Tag: Narnia

Writers, AI & C.S. Lewis

On By robstroudIn Advice to Writers, Animals, C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, Christian Life, Education, Great Authors, Great Authors, J.R.R. Tolkien, Literature, Middle Earth, Modern Life, Narnia, The Future, Theological Matters, Writing25 Comments

Artificial intelligence is on the rise. It’s IQ is somewhere above 75, and presumably still climbing. And some very intelligent human beings, are issuing apocalyptic warnings. 

“Mitigating the risk of extinction from A.I. should be a global priority alongside other societal-scale risks, such as pandemics and nuclear war,” reads a one-sentence statement released by the Center for AI Safety, a nonprofit organization. The open letter was signed by more than 350 executives, researchers and engineers working in A.I.

Presently, I’m more wary of Russia, China and Iran igniting an end of the world scenario.

But there is one particular aspect of artificial intelligence that intrigues me. And that is the creation of literary works by these programs, which are themselves creations of humankind.

Some people, such as copywriters, feel their livelihoods are being threatened. “My amusement turned to horror: it took ChatGPT 30 seconds to create, for free, an article that would have taken me hours to write.” (And that was clocked way back in January; no telling how quickly the AI could perform the feat today.)

Others – think teachers – are alarmed by how simply this new technology can seduce students to take self-crippling shortcuts. One article refers to this as “the elephant in the room.” 

Perhaps all questions centered on AI are inherently questions of ethics, and at the forefront of many teachers’ minds is cheating and plagiarism.

Cheating and plagiarism are two separate concerns, of course. AI is capable of not only drawing together already existing material, and generating new word combinations that cannot be tracked back to any unique original source.

I feel confident that the Inklings would be extremely suspicious of computer-generated “literature.” Yet, at the same time, I think it is a subject they too would find intriguing.

Test-Driving AI

There are a myriad of free sites where a person can enter some basic parameters or directions and await the product of text generated by a synthetic “mind.” I share below some examples of the input—output results of my initial experiment.

I asked  Open AI, creators of ChatGPT, to write two limericks, about the Oxford Inklings and C.S. Lewis, respectively.

In Oxford, the Inklings did meet,
With words and with wisdom so sweet.
Tolkien and Lewis,
Their minds in a breeze,
Inkling tales made our imaginations fleet.

⁂

C.S. Lewis, a writer so grand,
In Narnia’s magical land.
With Aslan the Lion,
In tales that inspire,
He showed us the way to understand.

Next I asked for an Inkling sonnet, followed by two haikus, addressing the Inklings as a fellowship and C.S. Lewis the individual.

In Oxford’s hallowed halls, they gathered ‘round,
The Inklings, minds of genius, so profound.
With ink-stained fingers, in their fellowship,
They wove their tales, from wisdom’s well to sip.

Tolkien, the philologist of ancient lore,
In Elvish tongues, his stories did explore.
Lewis, the Christian apologist true,
In Narnia’s world, he brought God’s message through.

Williams, Barfield, Dyson, and the rest,
In literature and faith, they were blessed.
Their words a beacon in a world so dark,
Igniting minds with sparks from wisdom’s arc.

Oxford’s Inklings, their legacy remains,
In timeless tales, where inspiration reigns.

⁂

Inklings’ minds aflame,
Oxford’s thinkers left their mark,
Words and wisdom’s claim.

⁂

C.S. Lewis penned grace,
Faith and fantasy embraced,
Words that still embrace.

And finally, I requested: “write a story about C.S. Lewis really traveling to Narnia.” The program has a “regenerate” button to address the same query with a fresh response. Due to their lengths, I’ve included them as “footnotes” below.

Shockingly, to me at least, it took less than 10 minutes to complete all of this. Each response, in fact, took mere seconds . . . not much longer than the time required to type the requests. 

There are a growing number of companies offering AI services. Most offer free opportunities to test their wares. I decided to try one such vendor. 

WriterHand declares “our tool is 100% free, allowing you to create limitless text and blog content with the assistance of artificial intelligence.” I requested of them a sonnet and haiku, as well. The first follows, with two other variants in the footnotes below.

The Oxford Inklings, a literary group
Of J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis and more
Created stories that still make us droop
And have us seeking out their lore.

Their works of fantasy and myth
Fill our imaginations with delight
We all search for the answers they lit
To the depths of our inner sight.

They wrote of worlds we can explore
Of knights, dragons and magical things
We follow their tales and come back for more
And find joy in their musings.

The Oxford Inklings have a special charm
Their words bring us together in song
And we are forever in their warm
Enchanting arms of wonder and long.

⁂

Inklings of Oxford
Stories of fantasy told
Enchantment forever

As with ChatGPT, I ended by requesting a brief, fictional story. My request was for a story about:

C.S. Lewis Meeting an Actual Talking Marsupial

On a recent summer day, C.S. Lewis, the famed author of the Chronicles of Narnia series, had a very extraordinary encounter. He had the chance to meet an actual talking marsupial.

The marsupial was a small wallaby, and it was found on the grounds of Lewis’ estate. It was not long before the wallaby began speaking to Lewis in a highly sophisticated manner. The wallaby spoke in a dialect that sounded similar to English, and was even able to converse with Lewis about the various topics he enjoyed discussing.

The wallaby was quite curious about Lewis and seemed to be quite eager to learn more about him and his works. It asked numerous questions about the Narnia series and the world that Lewis had created. It seemed to be quite fascinated by the various creatures and wonders that he had described.

The wallaby seemed to be quite intelligent and even asked for Lewis’ advice on certain topics. Lewis found the wallaby’s interest in the Narnia series quite amusing and was quite impressed by its intelligence and wit.

This meeting between Lewis and the talking marsupial was one that Lewis would never forget. It was an experience that he found both fascinating and enlightening. He was amazed by the marsupial’s intelligence and ability to converse on a level that exceeded many humans.

Lewis was quite taken aback by the talking marsupial’s presence and the conversation that ensued. He was quite intrigued by the creature’s intelligence and the fact that it could understand complex topics. This experience would later serve to further inspire Lewis’ writing and help him create some of the most beloved characters in literature.

This experience between Lewis and the talking marsupial was truly extraordinary and one that will never be forgotten. It was a meeting that allowed Lewis to learn more about the creatures that inhabit his beloved Narnia and to gain a better understanding of the power of imagination and creativity.

A Final Thought from C.S. Lewis

One of C.S. Lewis’ countless correspondents was the famous British author Arthur C. Clarke. In 1954, they exchanged letters discussing the human element of literature. I suppose it’s a subject for philosophers to explore, but one wonders how clearly the “humanity” element is communicated through a nonhuman mechanism. Sadly, Lewis’ letter is not so prescient as to address our current question, but it was sufficient to raise the matter in my own thoughts.

Dear Clarke,

Human interest, yes. But that is inevitably present if the fears and hopes and wonders of the astronauts are vividly realised – e.g. as in Bedford & Cavor on the Moon [he refers here to H.G. Wells’ The First Men in the Moon] or even Crusoe on the island. And an author who can’t do that won’t mend matters by dragging in Crooks, Crutches, or Conspiracies: for the sort of story he drags in will be just as lacking in Human interest as his space story.

About ‘escapism,’ never let that flea stick in your ear. I was liberated from it once & for all when a friend said ‘These critics are v. sensitive to the least hint of Escape. Now what class of men would one expect to be thus worked-up about Escape? – Jailers.’ Turn-key critics: people who want to keep the world in some ideological prison because a glimpse at any remote prospect would make their stuff seem less exclusively important.

Fantasy & S-F. is by miles the best. Some of the most serious satire of our age appears in it. What is called ‘serious’ literature now – Dylan Thomas & Pound and all that – is really the most frivolous. All the best. Yours C.S. Lewis

The two brief stories below were generated by ChatGPT in response to the request for a story about Lewis actually visiting Narnia.

In the quiet confines of his cozy Oxford study, C.S. Lewis sat by his flickering fireplace, a manuscript of his latest book on theology resting on his desk. The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, marking the time as late evening gave way to the inky embrace of night. Lewis’s eyes grew heavy, and he decided it was time to retire to bed.

As he settled into his comfortable bed, he couldn’t shake the feeling of restlessness that had gripped him that evening. He stared at the wardrobe across the room, the same wardrobe that had once belonged to his grandparents and had always fascinated him as a child. He closed his eyes and drifted into a dream, or so he thought.

To his astonishment, Lewis found himself standing before the wardrobe, which now seemed more magnificent than ever. It loomed like a gateway to another world, and he couldn’t resist the urge to open its creaking doors. With a sense of wonder and trepidation, he stepped inside.

Instead of feeling wood beneath his feet, Lewis’s toes sank into soft, cool earth. He looked around and found himself standing in a dense, snow-covered forest. The air was crisp and carried a scent of pine and adventure. He realized that he was in Narnia.

Before him stood a lamppost, its light casting a warm and inviting glow. Lewis recognized it from his own stories. He couldn’t help but smile, realizing that he had somehow stepped into the world he had created through his Chronicles of Narnia.

As he ventured deeper into the forest, Lewis encountered creatures of myth and magic—talking animals, fauns, and even a majestic lion named Aslan. They welcomed him with open arms, for they knew him as the one who had brought their world to life through his words.

Days turned into weeks, and Lewis explored Narnia with childlike wonder. He sailed on the Dawn Treader, encountered the White Witch, and witnessed the coronation of King Caspian. He marveled at the beauty of Narnia’s landscapes, the bravery of its inhabitants, and the profound wisdom of Aslan.

Throughout his journey, Lewis engaged in deep conversations with the creatures of Narnia, discussing matters of faith, morality, and the nature of storytelling. Each encounter enriched his understanding of the Christian faith he had embraced in the real world.

Eventually, Lewis knew that he had to return to his own world. With a heavy heart, he stood before the same lamppost where he had first arrived and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was back in his Oxford bedroom, the wardrobe standing silent and ordinary once more.

He sat at his desk, the manuscript still awaiting him, but now with a newfound sense of purpose and inspiration. The memories of Narnia, his journey, and the lessons he had learned would forever shape his writing and his faith.

C.S. Lewis had indeed traveled to Narnia, not in body, but in spirit and imagination, and his stories would continue to transport readers to that magical world for generations to come.

⁂

Using the “regenerate” option with the same command: “write a story about C.S. Lewis really traveling to Narnia.”

Once upon a time in the quiet town of Oxford, C.S. Lewis, the renowned author and scholar, found himself embarking on a remarkable adventure. It was a crisp, autumn evening when he was invited to attend a secret gathering by a mysterious stranger who had slipped an enigmatic note under his door. The note simply read, “Come, Narnia awaits.”

Intrigued and a bit skeptical, Lewis decided to follow the call. He put on his overcoat, grabbed his umbrella, and stepped out into the cool night. The moon was a silvery crescent in the sky, casting an eerie glow on the cobblestone streets.

As he followed the directions given in the note, Lewis found himself walking through an old, secluded part of Oxford that he had never seen before. The air seemed to grow colder, and the world around him took on an otherworldly quality. Suddenly, he stumbled upon a large, ancient wardrobe tucked away in the corner of a park.

With a sense of déjà vu, Lewis remembered writing about such a wardrobe in one of his stories. He cautiously opened the wardrobe door, half-expecting it to be filled with coats and mothballs. To his astonishment, the wardrobe seemed to stretch and expand, and he found himself tumbling headfirst into a land covered in snow and surrounded by towering fir trees.

He had arrived in Narnia.

The moment his feet touched the snowy ground, Mr. Tumnus, the faun, rushed forward with a smile and exclaimed, “Welcome, dear friend! We’ve been waiting for you.”

Lewis was both bewildered and delighted. As he explored Narnia, he met talking animals, dwarves, and even the great lion, Aslan, whom he had created in his own stories. The world he had once imagined had come to life before his eyes.

Days turned into weeks, and Lewis became a beloved member of the Narnian community. He marveled at the beauty and wonder of this magical land. He listened to the tales of its inhabitants, learned from their wisdom, and shared stories of his own.

But as all adventures must come to an end, Lewis knew he couldn’t stay in Narnia forever. With a heavy heart, he approached the wardrobe once more and stepped back into his own world, leaving Narnia behind.

Back in Oxford, Lewis couldn’t help but wonder if his journey to Narnia had been a dream or a product of his imagination. Yet, the memories were vivid, and the lessons he had learned about faith, courage, and the power of imagination remained with him for the rest of his days.

And so, the story of C.S. Lewis’s extraordinary voyage to Narnia remained a secret he carried with him, a testament to the enduring magic of literature and the boundless possibilities of the human imagination.

⁂

Variants of the sonnet and haiku produced by WriterHand follow.

The Oxford Inklings were a group of friends
Whose conversations filled the air with wit and wit;
Their words of wisdom still live on to this day,
Their legacy of literature still stands tall and lit.

From C.S. Lewis to J.R.R. Tolkien
They bantered and debated through the night;
Their words and stories filled us all with joy,
A source of inspiration, both dark and light.

From fantasy to science fiction,
The Inklings had a way with words;
Their genres and stories still stand the test of time,
And their influence still continues to be heard.

The Oxford Inklings and their works
Will live on in the hearts of many;
Their words will inspire generations to come,
A lasting legacy of literary plenty.

⁂

The Inkling’s works shine
A legacy of wisdom still
In our hearts, forever

⁂

The Oxford Inklings were a unique group
Formed in the city of dreaming spires
A gathering of friends with a shared goal
To explore the depths of their desires

A fellowship of authors, poets, and more
Including Tolkien, Lewis, and Williams
Discussing literature, theology, and lore
In the Eagle and Child’s hidden realms

From the Inklings came works of great fame
The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings
Legends of Middle Earth and tales of great shame
A legacy that will last through the ages

The Oxford Inklings were a brilliant crew
Inspiring writers and readers anew.

⁂

Oxford Inklings’ lore
In tales of fantasy and truth
Lives on forever

Aerial Inspiration

On By robstroudIn Animals, C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, J.R.R. Tolkien, Middle Earth, Narnia, Nature, The Bible9 Comments

C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien are two of the countless authors who have immortalized the beauty and majesty of eagles in their books.

In Narnia, talking eagles such as Farsight serve in Aslan’s councils of war, while their speechless brethren go about their instinctual activities. 

There would have been a splendid view . . . but among all those trees you could see nothing – only, every now and then, some huge pinnacle of rock above the tree-tops, and an eagle or two wheeling high up in the blue air.

“They smell battle,” said Corin, pointing at the birds. “They know we’re preparing a feed for them” (The Horse and His Boy).

Eagles feature even more prominently in Middle Earth. The sapient Great Eagles appear at various key moments, including the rescue of doomed heroes. After the One Ring has been destroyed, an eagle bears news of the defeat of Sauron to Minas Tirith. Its proclamation is voiced in poetry.

Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,
for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,
and the Dark Tower is thrown down.

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,
for your watch hath not been in vain,
and the Black Gate is broken,
and your King hath passed through,
and he is victorious.

Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,
for your King shall come again,
and he shall dwell among you
all the days of your life.

And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,
and he shall plant it in the high places,
and the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people!

If that sounds biblical, don’t be surprised. Although Tolkien scrupulously avoided Judeo-Christian references, so his work would not be misconstrued as allegory, the Psalms have exerted great influence on Western literature. The Lord’s entrance into the holy city is celebrated in the following words in Psalms 33 and 24.

Rejoice in the Lord, O ye righteous:
for praise is comely for the upright.
. . . 
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors;
and the King of glory shall come in.
Who is this King of glory?
The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle.
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors;
and the King of glory shall come in.

Eagles in Our Earthly Realm

My thoughts today rose toward the sky because of an eagle I encountered while enjoying nature with my border collie this morning.

I’m blessed to live in a community near the Hood Canal, one of America’s longest fjords, extending about fifty miles. Near my home, is a nesting ground for Bald Eagles, our national bird and one of the world’s grandest raptors. Their aeries, or nests, are massive.

Even after their crowded gathering to raise their young each year, we have eagles who remain in the area. It was one of these that I contemplated today.

I was almost mesmerized as I watched the creature circle around in the sky. Even with its unrivaled vision, it appeared to be above its normal hunting altitude. Rather, it looked for all the world like it was simply enjoying its nature, celebrating its eaglehood. 

Such sightings are impressive, but not rare. However, one thing truly amazed me. As I watched that eagle soar for many long minutes, not once did it flap its wings. It simply danced in the thermals.

During that riveting time it neither departed its unmapped path in pursuit of food, nor tired of its aerial ecstasy. It savored the gifts of its Creator, and I vicariously experienced shalom as I rested and beheld. 

The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
    his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
    and to him who has no might he increases strength.
Even youths shall faint and be weary,
    and young men shall fall exhausted;
but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
    they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
    they shall walk and not faint (Isaiah 40).

Thank you, Lord, for granting me this reminder – and experience – of your holy promise this day.

Some Fresh Words

On By robstroudIn Advice to Writers, C.S. Lewis, History, Humor, J.R.R. Tolkien, Middle Earth, Narnia, Reading, Words, Words that Make You Smile, Writing4 Comments

Here at Mere Inkling our admiration for C.S. Lewis moves us to emulate some of his practices. Thus, we are avid readers and we also enjoy learning new words.

Some of us even enjoy inventing new words. No, we’re not so presumptuous as to desire to wend our ways into the dictionary. We just find this creative game to be both fun and useful for promoting mental health.

The challenge is providing rational definitions for our neologisms. These meanings can be serious or absurd; that doesn’t matter. Here are four I recently devised. (More, from years past, are available in the links I have included above.)

: Zambaloney : noun

A succulent cut of meat served only in skating rinks while the ice is being resurfaced during formal sporting competitions.

: Teguchigulper : noun

The indigenous name for the Honduran species of Chupacabra.

: Belladonut : noun

The presentation of poison derived from the perennial Atropa belladonna in appealing confectionaries. See also, doughnut. 

: Sinderella : noun

The Brothers Grimm story about a beneficent stepmother who learns her two biological daughters are being terrorized by their physically beautiful yet wicked stepsister.

We’re Not Alone

If you have tried your hand at this, or at least think it’s curious, you might be surprised to learn there are online “word generators” that perform at least part of this function. Let me mention a couple before sharing some more of my own inventions.

Unfortunately, some only toss out made up words, in literary isolation. This is the case of Random Word Generator, which did, however, suggest the intriguing word “picneted.”

Nonsense Word Generator “generates nonsense words based on a frequency list of phonemes as they occur in legitimate English words.” They claim “an actual word may slip through occasionally but it should mostly generate pronounceable gibberish.”

Since gibberish isn’t what I’m after, and I haven’t yet found an artificial intelligence website offering what I seek, it’s up to human beings to fill the gap. I hope you enjoy at least one or two of my other neologisms which follow.

New Words & Apropos Definitions 

: Dramadairy : noun

A business offering various products created from camelid milk. Suspense is generated by the uncertainty as to the particular species from the genus Camelus that provided the day’s primary ingredient.

: Sir Mize : proper noun

A minor noble of the Carolingian dynasty noted for his skill at accurately assessing situations despite lacking clear evidence for his hypotheses.

: Fleedom : verb

The attempt to escape restrictions imposed by an autocratic government.

: Califate : noun

The final destiny awaiting those who seek to impose their religion on others by means of violence rather than through thoughtful conversation and compassionate service.

: Hippocampus : noun

Commonly considered a region of the brain, the word originally referred to the special academies where priestesses of Taweret schooled Egypt’s hippopotami to serve Pharaoh.

: Integreation : verb

The process through which individuals or different groups are incorporated into a common whole, resulting in a truly synergistic benefit to all.

: Sinergy : noun

The crippling illusion that one should embrace diverse expressions of evil simply because they have become a standard practice under a decadent worldview.

: Laboratorinthine : adjective

Applied to extremely complex, often inescapable, research and medical facilities hosting arcane experiments on human subjects. See also, “science fiction and horror tropes.”

: Confort : noun, verb

noun : The false sense of security felt by a vulnerable individual who is being successfully deceived by a criminal. See conforter.

verb : The act of pretending to render aid or support to someone in need while laying the groundwork for a malevolent action toward them.

: Pintacostal : noun

Members of an ecstatic religious sect who allege that their ancestors arrived in America in the fifteenth century aboard one of Christopher Columbus’ smaller caravels.

: Calumknee : noun

Defamatory statements, especially directed toward athletes, related to the largest joint in a particular person’s anatomy.

: Commaraderie : noun

The collegiality felt by writers who advocate the use of the Oxford comma in lists of three or more items.

: Peripathetic : adjective

Traveling from place to place and job to job without ever finding the right fit.

: Lyberry : noun

A fruit concoction comprised of berries cleansed with minute amounts of lye water, which can be fatal if mismeasured. Not to be confused with the tragic mispronunciation of “library.”

: Indogtrination : noun

The process of training people to uncritically embrace a canine belief system and obedience to arbitrary and sometimes self-injurious commands. Antonym of catechesis.

: Banalgesic : noun

A drug designed to reduce the pain induced by participating in a banal conversation.

: Farmageddon : noun

Subterranean postapocalyptic nutrient harvesting plants specializing in either edible algae or plant-based meat alternatives (derived from algae).

: Olympipad : noun

Special edition of Apple’s iPad scheduled for release in conjunction with Olympiad XXXIV in Los Angeles in 2028.

And, as a final tribute to that great writers and saints, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien:

: Nearnia : noun

A fantastical world which does not require a Wardrobe to discover, but is as close as one’s own inspired imagination. See also, “Median Earth.”

Caring for Nature with an Inkling Spirit

On By robstroudIn Animals, C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, J.R.R. Tolkien, Narnia, Nature, Poetry, Reading, Writing5 Comments

I never thought I would become an apiarist, but living in forests of America’s Pacific Northwest made this a logical stage in my growth as a naturalist. And I’m convinced that if he had known how simple it is to promote healthy bee populations, C.S. Lewis would have joined me in the hobby.

After all, he delighted in their work ethic, describing the moment of their Narnian creation with the words, “Butterflies fluttered [and] Bees got to work on the flowers as if they hadn’t a second to lose.”

In “An Experiment in Criticism” Lewis discussed the value of seeing the world through the eyes of others. In awe of the majesty of creation he expressed a yearning to explore its myriad facets from perspectives other than his own.

The man who is contented to be only himself, and therefore less a self, is in prison. My own eyes are not enough for me, I will see through those of others. Reality, even seen through the eyes of many, is not enough. . . .

Even the eyes of all humanity are not enough. I regret that the brutes cannot write books. Very gladly would I learn what face things present to a mouse or a bee: more gladly still would I perceive the olfactory world charged with all the information and emotion it carries for a dog.

Like most people, I grew up thinking of beekeepers as the people who dress in protective gear and harvest the honey produced by those tireless little workers. Honeybees, however, are only one type of bee. The Treehugger site offers an illustrated page featuring the bee types, with Hoverflies (good, and in more than 6,000 species) and Wasps (bad, and in more that 100,000 species) thrown in.

The bees I help to encourage in our area are not honeybees or bumblebees, who form colonies. They are mason bees, who are solitary by nature. They don’t have an aggressive bone in their tiny bodies and they are excellent at their jobs. They “pollinate around 95% of the flowers they visit, whereas honey bees generally only pollinate about 5%.” 

C.S. Lewis, like his close friend J.R.R. Tolkien, loved nature. Like most people Lewis either knew nothing about solitary bees, or his attention was directed by default to the honeybees we prize for the honey refined in their hives. In 1930, he wrote to his friend Arthur Greeves about the deeper motivations that drive people such as themselves to become writers.

As for the real motives for writing after one has ‘got over’ the desire for acknowledgement . . . I found and find, that precisely at the moment when you have really put all that out of your mind and decided not to write again . . . precisely then the ideas – which came so rarely in the days when you regarded yourself officially as an author – begin to bubble and simmer, and sooner or later you will have to write . . .

Who knows . . . what will in the end reach the ear of humanity? The successes of our own age may be speedily forgotten: some poem scribbled in pencil on the fly leaf of a schoolbook may survive and be read and be an influence when English is a dead language. . . .

So . . . whether the necessity and duty of writing is laid on a man or not can soon be discovered by his own feelings. With remote consequences we have no concern. We never know enough. I think the thing is to obey the ordinary rules of morality . . . but for ultimate justifications & results to trust to God.

The bee builds its cell and the bird its nest, probably with no knowledge of what purpose they will serve: another sees to that. Nobody knows what the result of your writing, or mine . . . will be. But I think we may depend upon it that endless and devoted work on an object to which a man feels seriously impelled will tell somewhere or other: himself or others, in this world or others, will reap a harvest exactly proportional to the output.

In 1914, C.S. Lewis shared with his father a humorous anecdote from the Roman poet Virgil. 

Did you ever at Lurgan read the 4th Georgic? It is the funniest example of the colossal ignorance of a great poet that I know. It’s about bees, and Virgil’s natural history is very quaint: bees, he thinks, are all males: they find the young in the pollen of flowers. They must be soothed by flute playing when anything goes wrong etc., etc.

C.S. Lewis enjoyed his laugh at Virgil’s poetic ignorance about bees. Coincidentally, he would discuss the humble creatures in a poem of his own. It appears in his posthumous Poems collection, as the fourth and fifth of his “Five Sonnets.”

Pitch your demands heaven-high and they’ll be met.
Ask for the Morning Star and take (thrown in)
Your earthly love. Why, yes; but how to set
One’s foot on the first rung, how to begin?
The silence of one voice upon our ears
Beats like the waves; the coloured morning seems
A lying brag; the face we loved appears
Fainter each night, or ghastlier, in our dreams.
“That long way round which Dante trod was meant
For mighty saints and mystics not for me,”
So Nature cries. Yet if we once assent
To Nature’s voice, we shall be like the bee
That booms against the window-pane for hours
Thinking that way to reach the laden flowers.

“If we could speak to her,” my doctor said,
“And told her, “Not that way! All, all in vain
You weary out your wings and bruise your head,”
Might she not answer, buzzing at the pane,
“Let queens and mystics and religious bees
Talk of such inconceivables as glass;
The blunt lay worker flies at what she sees,
Look there—ahead, ahead—the flowers, the grass!”
We catch her in a handkerchief (who knows
What rage she feels, what terror, what despair?)
And shake her out—and gaily out she goes
Where quivering flowers stand thick in summer air,
To drink their hearts. But left to her own will
She would have died upon the window-sill.”

British Bees

The British are quite enamored with quaint names for their public houses. Because of that, I knew I would be able to find a suitable pub to feature at the top of this post. I was, however, caught off guard by an embarrassment of riches in the return to my google search.

In addition to “The Bumble Bee” in Quedgeley pictured above (which I chose because of the lamppost in the garden), I found images of similarly named pubs in Blackwood, Flitwick, Gloucester, Gwent, Westoning, and Fleur-de-lis, Wales.

I’m sure I could find many other tributes to buzzing pollinators, if I broadened my search to include pubs like “The Beehive” in Egham or “The Golden Bee” in Stratford-upon-Avon.

The story of one more bee will bring our reflections to an end. In his early diary, All My Road Before Me, C.S. Lewis mentioned a number of visits to Bee Cottage, where some of his friends occasionally resided. For example, one summer Sunday in 1922, he recorded:

After lunch I bicycled to Beckley and called at Bee Cottage where I found [Cecil] Harwood alone and reading in a pleasant, stumpy 18th Century Bible. He quoted from Genesis “Whatever Adam called anything, that was the name of the thing,” as an excellent definition of poetry.

Once lost to the mysteries of time, the precise location of Bee Cottage has been discovered, as we can read in Bee and Church Cottage.

Laurence Harwood, C.S. Lewis’s godson, was a lecturer at [the 2009] Summer Seminar on C.S. Lewis Remembered.  His father, Cecil Harwood, was a close personal friend of Lewis as well as fellow Inkling Owen Barfield. 

Harwood and Barfield had often rented a small cottage-Bee Cottage-in Beckley, a few miles from Lewis’s home in the Kilns, and Lewis often visited the place (perhaps while on walking tours though the countryside just like his character Elwin Ransom).  Unfortunately its precise location was lost and remained unknown.

Following the lectures, “Laurence decided that searching for the cottage would be a . . . great way to remember Lewis.” He and several friends “managed to locate the small house, and found that it looked just as anyone would have expected-the waning summer sun sinking behind it, and the bees buzzing about the lavender plants alongside the stairs.”

Bees are important members of our environment. Many would argue they are essential and famine would certainly follow if they became extinct. The Environmentor says,

If all the bees died, humans would become responsible for taking up the slack. This is already happening in China, where a majority of the bees have already died. People take buckets full of pollen and “paint” the pollen on with a paintbrush.

But, this could only be done with a few of the plants that require pollination because there simply aren’t enough humans to perform the task.

The alternative, offered by Brittanica is that we could “robo-pollinate.” But I have already written about where that ominous trend might lead. 

I think it’s best that we diligently care for bees we currently enjoy, and nurture all their future generations. And I believe C.S. Lewis would agree.

The Church at War

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Church History, Classics Worth Revisiting, G.K. Chesterton, Just War, Martyrdom Today, Military History, Modern Life, Narnia, The Medieval Church, Theological Matters14 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Author with the Heart of an Inkling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonus Insight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

C.S. Lewis & the Playful God

On By robstroudIn C.S. Lewis, Christian Life, Christianity, Family, Grandparenting, Humor, Martin Luther, Modern Life, Narnia, Theological Matters11 Comments

When my grandchildren were younger, we played a game where everything would be “normal” and I would without warning say “you don’t need to be afraid of me, because I’m not…” [transformational pause, followed with a growl] “… an ogre!”

The kids would squeal and hightail it for cover where they were safe while I briefly lumbered about for a moment. It was much fun, and if Jesus tarries, perhaps I’ll play a similar game with their children.

I recently read an interesting article about Martin Luther’s understanding of God’s playfulness. You can read the entire article here: “Deus Ludens: God at Play in Luther’s Theology.”

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Luther knows a kind of unstructured play, especially between parents and children, that may involve . . . a kind of pretending which then gives way to the revelation of reality.

C.S. Lewis was a confirmed bachelor when he was surprised by encountering Joy, who would become his wife. He did a commendable job as a stepfather after her death, but wasn’t well equipped for the job.

In The Abolition of Man, Lewis confessed “I myself do not enjoy the society of small children . . . I recognize this as a defect in myself.” Yet he did enjoy other forms of play – of the mental and imaginary varieties – that many young people also savor.

One pastor encourages us to apply Lewis’ observation to ourselves.

Do you recognize that an inability to enjoy children is not representative of a defect in the children, but of a defect in us? I hope that you do. And if not, I hope that you will.

In “C.S. Lewis on Pretending,” the author touches on this theme. After quoting the following passage from Mere Christianity, he writes, “Lewis is drawing out two key elements of change. The role of imagination in faith. The necessity of visionary faith for change.”

Very often the only way to get a quality in reality is to start behaving as if you had it already. That is why children’s games are so important. They are always pretending to be grown-ups – playing soldiers, playing shop.

But all the time, they are hardening their muscles and sharpening their wits so that the pretence of being grown-up helps them grow up in earnest.”

Poet Malcolm Guite challenges (accurately, in my opinion) Lewis’ self-diagnosed disconnect from children.

That Lewis could write immortal children’s tales in late middle age, and weave into those tales such truth and vision that the children who first read them at 8 or 9 keep returning to them in adult life and finding more and more, is a sign that he retained to the end, ‘the child within,’ to borrow George Macdonald’s phrase. And yet in those very stories he provides for both children and grown-ups some very searching truths about what it is both to be a child and to grow up.

Other Christians have identified with Lewis’ challenge. One pastor repeated Lewis’ words about his “defect,” admitted he felt similarly, and responded:

Do you recognize that an inability to enjoy children is not representative of a defect in the children, but of a defect in us? I hope that you do. And if not, I hope that you will.

Because children, just like the poor, offer us another unique opportunity to see what it means to live inside God’s kingdom.

Like it or not, children are going to be who they are. With zero nuance or subtlety, they are going to be consistent – the authentic version of themselves – in every situation.

Ironically, despite his supposed handicap, C.S. Lewis directly blessed more children than it would be possible to number. The follow article, “A Playful Romp with God,” reveals an excellent example of his accomplishment.

The first time I encountered this scene – as an adult, reading the Narnia books to my own kids – I cried. The possibility that God might laugh, romp, and play with his children stopped me in my tracks. How could such a scandalous thing be true?

Growing up, I never heard a word about God laughing, joking, or doing anything for fun. No one invited me to imagine the Jesus of the Gospels smiling, much less goofing around with his disciples, playing hide-and-seek with the children who flocked to him, or basking in the sunshine on a gorgeous summer day.

The list of characteristics I associated with God – omniscience, holiness, transcendence, righteousness – did not include playfulness.

The writer of these words is not alone. Too many people have been raised with the image of a stern, humorless Christ. That’s one of the reasons I am so pleased with the new series, “The Chosen.”

While they may carry the image of Jesus’ playfulness a bit too far – who can say – it is a truly refreshing and convincing portrayal of the Lamb who came to lay down his life as a sacrifice for each of us.

C.S. Lewis portrays this aspect of God brilliantly in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. After his resurrection, Aslan reveals himself first to Susan and Lucy. And, rather than rush off to prepare Narnia for the approaching battle with the Witch . . . he plays.

“Oh, children,” said the Lion, “I feel my strength coming back to me. Oh, children, catch me if you can!” He stood for a second, his eyes very bright, his limbs quivering, lashing himself with his tail. Then he made a leap high over their heads and landed on the other side of the Table.

Laughing, though she didn’t know why, Lucy scrambled over it to reach him. Aslan leaped again. A mad chase began. Round and round the hilltop he led them, now hopelessly out of their reach, now letting them almost catch his tail, now diving between them, now tossing them in the air with his huge and beautifully velveted paws and catching them again, and now stopping unexpectedly so that all three of them rolled over together in a happy laughing heap of fur and arms and legs.

It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia; and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind. And the funny thing was that when all three finally lay together panting in the sun the girls no longer felt in the least tired or hungry or thirsty.

Do we have a playful God? If you still think not, you have my sympathy, my prayers, and my encouragement to read this helpful article, “The Role of Laughter in the Christian Life,” written by the author of Surprised by Laughter: The Comic World of C.S. Lewis.

C.S. Lewis & a Horse Named Fledge

On By robstroudIn Animals, C.S. Lewis, Films, History, Military History, Narnia, Theological Matters9 Comments

C.S. Lewis was not alone in recognizing horses are magnificent creatures. Many of us share his appreciation for the more than 300 breeds that comprise the equine family.

Horses hold a prominent place in Lewis’ zoologically rich fantasies. In the Chronicles of Narnia, we encounter many Talking Horses. Among them are Bree, the titular hero of The Horse and His Boy, and Hwin, the heroine who teaches Bree what it means to be a Narnian.

But before Bree and Hwin galloped across the fields and plains of Narnia, a horse from Earth was transported to that Land at the hour of its very creation.* And there, Aslan anointed this modest draft horse⁑ to become the progenitor of a race of pegasi. Fledge’s story is quite inspiring.

Fledge was once named Strawberry, and pulled a Hansom cab in London. But after journeying to Narnia, Aslan chose him to be one of the very first Talking Animals, and granted him wings.

“Would You Like Wings?” offers an illuminating meditation on this transformation.

So Strawberry, in this first stage, goes from beast to person. From a dream to wakefulness. From slavery to freedom. From silence to speech, from witless to intelligent.

From C.S. Lewis’ account of the “miraculous” event:

He then turned to the Horse who had been standing quietly beside them all this time, swishing his tail to keep the flies off, and listening with his head on one side as if the conversation were a little difficult to understand. “My dear,” said Aslan to the Horse, “would you like to be a winged horse?”

You should have seen how the Horse shook its mane and how its nostrils widened, and the little tap it gave the ground with one back hoof. Clearly it would very much like to be a winged horse. But it only said: “If you wish, Aslan – if you really mean – I don’t know why it should be me – I’m not a very clever horse.”

“Be winged. Be the father of all flying horses,” roared Aslan in a voice that shook the ground. “Your name is Fledge.” The horse shied . . . It strained its neck back as if there were a fly biting its shoulders and it wanted to scratch them. And then, just as the beasts had burst out of the earth, there burst out from the shoulders of Fledge wings that spread and grew, larger than eagles’, larger than swans’, larger than angels’ wings in church windows. . . .

“Is it good, Fledge?” said Aslan.

“It is very good, Aslan,” said Fledge.

When Aslan sends Polly and Digory on a quest with Fledge, they camp for the night and enjoy a delightful human~animal conversation (much like I would anticipate having with the deer that visit our yard daily, should they be graced with speech).

“And my wings are beginning to ache,” said Fledge. “There’s no sign of the valley with a Lake in it, like what Aslan said. What about coming down and looking out for a decent spot to spend the night in? We shan’t reach that place tonight.”

“Yes, and surely it’s about time for supper?” said Digory. So Fledge came lower and lower. As they came down nearer to the earth and among the hills, the air grew warmer and after traveling so many hours with nothing to listen to but the beat of Fledge’s wings . . .

A warm, good smell of sun-baked earth and grass and flowers came up to them. . . . “I am hungry,” said Digory.

“Well, tuck in,” said Fledge, taking a big mouthful of grass. Then he raised his head, still chewing and with bits of grass sticking out on each side of his mouth like whiskers, and said, “Come on, you two. Don’t be shy. There’s plenty for us all.”

“But we can’t eat grass,” said Digory.

“H’m, h’m,” said Fledge, speaking with his mouth full. “Well—h’m—don’t know quite what you’ll do then. Very good grass too.”

Polly and Digory stared at one another in dismay. “Well, I do think someone might have arranged about our meals,” said Digory.

“I’m sure Aslan would have, if you’d asked him,” said Fledge. “Wouldn’t he know without being asked?” said Polly. “I’ve no doubt he would,” said the Horse (still with his mouth full). “But I’ve a sort of idea he likes to be asked.”

“But what on earth are we to do?” asked Digory.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Fledge. “Unless you try the grass. You might like it better than you think.” (The Magician’s Nephew).⁂

In C.S. Lewis’ first story about Narnia, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, we read about the “statues” that surround the castle of the White Witch. Edmund has been corrupted by the Witch, and told that Aslan is dangerous.

The Witch has the power to turn living creatures to stone. When Edmund discovers a lion in her garden, he is delighted. But the lion is not alone.

The relief which Edmund felt was so great that in spite of the cold he suddenly got warm all over right down to his toes, and at the same time there came into his head what seemed a perfectly lovely idea. “Probably,” he thought, “this is the great Lion Aslan that they were all talking about. She’s caught him already and turned him into stone. So that’s the end of all their fine ideas about him! Pooh! Who’s afraid of Aslan?”

And he stood there gloating over the stone lion, and presently he did something very silly and childish. He took a stump of lead pencil out of his pocket and scribbled a mustache on the lion’s upper lip and then a pair of spectacles on its eyes. Then he said, “Yah! Silly old Aslan! How do you like being a stone? You thought yourself mighty fine, didn’t you?”

But in spite of the scribbles on it the face of the great stone beast still looked so terrible, and sad, and noble, staring up in the moonlight, that Edmund didn’t really get any fun out of jeering at it. He turned away and began to cross the courtyard.

As he got into the middle of it he saw that there were dozens of statues all about – standing here and there rather as the pieces stand on a chessboard when it is halfway through the game. There were stone satyrs, and stone wolves, and bears and foxes and cat-a-mountains of stone. . . . a winged horse and a long lithe creature that Edmund took to be a dragon (The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe).

I find the description of the lion quite provocative. “. . . so terrible, and sad, and noble.” That is exactly what I experienced when I saw the model for a “war horse” memorial in Romsey, England. The artists have done a brilliant job. The sorrow overflows from it eyes.

True, my impression is influenced by the outstanding 2011 film titled War Horse. If you’ve never seen this Spielberg gem, I encourage you to watch it and challenge you to do so without shedding a tear.

Horses have long been used in war. That is not what God created them for, but fallen humanity has often harnessed their power for combat. Some of their names are remembered today, including Bucephalus, Copenhagen, Cincinnati, and Traveler.

Returning to Fledge, we find a horse not only experiencing the fullness of his equine nature, but receiving blessings unimagined.

* C.S. Lewis did not compose the seven volumes of the Chronicles of Narnia chronologically. This has led to different opinions on the order in which the books should be read.

⁑ Draught horse, to you Brits.

⁂ While I typed this, a doe and her two fawns were peacefully grazing on our clover-seeded lawn, just a few feet away, outside my office window. [I’m sure they would have happily shared with me.]

Narnian Numismatics

On By robstroudIn Animals, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Modern Life, Narnia, Numismatics, The Future, Words, Writing7 Comments

I’m a numismatist, and you may be one as well.

Although I haven’t actively accumulated coins for some years, I do have as a prize piece of my collection a Narnia coin used in the production of Prince Caspian (2008). Technically, since it isn’t a true, earthly coin, it is considered exonumia, but we coin collectors still recognize just how truly special these treasures are.

Speaking of treasures, that is precisely where my Narnian medallion comes from. The treasure chamber scene had a surfeit of the pieces, and some were sold in collectible frames. The obverse and reverse of the coin can be seen above. I’ve actually written about “my precious” piece of Narnia in the past but just this morning I woke up with the word “numismatist” on my mind, crying out for a Mere Inkling post. (More on this in a moment.)

First, those interested in the history of money may wish to skim a few of my other related columns. These include: inflationary currency such as German notgeld and Zimbabwe’s more recent $1,000,000 bills, a comparison of the women in the life of Constantine the Great and the prominent women in the life of C.S. Lewis, and the misspelling of the name of Jesus on a papal medallion.

Coins Have Given Way in My Life, to Words

As I said above, I awoke today with the word “numismatic” fluttering across my thoughts. And it was not alone. It was linked to the wordplay I recently discussed in “Creative Definitions.”

Before pondering where my mental gyrations on the word in question carried me, allow me to share two additional examples I scribbled out on my bedside tablet before rising to brush my teeth and begin the day.

Provocatours: excursions to politically explosive environs where travelers can accurately anticipate their guides will provide an explosively entertaining adventure.

Methics: the ethical perversion which allows people to justify creating pharmaceuticals with the primary function of destroying lives. [See chemistry teacher Walter White on “Breaking Bad.”]

From there my mind jumped to the pecuniary avarice of drug dealers as associated with the word numismatics – and it coined the related word,

Numethmatics: wherein the potential temporal gains associated with drug dealing outweighs the cost to society, oneself and an individual’s soul.

And in relatively rapid sequence came the following.

Flumismatics: when viral contagions disrupt the entire global economy.

Cluemismatics: either the determination of the financial motivations for murder mysteries or the funding required for law enforcement agencies who determine the criminals’ identities.

Numismantics: when economic theory is dominated by traditionally masculine concepts and values (e.g. profit and greed).

Numissmatics: economic theory which is strongly influenced by traditionally feminine values (e.g. charity and compassion).

If the last two culturally antiquated examples haven’t lost you, read on.

Gloomismatics: the prospect for economic survival in light of crushed hopes for the future due to unbridled inflation (e.g. the insanity of some economists and politicians who advocate simply “printing more money” to solve the problem).

Newmismatics: novel currencies and specie that seek to deceive citizens through the pretense that they actually possess some value.

Bluemismatics: the depressive condition elicited when one’s financial holdings inadequately counterbalance one’s debts; historically, applied to cabin boys in sailing days who only realized they would not be fiscally compensated for their services after the ship had left port.

Pneumismatics: pecuniary considerations based on spiritual rather an material considerations.

Numismetrics: the partly scientific, partly fanciful art of exchanging international currencies.

Nufistmatics: the shocking rise of unprovoked blindsided blows to strangers in urban jungles, frequently without any apparent desire to steal property.

Truemismatics: the actual value of monies before economists get involved in the matter.

Gluemismatics: the tight-fisted relationship misers have with their monetary hordes (see Ebenezer Scrooge, or dragons such as described by C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien).

Nuclearmismatics: the grim cost calculation involved by world powers when weighing the “benefits” of a possible nuclear conflagration.

There were a couple of other scribblings I was unable to decipher once I was fully awake, but near the end of my meanderings, I came upon,

Zoomismatics: the financial resources required to provide a healthy environment, as close as possible to their natural habitat, for animals residing in zoological parks.

Unsurprisingly, this neologism gave rapid birth to Gnumismatics and Moomismatics . . . well, you get the idea. For the sake of my on sanity, I had to forcibly end the spontaneous exercise.

Returning to Narnia

It is fitting to end this numismatic revelry with a return to the scene for which my coin was minted. As noted earlier, it appeared in Prince Caspian. The Pevensie children have returned to Narnia, and are reawakened to their former life which had become but a dream.

Rediscovering their treasure chamber, in the now-ruins of the castle Cair Paravel (time runs differently in Narnia) is pivotal in their reawakening.

“There’s one thing,” said Lucy. “If this is Cair Paravel there ought to be a door at this end of the dais. In fact we ought to be sitting with our backs against it at this moment. You know – the door that led down to the treasure chamber.”

“I suppose there isn’t a door,” said Peter, getting up. The wall behind them was a mass of ivy.

“We can soon find out,” said Edmund . . .

They worked at the ivy with their hands and with Peter’s pocket-knife till the knife broke. After that they used Edmund’s. Soon the whole place where they had been sitting was covered with ivy; and at last they had the door cleared. “Locked, of course,” said Peter. “But the wood’s all rotten,” said Edmund. “We can pull it to bits in no time . . .

[Descending into the chamber, Peter who is bringing up the rear tells Edmund to count the steps.] “One—two—three,” said Edmund, as he went cautiously down, and so up to sixteen. “And this is the bottom,” he shouted back.

“Then it really must be Cair Paravel,” said Lucy. “There were sixteen.” Nothing more was said till all four were standing in a knot together at the foot of the stairway.

Then Edmund flashed his torch slowly round. “O—o—o—oh!!” said all the children at once. For now all knew that it was indeed the ancient treasure chamber of Cair Paravel where they had once reigned as Kings and Queens of Narnia. There was a kind of path up the middle (as it might be in a greenhouse), and along each side at intervals stood rich suits of armor, like knights guarding the treasures.

In between the suits of armor, and on each side of the path, were shelves covered with precious things – necklaces and arm rings and finger rings and golden bowls and dishes and long tusks of ivory, brooches and coronets and chains of gold, and heaps of unset stones lying piled anyhow as if they were marbles or potatoes – diamonds, rubies, carbuncles, emeralds, topazes, and amethysts. Under the shelves stood great chests of oak strengthened with iron bars and heavily padlocked.

The tale continues, as with each returning memory, the children resumed their stature and confidence as the Kings and Queens of Narnia. Their character, you see, was restored, but they remained only a year older (in Earth age) than they had been when they had previously left the wonderland.

Much to the disappointment of the dwarf Trumpkin. “Well, then – no offense,” said Trumpkin. “But, you know, the King and Trufflehunter and Doctor Cornelius were expecting – well, if you see what I mean, help. To put it in another way, I think they’d been imagining you as great warriors. As it is – we’re awfully fond of children and all that, but just at the moment, in the middle of a war – but I’m sure you understand.”

Lesser children may have filled their pockets with gold coins and diamonds and sought a return to their native land and a life of leisure. Not so these four young heroes. And, due in part to their immunity to avarice, the glory of Narnia is eventually reestablished.

C.S. Lewis & Roald Dahl

On By robstroudIn Advice to Readers, Books, C.S. Lewis, C.S. Lewis & the Inklings, Christian Life, Christianity, J.R.R. Tolkien, Literature, Narnia, Reading, Writing10 Comments

Do C.S. Lewis (1898-1963) and Roald Dahl (1916-1990) have anything in common, besides authoring books enjoyed by children?

Looking back, I must have been deprived of opportunities to read common children’s books. I recall my mom having many of Dr. Seuss’ classics, but don’t remember more advanced works such as those of Beatrix Potter or E.B. White.

I suppose that is why Roald Dahl’s name means little to me. By the time I was aware of his popular works, I was too old to appreciate them. Added to that was my intense dislike for the cinematic presentation of his Chocolate Factory, which has permanently (and probably unfairly) soured my impression of the poor man.

In Matilda, published in 1988, Dahl offers a rather curious homage to the Inklings. The young protagonist offers to her teacher the following observations.

“I like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” Matilda said. “I think Mr. C.S. Lewis is a very good writer. But he has one failing. There are no funny bits in his books.”

“You are right there,” Miss Honey said.

“There aren’t many funny bits in Mr. Tolkien either,” Matilda said.

If you are intrigued by this brief interchange, you would probably enjoy reading “Disagreeing with Matilda on Lewis and Tolkien.”

Curiously, a number of people have offered their evaluations of Lewis and Dahl, vis-à-vis one another. Author Grudge Match: Roald Dahl vs. C.S. Lewis invited diverse contributions to the debate eight years ago on LibraryThing.

A Christian blogger offers a faith-based appraisal on an entertaining website called “Like but better.” It’s entitled “How C.S Lewis is like Roald Dahl, but better (and Aslan is like Willy Wonka, but better).”

C.S Lewis is serious about what Dahl jokes about; even as both want us to pursue a childlike wonder and joy. For Lewis these enchanted stories and our sense of wonder are small stories reflecting on the big story — the ‘myth that became history’ — the death and resurrection of Jesus.

A BBC Culture article is quite critical of Dahl, despite his popularity. The introduction to “The Dark Side of Roald Dahl” aptly describes the essay.

Roald Dahl was an unpleasant man who wrote macabre books – and yet children around the world adore them. Perhaps this shouldn’t surprise us, writes Hephzibah Anderson.

An article by a Jewish journalist refers to both of the authors discussed here. It describes his bitter introduction to the major flaws of an author whose work he enjoyed as a child. “Why I Hope My Kids Never Read Roald Dahl” is, for me, most valuable for the way in which the journalist regards the faith which underlies the tales of Narnia.

As a nerdy Jewish kid in Indiana and Tennessee in the late 1970s and 1980s, I had far better relationships with books than I did with other kids. If I liked a book, I read it again, and again and again.

And so it was with Roald Dahl’s “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Dahl’s protagonists Charlie and later James (of the “Giant Peach”) both provided early models for how to find a better way through a hostile world where I always felt like an outsider.

Given that personal history, the announcement that Netflix has acquired Dahl’s entire catalog and plans a robust lineup of multimedia adaptations ought to feel like good news. . . .

Seeing his work still celebrated fills me with sadness, leaving me caught between attachment to something that mattered to me as a boy and commitment to the principles that, I hope, make me the man I am today.

Because I know that Roald Dahl hated Jewish people like me.

There are cases where it’s complicated to ascribe modern values to figures from the past and as a reader, my feelings, my emotions, are just not going to be consistent. I don’t share C.S. Lewis’ religious views . . . J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy is, I’m sad to say, bound up in long histories of racism.But my childhood copies of their books still occupy my shelves, some missing covers and pages, and I bought new copies for my kids and tried – with mixed success – to share my love of those stories with them. It’s hardly new for readers of one generation to struggle with the views of authors from another.But Dahl is different. He passed away in 1990, only 31 years ago. And we know he was an anti-Semite because he said so.

While I would challenge Perry’s modest critiques of the Inklings, I am delighted he is able to look beyond his adult disappointment with their imperfections to commend them to his own children. As for Dahl . . . this article reinforces my lack of regret in being unfamiliar with his work.

Enough, now, of their differences. I promised readers a surprising similarity between the two British authors.

And What Is Their Unusual Commonality?

In 1951, C.S. Lewis was approached by Prime Minister Churchill’s office to accept an honor occasionally bestowed upon renowned literary figures. He was invited to become a Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. Lewis declined, because he felt the political implications might overshadow the nonpartisan spirit of his writings. He was, however, honored to have been offered the honour.

This decision brings us to the peculiar similarity between the two writers. It turns out that Roald Dahl also passed up the invitation to join this chivalric order.

And the two were not alone. In 2012 a list of deceased individuals who had declined related honors between 1951 and 1999 was published.

Literary names were prominent amongst those to have said no to CBEs, OBEs and knighthoods in the annual New Year or Birthday Honours list, with Dahl, Lewis, and Huxley . . . joined by fellow naysayers Eleanor Farjeon, the children’s author, the poets Philip Larkin and Robert Graves, who said no to both a CBE and a CH (Order of the Companions honour), literary critic F.R. Leavis, Booker [Prize] winner Stanley Middleton and the authors J.B. Priestley and Evelyn Waugh.

An aspiring literary historian might do well to research whether and why successful writers might be more inclined to dismiss such an honor than other British citizens. I wonder if that inclination would carry over to other nationalities or cultures.

Ultimately, I assume most writers care less about receiving honors, than having their work read. And, perchance, having their literary efforts improve the lives of one or two others along the way. [This statement inspired vigorous debate when I shared this draft with members of my critique group.]

That desire – to enrich lives – is what motivates me. I believe it is also what inspired C.S. Lewis. And I know we are not alone.