C. S. Lewis
Read 2001 April 8-9
Reviewed 2001 April 19
I was wandering through the church library during the first sermon, and this book was on display near the door, as it had been for years. That day, the title seemed very relevant. The library is being closed out. This opportunity wonÕt last much longer.
C. S. Lewis married a woman herein referred to as H_. She was ill with cancer when they married (see the movie Shadowlands) and after an extensive battle with many fronts, she died, at peace with God. And Lewis raged with grief. This is his mostly unedited journal of that grief. As a writer, one of the ways he could work through things was to write about them and he found composition books about the house and used them for this purpose until they ran out at which point he arbitrarily and wisely stopped the process. Shortly before his own death, it appears, the material was released for publication. Except for the depth and pain of it, the 60 pages could be read in a few hours.
Lewis is blatantly honest, as, apparently, was H_. He does not fear sacrilege or offense in dealing with his God and his faith in the near plume of his awful loss. He sees all of his relationships and habits as they are and he writes about them. He cries out with some of the same thoughts, rebellious and otherwise, that IÕve had over many years, and he has some new ones. He asks the questions about the goodness of God. What is ÒgoodÓ anyway? What does it mean Òshe is now like GodÓ? Well, if it means invisible and incomprehensible and transcendent beyond our experience, that is accurate. And how cold that statement is, but truthful as well.
I found many sentiments and thoughts helpful or reinforcing to my own É issues. Is God the Cosmic Sadist? Is our understanding of Him and what He does for us so imperfect that we perceive things that wrongly? Perhaps.
One concept I found particularly helpful was one that I hadnÕt run across before but had wondered about and pondered for years: ÒWhat does now mean? If the dead are not in time, or not in our sort of time, is there any clear difference, when we speak of them, between was and is and will be?Ó (p. 22.) I went on past this, but something about it caught my attention and I went back and re-read and studied it carefully. In Narnia, time does not run in the same way that it does here, nor does it in Heaven versus on the earth, if the Bible is to be believed.
We live in and observe four dimensions and are exactly finite in each one. Dad occupied a small part of real, three-dimensional space for a small part of all time, that is, the fourth dimension. So do we all, but the beginning and end are both known for him now. The remains of his existence in these dimensions are buried at Panhandle, TX where they will continue to fade, now lifeless, into the entropy of the creation, É dust. I can go there for the rest of my finite time and remember, presumably, but he is not there, not the part that we knew and interacted with. We all know that. He left that physics restricted part behind as one would toss out a clipped toenail or spit out phlegm. It is no longer part of him and, for the shape it was in, good riddance. Where he is and what he does ÒnowÓ until the rest of us join him are meaningless concepts. ÒNowÓ and ÒwhenÓ are different outside of this life. To say things like Òhe already knows the rest for me and is there to greet me at my own passingÓ is both true and nonsensical because his existence is now outside of Ònow.Ó
Lewis experienced a powerful apparition of sorts in which his departed beloved reassured him of his new state in this life and beyond. There was great joy, confidence, and even intellect there and he was comforted. Dad himself often spoke of times of his own distress when someone, Christ or maybe his own dad, was there with him. Surely this happens. I do not aspire to such an experience myself, but trust that those who love me will be there in my own moments of dire need. And, at the end, Lewis comes to understand something that helps me understand better the Òinfinite.Ó Some questions donÕt get answered because they are meaningless, like Òwhat shape is yellow?Ó Many of our theological and philosophical hair-splittings and gut-wrenchings fall into this category, Lewis thinks perhaps fully half of them and I agree. Probably more than half for me, see my journals.
IÕm writing this just before leaving for Texas to help with motherÕs chemotherapy treatment and to help dispose of some of dadÕs things, particularly the contents of the garage, but perhaps also his desk. I plan to drive his truck back here and to visit some of his haunts and memories on the way back. I was doing this quickly so as to return the book to church before leaving, but I may hang onto it and see if mother wants to look at it while IÕm there. Or perhaps I want to re-read it myself. C. S. Lewis is not the Bible itself, as he said often himself, but he is very helpful in aiding 20th century men such as dad and myself to understand the God of the Bible.
Post Script 2002 August 28
IÕve carried an item on my list to write this review for over a year and now realize that I have written it. Mother was not interested but I did, indeed, re-read it again and found it helpful again.
The edition that I have borrowed from church is from England (cloth-bound edition available at 10s 6d net) and does not have an ISBN or Library of Congress number. Author and Title information will have to suffice if I ever want to locate another copy.