus, we dilute Jesus’ clear declaration that he is the Truth (John 14:6), by adding qualifiers such as “at least, he’s the truth for me.”

Speaking boldly is not arrogant. It has been a vital quality of apostolic preaching since the beginning. Peter and John were seized for preaching the Gospel.

Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men, they were astonished. . . . So they called them and charged them not to speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus. But Peter and John answered them, “Whether it is right in the sight of God to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge, for we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard.”

[After their release, they prayed:] “Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness . . .” (Acts 4, ESV).

Just so, we who know Christ “cannot but speak” about how he is at work in the world and in our lives.

Though our boldness is tempered by humility arising from our awareness that we have no righteousness of our own, we must still offer the truth we know, with confidence. “For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline.” (2 Timothy 1:7, NASB).


* There is evidence Adolf Hitler did not appreciate C.S. Lewis’ wartime service.

 

A Dire Norwegian Crime

February 16, 2016 — 1 Comment

pulpitrockActually, the title may be slightly misleading, since we don’t know the nationality of the people who risked their child’s life over a 2,000 foot cliff . . . but the scene of their crime was one of Norway’s amazing natural wonders.

Preikestolen, is known in English as Pulpit Rock. It is a rare geological feature, a pillar of rock thrusting 1,982 feet from the ground, with three sides a sheer drop to the rocks. It stands majestic, adjacent to a picturesque fjord.

It’s lovely to behold. But only a fool would want to walk out on it, right?

I mean, just look at it. Doesn’t anyone else notice the huge fissure that splits the pulpit right in half? As I look at it, I can just imagine it splitting down the middle with the exposed side crashing down like an enormously oversized and exponentially elongated domino . . . but a domino made out of granite exposed for eons to the frigid Nordic winters so when it strikes the earth it will shatter into a million and a half fragments like a sheet of ice. Well, that’s what I see when I look at the pictures.

What I don’t see is a tourist site where I would like to prance out and pose for a photo beside the edge, or pretend to have accidentally fallen off the side.

Nope, not by a long shot.

As one visitor said, “It’s a straight drop. You don’t want to go too close because it’s pretty scary. You’d be pretty much dead if you fall down there.”

Yes, “pretty much.’

Nevertheless, scores of thousands of people every year prove how few cautionary genes they and I share by doing just that. Of course, I do share with C.S. Lewis the conviction that courage is utterly necessary for living a Christian life in an anti-Christian world. Even Screwtape understands that!

Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point, which means, at the point of highest reality. A chastity or honesty or mercy which yields to danger will be chaste or honest or merciful only on conditions. Pilate was merciful till it became risky. (The Screwtape Letters).

But this sort of courage does not necessarily translate into foolhardy risking of one’s fragile body.

Back to Scandinavia

Apparently, Preikestolen is quite a popular spot.

I offer links below to a several videos of crazy stunts people have pulled on the small bluff. Some people apparently also like to go there for picnics. That reminded me of a column I posted about “Rational Fears” related to another frightening dining experience.

Tragically, in 2013 a tourist fell from the precipice while shooting photos. But here is the amazing part of that story: “Local sheriff Odd-Bjørn Næss said it was the first time anyone had accidentally fallen over the edge of Preikestolen.”

Up until I read the sheriff’s statement I had always taken pride in my 50% Norse lineage. One reason was because I considered my ancestors sturdy and honest folk. Yes, I see the sheriff’s “accidentally” disclaimer, and I suspect they do experience a number of suicides . . . but I believe that with all of the foolish behavior transpiring at Preikestolen there must be more fatal accidents . . .

The Crime With Which We Began

Accidents, of course, are not crimes. But this, most certainly is. Some adults, presumably the baby’s parents, put their small child at terrible risk by posing her or him beside the edge of the cliff simply to take some shocking photographs.

Yes, you read that right.

They set their little child, who was crawling at the time, on the brink of a 2,000 foot drop!

cliffchildIf you’re familiar with precious little ones, you know that babies do not always crawl in a straight line. Nor do they always continue moving in the direction you plan for them. Not only that, but they are prone to taking occasional tumbles–perhaps even rolling over onto their side or back. And on this rugged pillar top, mind you, the baby was on an extremely uneven, and possibly slippery, surface.

Simply put, these parents are criminals. In every civilized country I’m aware of, “child endangerment” is a crime. You can read the story about their foolhardy action here, and see the frightening photo from which this small image is cropped. (You can see the original picture and the the accompanying article here.)

Unfortunately, they pixilated the adults’ faces, so they can’t be recognized. Seems to me that they should have allowed them to be identified . . . if not for trial, for public shaming so they would be forced to reflect on the responsibilities one assumes as a parent.

Epilogue

trolltonguePreikestolen is not the only deadly sightseeing destination in Norway. Another goes by the more foreboding name of Trolltunga, Troll’s Tongue. It too has claimed at least one life, and from the photo of the small spit of rock, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to walk out on it.

 

As promised:

A Base Jumper Who Nearly Dies

Free Hanging Off of the Cliff

Insane Italians Slack Lining

There are more examples of the craziness evoked by the image of Preikestolen, but these are representative. I thank God I don’t feel the slightest envy as I watch people base jumping, free hanging, or slack lining.

I’m content to get my adrenaline rushes from reading a great book.

Inkling Chivalry

February 3, 2015 — 15 Comments

praying knightJ.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis practiced what they preached.

While most people are content to sit back while others battle for just causes. Sadly, cowardice appears to outweigh bravery in our modern age. We have, Lewis says, “having grown up among the ruins of the chivalrous tradition . . .” (“The Necessity of Chivalry”).

Lewis and Tolkien, by contrast, were genuine heroes. Peaceful academics by nature, each of them responded to their nation’s call to defend their homeland against the Huns.

In the world of the modern university—inhospitable to those who would defend the veracity of the Scriptures—each man counted the cost, and willingly bore the ridicule of skeptics and secularists.

Not only were these two Inklings paragons of courage, they engaged in their battles with a code of chivalry. Neither desired the destruction of their foes. Instead, they sought the preservation of truth, justice, peace and mercy.

Chivalry is a concept alien to the modern era. In an age when there is so little mercy and forgiveness, it seems a more and more archaic notion each day.

Yet, chivalry is not dead.

Both of these men not only modeled the virtue, they imbued their works with its spirit. The heroes of Middle Earth and Narnia are chivalrous almost to a fault. And the spiritual heirs of both fictional domains, still yearn to be chivalrous in their own lives.

So, precisely what is it? As Lewis begins his essay on the subject, he writes, “The word chivalry has meant at different times a good many different things—from heavy cavalry to giving a woman a seat in a train.”

Lewis considers the “double demand it makes on human nature” through an exploration of the Middle Ages.

The knight is a man of blood and iron, a man familiar with the sight of smashed faces and the ragged stumps of lopped-off limbs; he is also a demure, almost a maidenlike, guest in hall, a gentle, modest, unobtrusive man. He is not a compromise or happy mean between ferocity and meekness; he is fierce to the nth and meek to the nth.

Gentle toward the innocent and vulnerable. Relentless versus evil.

What, you may ask, is the relevance of this ideal to the modern world? It is terribly relevant. It may or may not be practicable—the Middle Ages notoriously failed to obey it—but it is certainly practical; practical as the fact that men in a desert must find water or die.

We live in a violent world, and the beheading of even children suggest things are growing worse. So, more than ever, Lewis tells us, we need chivalrous people like Lancelot, who combined these conflicting qualities. We need gentle men, like Lewis and Tolkien, who are willing to lay aside their books to face the specter of war on the front lines.

Lewis forcefully describes the three divisions of humanity bereft of chivalry.

If we cannot produce Launcelots, humanity falls into two sections—those who can deal in blood and iron but cannot be “meek in hall”, and those who are “meek in hall” but useless in battle—for the third class, who are both brutal in peace and cowardly in war, need not here be discussed. When this dissociation of the two halves of Launcelot occurs, history becomes a horribly simple affair.

Lewis wrote the essay during the Second World War. He and others among the Inklings had stood in the gap during the “war to end all wars.” Now he was observing a glimmer of hope in the witness of a successive generation doing its part.

Launcelot is not yet irrecoverable. To some of us this war brought a glorious surprise in the discovery that after twenty years of cynicism and cocktails the heroic virtues were still unimpaired in the younger generation and ready for exercise the moment they were called upon.

In the face of the contemporary ferocity of global terrorism, we see many young men and women following their example. Surely, they are a minority among the population, but we are all deeply fortunate they exist.

Our prayers should accompany those of all nationalities who are courageous enough to face the blade of modern barbarians. And our prayer should be that they are not merely brave, but also meek.

Rational Fears

July 21, 2014 — 10 Comments

men at lunchFear comes in many forms. It also comes at many heights. This famous 1932 photograph shows eleven men—without safety harnesses—taking a lunch break during construction of the Rockefeller Center in New York City.

Simply looking at the picture of them leaning in various poses as they casually converse with one another is enough to send shivers up the spine of someone suffering from acrophobia.

I don’t personally have an “irrational fear of heights.” After all, I’ve enjoyed forays into the sky via the Eiffel Tower, the Tokyo Tower and the Space Needle in nearby Seattle. Still, I must confess that when I stand high above the earth on a piece of clear glass or acrylic that I do find it a bit disconcerting. It’s not as if I doubt the building is secure . . . but precisely what clear substance like that is worth trusting our lives to?

cracksIn fact, not long ago, a group of people were standing on just such a viewing panel when it began to crack. Two facts, it was new (opened in 2009) and it was on the 103rd floor of the Chicago building. The quaintly named “Ledge” was certified to 10,000 pounds, and it’s difficult to imagine the family standing on it, when it fractured, as exceeding that weight.

Let’s return for a moment to 1932. There’s a lesser known photo, taken the same day as the renowned image. It is even more disturbing. Check this out.

restThis shot was taken after the men had staged the lunch picture for the press. They were simply resting after eating, before returning to work.

Now, I appreciate rest as much as anyone, and far more than most. But, if I was on that steel girder, 840 feet above the pavement, I would be so hyper vigilant a tranquilizer dart couldn’t put me down.

That picture, frankly, scares me.

Fortunately, C.S. Lewis reminds us that there is nothing wrong with fear. Beyond sometimes protecting us from foolish risk-taking, the fear itself does not determine our reaction to it. In other words, a soldier can rightly be afraid on the battlefield, yet overcome that fear and do something heroic. Common men and women often surprise themselves when they overcome fear they might have thought would cripple them.

C.S. Lewis says it this way. “The act of cowardice is all that matters; the emotion of fear is, in itself, no sin” (The Screwtape Letters).

I’ve learned through the years that there is wisdom in learning about one’s own fears. Sometimes what we learn diminishes the fear. At other times, understanding our fears can prevent us from misattributing our emotions to another source.

For example, you might think you dislike a person who frequently invites you to share your thoughts with a group. When, in actuality, it might merely be your fear of public speaking, or your fear of having your ideas rejected that troubles you. Upon recognizing this, you might even grow to like the other person, seeing how they are confident that you have something of value to offer to the discussion.

Like every other fallen human being, I’m riddled with fears and buried under worries. It is beyond comprehension how God has manifested his love for us in his only begotten Son . . . truly we can cast all of our burdens onto his compassionate and willing shoulders.

In fact, it is during our darkest hours when, assailed by our personal terrors, we lean most upon his strength. Without a doubt, if severe unemployment has forced me to be one of those construction workers nearly a century ago, I would most definitely have been one praying man!

_____

P.S. – Oh, and if anyone is curious about the flask held by the construction worker on the right, I’m sure it only contained water and not some useless form of “liquid courage.”

Return to Narnia

October 3, 2013 — 39 Comments

Chauvet Quote

Great news for all fans of Narnia—after a three year delay, it’s just been announced that they will be making a film based on The Silver Chair!

Voyage of the Dawn Treader was released in 2010, although it seems to many of us even more time has passed. And, due to the vagaries of film making, the fourth title in the series may not see the screen until 2018. However, there is additional good news too.

Most fans will be happy to learn that the new partner in the production is Mark Gordon. Among the films and shows Gordon has produced are Saving Private Ryan, The Patriot, Speed, The Day After Tomorrow and Grey’s Anatomy. Gordon is quoted as saying:

Like many readers, both young and old, I am a huge fan of C.S. Lewis’ beautiful and allegorical world of Narnia. These fantasy stories inspire real-world passion among millions of devoted fans around the world. As we prepare to bring the next book to life, we are humbled and excited to contribute to the outstanding legacy of Narnia.

Lewis’ son, Doug Gresham, will continue to work on the project, and strive to maintain fidelity to the author’s vision.

The Silver Chair offers a fascinating tale, much of which takes place in a subterranean realm. I’m certain the cinematography will be spectacular.

The story marks the return of Eustace Scrubb and the addition of a classmate, Jill Pole. The other major character—aside from Aslan, of course—is Puddleglum, a taciturn Marsh-wiggle. (We named the pond on our property in his honor, enjoying the alliteration.)

As the script is written, I’m most concerned about how Puddleglum will be portrayed. He’s not a cartoon character, although much that he says in utter seriousness comes across as slightly silly.

Much of the “humor” comes from the fact that Puddleglum is the archetypal pessimist, as I’ll illustrate in a moment. I just hope they don’t pursue the all too common path of setting him up as comic relief (à la Jar Jar Binks).

Puddleglum, in fact, is the hero of the story. He leads the young children on their dangerous mission to locate the son and heir of King Caspian (who we met in the two previous films). Here are a few quotations from the courageous Marsh-wiggle.

Good morning Guests . . . Though when I say good I don’t mean it won’t probably turn to rain or it might be snow, or fog, or thunder. You didn’t get any sleep, I daresay.

. . . but I’d better not tell you that story. It might lower your spirits, and that’s a thing I never do.

The bright side of it is . . . that if we break our necks getting down the cliff, then we’re safe from being drowned in the river.

Life isn’t all fricasseed frogs and eel pie.

In the climatic confrontation with the Queen of the Underland, Puddleglum champions the truth in this amazing scene.

One word, Ma’am . . . All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one more thing to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things–trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one.

And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play world.

I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that’s a small loss if the world’s as dull a place as you say.

Simply rereading these words has whet my hunger for the new addition to the Narnian cinematic canon. May it arrive soon.

During the next few years, as a script is written, the cast is chosen and the various scenes are filmed and edited, join me in offering an occasional prayer that the movie’s producers will both remain true to Lewis’ message, and produce a film worthy of the novel upon which it is based.