Images of Joy in Lewis’s “Surprised” and “Pilgrim’s Regress”

The idea of “Joy” is among C. S. Lewis’s most famous and familiar contributions to Christian literature.  Its influence on “the shape of his early life” is the central theme of Surprised by Joy (SJ), and its attainment is the irresistible impetus of young John’s quest in The Pilgrim’s Regress (PR).

joy

Lewis seems initially hesitant to name the thing at all for fear that naming it would fix it in place. Joy is too transcendent to be individually defined; yet it is also such a visceral reality that one must at least attempt descriptions of encounters with it.  Lewis describes three experiences in SJ which occurred in the innocence of childhood.  First was his brother’s toy garden, which evoked “a sensation of desire; but desire for what?”  Here we first encounter the word “longing” as a descriptor; he felt himself “stirred by a longing for the longing that had just ceased.”  The second he describes as “the Idea of Autumn,” encountered through reading Beatrix Potter’s Squirrel Nutkin.  “One went back to the book, not to gratify the desire . . . but to reawaken it.”  The third came through poetry, in which a passage from Tegner’s Drapa (“Balder the beautiful/Is dead, is dead –“) evoked a fleeting desire for “Northernness” of “almost sickening intensity” and left him immediately “wishing I were back in it” as it passed.

Lewis’s descriptions of Joy also have an element of distance in them.  The best works of Matthew Arnold, he writes, gave him “a sense, not indeed of passionless vision, but of a passionate, silent gazing at things a long way off” (SJ). He later describes his older perceptions (after “Joy had left”) of “Northerness” as an “endless twilight of . . . remoteness, severity”; and “with that plunge back into my own past there arose at once, almost like a heartbreak, the memory of Joy itself.”  In reading Siegfried and the Twilight of the Gods, Lewis recognized what had been lost and equated “the distance of the Twilight” with “the distance of my own past Joy.”  Both, he realized, were unattainable, they “flowed together into a single, unendurable sense of desire and loss.”  More pointedly, Lewis frankly offers, “Joy is distinct not only from pleasure in general but even from aesthetic pleasure.  It must have the stab, the pang, the inconsolable longing” (all SJ).

That sense of “inconsolable longing,” of course, it what motivates the Pilgrim in his search for the illusive Western Island that serves as an image of Joy in PR.  Upon first seeing a vision of the Island though the window in the garden wall, he immediately found himself “straining to grasp” not the island itself, but the long-forgotten childhood memory it evoked.  “There came to him from beyond the wood a sweetness and a pang so piercing” that he forgot all else, concluding, “I know now what I want.”  What follows is a quest for the Island itself (a mistake, of course), during which innumerable worldly substitutes offer themselves as replacements (and are invariably found wanting).

And of course Lewis himself (in SJ) relates the many such substitutes for Joy that tempted him along his own journey.  The beginning of clarity arrived when he realized “the very nature of Joy makes nonsense of our common distinction between having and wanting.  There, to have is to want, and to want is to have.”  God gives us experiences of Joy to inspire our longing for Him, and He allows us the pangs of loss and longing that come from trying to find Joy in things other than Him—even in our own memories of Joy.  When young John finally “sees” his Island (along with a sacred throng, not merely on his own), “the pain and the longing were changed and all unlike what they had been of old:  for humility was mixed with their wildness, and the sweetness came not with pride and with the lonely dreams of poets nor with the glamour of a secret, but with the homespun truth of folk-tales.”  And he realized that “the Island should be different than his desires, and so different that, if he had known it, he would not have sought it.”  It was the Island’s Creator, not the Island, which drew him.

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Mere Reality: Reflections on C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters

C. S. Lewis was working simultaneously on the material that appeared in these two works–perhaps his best known writings outside of the Narnia books.  Mere Christianity was a compilation of a series of radio talks Lewis gave on BBC Radio in 1942.  Lewis was writing The Screwtape Letters at the same time he was preparing scripts for those radio programs.  Reading the two together, as I recently did for a class, made for an interesting experience.  Both communicate similar and important truths about Christian understanding of reality, but each does so using very different rhetorical and artistic approaches.

mere christianity

In Mere Christianity (MC) Lewis the Christian teacher employs his gifts of profound clarity in language and deep simplicity in illustration to demonstrate the “sensible realities” built into the Cosmos of God’s creation.  He reveals God’s truth by showing how it is woven through the fabric of human experience and may be comprehended by the rational mind of any honest seeker.  He gives us simple propositions ( “First, human beings, all over the earth, have this curious idea they ought to behave in a certain way, and cannot really get rid of it.  Secondly, they do not behave in that way.”).  He assembles logical inferences and conclusions on such foundations (“The moral law is not any one instinct or set of instincts; it is something which makes a kind of tune [goodness or right conduct] by directing the instincts.”).

At times, the discourse in MC is brusquely matter-of-fact (“Christianity is a fighting religion.”), other times it is more of a folksy wisdom (“We have to take reality as it comes to us; three is no good jabbering about what it ought to be like or what we should have expected it to be like.”).  Always, always, he’s pointing us to First Principles that—despite our determination to avoid or redefine them–provide the moorings for civilized existence and the basis of Christian reality (“The real job of every moral teacher is to keep on bringing us back, time after time, to the old simple principles which we are all so anxious not to see . . . .”).

screwtape

In The Screwtape Letters (SL), Lewis the Christian artist crafts a remarkably creative articulation of the same deep truths, but as they might be seen from the other side of the mirror.  Again, the propositions are made—but now how crafty; how ironic! (“Once you have made the World an end, and faith a means, you have almost won your man, and it makes very little difference what kind of worldly end he is pursuing.”).  Consequent inferences and expositions seem just as rationally derived, yet through a completely perverted lens of reality (“Our cause is never more in danger that when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy’s will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys.”).

Advice and admonitions from Wormtongue’s “affectionate uncle” provide a kind of “back-handed” vision of the truths which must not be seen or even acknowledged.  In permitting his “patient” a good book and simple walk, poor Wormtongue is derided for such an act of unmitigated ignorance (“you allowed him two real positive Pleasures . . . .  The characteristics of Pains and Pleasures is that they are unmistakably real, and therefore . . . give the man who feels them a touchstone of reality.”).  Here we also are given a demonic inversion of First Principles:  “The horror of the Same Old Thing is one of the most valuable passions we have produced in the human heart” and continuing, “But the greatest triumph of all is to elevate this horror of the Same Old Thing into a philosophy so that nonsense in the intellect may reinforce corruption in the will.”

This juxtaposed reading allows us, I think, to receive the same “lesson” (the nature of “Mere Christianity”) in two distinct forms.  MC itself shows us clearly who God wants us to be:  “servants who can finally become sons.”  But SL cleverly reveals the true desires of our True Enemy, who sees us as “cattle who can finally become food.”  Lewis shows us human reality from both sides of the mirror; in doing so he hopes to show us who we really are.

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Show Me The Way

The Question of God Part 8 (Lewis Segment, “Defender of the Faith“; Conversation 8, “Moral Law“)

As we near the end of our journey, our focus centers on Lewis and the question of an absolute basis for moral law.  Just as Modernity reached its zenith in the mid-20th Century, Lewis was emerging as a widely-acclaimed author and an influential apologist for the Christian faith.  The prospect of yet another global war question the progressive optimism of modernity’s most aggressive advocates.  In place of moral uncertainty and existential angst, Lewis offered the security and comfort of Christian principles as the most sensible and rational remedy for these trying times.

abolitionofman

Lewis quickly rose to fame in England in the 1940s after the director of religious programming at the BBC asked him to give some broadcast talks about faith during the Second World War. What started as an experimental series of five 15-minute broadcasts grew into a program fueled by popular demand, and later formed the core of the best-selling book Mere Christianity.

Lewis began by pointing to a basic moral law that came from outside human experience and revealed itself through reason (calling it the Tao, or “the way”).  He advocated for an absolute basis for moral law by responding directly to two commonly-expressed modern presuppostions about morality:  it is simply a product of cultural evolution (following after instincts) or a mere reflection of social conventions (following after consensus).  The former proclaims its faith in progress; the latter places its faith in education.  Lewis responds to these presumptions thusly,

  • Instinct motivates us more toward self-preservation than toward the well-being of others; what would compel me toward a greater good when it comes at the expense of my own?
  • When we face a moral dilemma, we often weigh conflicting choices.  If the only “scale” we have available are consequences, how can we truly know which is the “right” choice to make?
  •  Moral choices are often not merely matters of right and wrong in particular circumstances; they also raise questions of ultimate ends that transcend temporal means.  Which is the “better” choice?
  • The differences between individual and cultural “conventions” may be great, but they generally apply to matters of minimal moral consequence.  In matters of genuine moral consequence, there are rarely drastic differences between individuals and cultures.
  • “Progress means not just changing, but changing for the better. If no set of moral ideas were truer or better than any other, there would be no sense in preferring civilized morality to savage morality”

Of course, Freud differed greatly from Lewis concerning the moral law.  A God who was the basis of the moral law was consequently subject to accusations of infidelity and even wickedness for “allowing” bad things to happen to a people and a world he claims to love.  “In view of these difficulties,” Freud writes in Civilization and its Discontents, “Each of us will be well advised, on some suitable occasion, to make a low bow to the deeply moral nature of mankind.”  Faith in mankind’s “deeply moral nature” also motivated philosophical Pragmatism, whose main advocates, William James and John Dewey, placed the practical value of actions before principle-based assessments that weighed ends and means.

In ultimately connecting Moral Law with the Christian Tradition, Lewis counters another popular philosophy of his day, Existentialism.  Philosophers like Heidegger and Sartre, along with writers like Camus, held that morality and meaning were products of human choices.  To them, choosing defined “being,” and “existence” took priority over “essence.”  Unfortunately, existentialism failed to offer any standard but one’s self for making “good” or “right” choices—leaving an entire generation at the mercy of “existential angst”!

Learn more about the Moral Law & Modern Philosophy—Anthony Campolo, Partly Right (Word Books, 1985); J Budziszewski, What We Can’t Not Know (Ignatius, 2002)

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Good, Bad & Ugly

The Question of God, Part 7(Freud segment, “Civilization and Its Discontents”; Conversation 7, “The Human Condition”)

One of the most significant transitions in the Story of Western Civilization is that from a “Pre-Modern” to the “Modern” worldview.  The “God-Centered” order of Medieval Christendom defined human identity and the human condition in terms of unwavering certainties and unquestioned acceptances of Biblically-based precepts (unfortunately mediated in a fallen world by a sometimes fallible Church).   While this worldview did point all things toward the Sovereign Creator God at its center, it also drew firm and controlling boundaries around all areas of human inquiry.  And the only hope it seemed to offer was eternal bliss (with, of course, the corresponding threat of eternal damnation).  This essentially centrifugalworldview, with God firmly in the center and all things focused toward Him, was foundational in Lewis’ life.  His apologetic writing aimed at its defense, and a good deal of his creative imagination incarnated the fullness of its hope.

The structural integrity of this “Pre-Modern” worldview was initially tested by the cultural and intellectual enthusiasm of the Renaissance (14th-15th C.).  It was further shaken by the spiritual and ecclesiastic challenges of the Reformation (16th C.).   In these monumental cultural upheavals we see Modernity’s “conception” through their focus on the individual as “point of departure” for understanding the human condition.   Following on this, the Baroque period (primarily the 17th C.) represents the “birth” of Modernity. Descartes’ “Universal Method” (the basis for modern rationalism) and Bacon’s Scientific Method (the basis for modern empiricism) establish the foundations of an emerging “Modern” worldview that place man at the center of powerful new “centripetal” cultural forces.

In the Enlightenment of the 18th C., Western Civilization moves into its “adolescence.”  This is a period characterized by opposition to authority, an emphasis on reason, cultural optimism, and a focus on individual liberty and human rights.   The human identity became increasingly defined in “scientific” terms, and the human condition became the focus of social and political reform movements.  Jean-Jacques Rousseau was a major proponent of this period’s utopian vision of a progressively free and just human civilization.    That which was “bad” in the human condition was no longer a matter of sin and morality; it became a project to be resolved through social and political reforms.  Socialist movements carried the banner of progressive liberalism; more extreme political revolutionaries turned the ideas of Karl Marx into one of most influential ideologies of the 20th C.   Heading into the the century, Modernity was fully “matured.”

For modern secularists like Freud, the existence of evil was a cultural and philosophical (not a theological) problem sure to be resolved in an increasingly “enlightened” world.  But the virulence of autocratic governments and authoritative structures in 19th C. Europe, followed by the rise of Fascism and global war in the 20th C., forced humanity wrestle more deeply with the question of evil.  “In view of these difficulties,” Freud wrote, “each of us will be well advised, on some suitable occasion, to make a low bow to the deeply moral nature of mankind.”  The question for Freud and those like him was now, what was the source of this “deeply moral nature.”  How are “righteousness” and “evil” understood in “modern” terms?  Why does evil prevail in spite of our most rational and “enlightened” human efforts.  What do we make of Modernity’s failure, in so many ways, to deliver on the promises of the “Enlightenment Project”?

Learn more about the development and consequences of “Modernity”—

Ronald Wells, History Through the Eyes of Faith (Christian College Coalition, 1989);

John Paul II, Memory and Identity  (Weidenfeld & Nicolson 2005)

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Libido & Love

The Question of God Part 6 (Freud segment–“Libido”; Lewis segment–“The Four Loves”; Conversation 6–“Love Thy Neighbor”)

In 1905 Freud wrote a series of essays on sexuality which associated sex— or libido — as the driving force of our desires and impulses. More significantly, he claimed this drive formed very early in childhood. Viennese society was scandalized.  “What is more natural than that we should persist in looking for happiness along the path on which we first encountered it?”  Freud wrote.  “Sexual love has given us our most intense experience of an overwhelming sensation of pleasure and has thus furnished us with a pattern for our search for happiness.”

Freud claimed that sexuality began at birth, not puberty. He was accused of violating the innocence of childhood.  But for him, bringing repressed sexual desires into conscious understanding through analysis makes it possible to obtain a mastery over them. “It can be said, Freud wrote, “that analysis sets the neurotic free from the chains of his sexuality.”  Freud’s “liberation” of human sexuality, while scandalous at the time, gave birth to the “sexual revolution” that was a defining part of 20th century social development.  In the wake of Freud’s ideas came Alfred Kinsey’s infamous reports on human sexuality, the “swinger society” and “free love” counter-culture of the sixties, and GLBT “outing” and social activism that has transformed sexual boundaries from the seventies to the present.

four loves

In 1963 Lewis published The Four Loves, a book which identified four ways in which human beings express and experience love.  He identified each with a particular Greek word for love (transliterated into English here)

  • Storge  love describes the affection that comes through familiarity, particularly between family members.  It is the most widely diffused and uncoerced of the loves, naturally present as a kind of “built-in” aspect of the human condition.  It is a love that flows regardless of the perceived “value” of loves object, and most able to transcend discrimination.
  • Philia  love describes bonds of friendship that form around common experiences, interests, or activites shared by people.  It is the least natural of the loves because it requires the presence of something for friendship to “be about.”  But for Lewis (as well as for the Classical culture he embraced), it was the most admirable of loves because it looked not at the loved, but at the “about,” for its value.
  • Eros  is love in the sense of “being in love” emotionally.  Lewis distinguishes eros from pure sexuality (which he identified as “venus”).  Although it does find expression through sexual activity, eros also involves a spiritual dynamic that transcends mere “animal lust.”  Lewis notes that eros is the source of the tragic in history and literature, and he warns against its elevation to godlike status by idolatry.
  • Agape (also identified as charis/caris, translated “charity” in many Bibles) is a love directed toward one’s neighbor which does not depend on any “loveable” qualities of either the object or circumstances of the love process.  Lewis recognizes this as the greatest of the loves, and he sees it as a specifically Christian virtue.  All the other “natural” loves, Lewis thought, must be subordinated to the agape love of God and expressed with Christian charity.  God’s love acts on our natural loves as the sun and rain act on a garden; without either the object of our love would cease to be beautiful or worthy.

Only agape love, Lewis believed, allows us to unconditionally “love our neighbors” as the Bible commands. All the other “loves” are contingent upon some “valuing” of the object of love.  Freud says that human beings have always been internally in conflict between insatiable personal desires and the social prohibitions imposed upon us by family and community expectations.  Our inability to properly reconcile these tensions results in psychological, physiological, and social disease and dysfunction.

Learn more about Love, Sexuality and the Human Story—C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves  (originally published in 1963; Harvest ed. 1998); Judith and Jack Balswick , Authentic Human Sexuality (2nd Ed, IVPress, 2008).

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Before Captain America: Young Steve Rogers

Steve Rogers, the boy who would become Captain America, was born in New York on July 4, 1917 the only child of Joseph and Sarah Rogers. His parents are described as immigrants living on New York’s Lower East Side who have fallen on hard times.  Steve Rogers’ youth was spent in poverty; his early manhood shaped by the Great Depression.  His father was a sometimes construction worker who served in the 1st Battalion, 26th Infantry (the “Blue Spaders”) in the Great War and died of influenza in 1926.  His mother struggled, working two jobs, taking in washing, until she fell ill and died in 1934.

Most stories over the years depicting Steve Rogers’ youth focus on the experiences that shaped the man who would become Captain America.  The new CA series (just launched in 2013) is the seventh “modern” series to follow after the original Captain America Comics of the 1940s-50s, has featured numerous flashback glimpses into Steve’s childhood years.  His unemployed father is shown as a desperate, violent man who brutalizes his wife and turns to drink in his frustration.  Steve’s mother is shown possessing the qualities that continue to guide the adult hero.  “You listen close’ she tells him at one point.  “You always stand up.”  Young Steve does just that for bullied friends, and when poverty drives him to steal money from the local drug store to pay for Mom’s medicine, he’s compelled by shame to confess the crime and work off the debt.
Despite these setbacks, Steve kept up with his schooling and is often shown to be a voracious reader—“Especially of fantasy!” FDR once commented while reading from Roger’s file.  The president continued, “It seems that the boy also had a talent for art, but he kept his love of art, and of books, a secret to avoid taunts and beatings at the hands of his peers.”

garbage can lid

Other glimpses into Steve Rogers’ youth have appeared in various stories over time.  Described and depicted as a frail weakling, he’s shown at age 8 being rescued from bullies by an older neighborhood tough, Davey Fortunov and at other times by best friend Arnie Roth (both show up later in Cap’s life, having surmised the connection between their childhood friend and the Sentinel of Liberty).

A story in a 1994 Holiday Special has Cap a mission “in upstate New York, around Albany,” where he comes across an abandoned farmhouse. “Wait, I know this place,” He realizes. “It’s where my Grandfather lived—sixty years ago!” (c. 1930) As he creeps near, Cap is flooded with memories of visiting his Grandfather when “the Depression was still in its early days.”  He also remembers the old man’s wisdom: “America’s based on principles, boy—‘specially the principle of freedom. The fight for freedom goes on. It’s every citizen’s duty not to forget th’ battles fought before nor to shirk their own. You keep that in mind, boy.” (This tale is a bit difficult to reconcile with the often cited “immigrant parents” detail; perhaps only his father was a first-generation immigrant and this is his maternal grandfather.  To complicate things even further, there are stories which depict Steve Rogers as having a Revolutionary War ancestor of the same name).

In CA #270 (1982) Cap passes by his old Elementary School on the Lower East Side, and he pauses to reflect on his days there. “This place was part of me for so many years.” He finds his old classroom with some old desks still in place. “I can still recall sitting in that front-row seat, as Mrs. Crosley tried to shove some knowledge into our heads!” A memory panel depicts the teacher before the board, on which is written, “Civics Test Monday.” “You know,” she says to her pupils, “You children are very lucky to be living in a country as free s this one. The United States offers its citizens more rights than any other nation in the world! But along with those rights come certain duties as well! It’s the duty of each one of you to see this land stays free . . . to see that justice is extended to all!” Cap’s memory of Mrs. Crosley fades with the words, “Don’t let me down.”  Cap murmers, “I . . . I won’t.”

Issue 7 of the Sentinel of Liberty series (1999, also the source of the FDR quote above) featured vignettes of Steve Rogers in the 1930s at this old elementary school (being tormented, of course, but also with the strains of FDR’s “Fear Itself” speech drifting from a radio in the background); in 1934 at his mother’s death, in 1938 working as a WPA artist finishing a mural in a New York subway” and in 1940 in the oft-depicted scene of Rogers in a New York theater watching a newsreel account of the Nazi blitzkrieg across Europe.
young steve
After most renditions of this newsreel incident, Rogers emerges from the theater determined to enlist, but of course he is too frail to serve in the Army and is rejected at various induction centers.  Finally, he’s approached by a military officer and offered a chance to serve his country through an experimental program.  A particularly creative version of this story from the 70th Anniversary Special (2009) sets the scene in Brooklyn, where Rogers tangles with “fifth columnists” before even being approached about the program.  In this confrontation, he displays remarkable “Cap”-like qualities long before becoming the actual hero.

This imaginative story of our young hero is recalled by his war-time partner, the even more youthful Bucky Barnes.  Bucky’s closing observation provides a fitting conclusion for this segment of our story.  “When he was still frail and slight, inside he was still the man that he is now.  The thing that makes Captain America great . . . is Steve Rogers.”

Next:  Becoming Captain America

Stories depicting Steve Rogers’ childhood and youth can be found in—

Captain America vol. 1 #255 and #270 (1981-82); CA: Sentinel of Liberty #7 (1999); Marvel Super Heroes #3 (1990); Marvel Holiday Special #2 (1994); Mythos:  CA (2008); Steve Rogers, Super-Soldier #3 (2010); CA vol. 6 #1 (2011) and vol. 7  #1-6 (2013)

Variations of the newsreel/induction center scenarios are depicted in—

CA vol. 1 #109, 176, 255; MSH 3; CASoL #7; CA vol 5 #25; Mythos CA; and the CA 70th Anniversary Special

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The Discarded Image

The Question of God, Part 5 (Freud Segment, “Human Mythology“; Lewis Segment, “From Spirits to God“; Panel Discussion, “Miracles“)

Freud was determined in his research and writing to demonstrate that religious sentiments could be traced to historical, cultural, and psychological influences that revealed themselves through the sacred stories of religious traditions.  Rather than seeing truth in the midst of the story, he intended to reveal the mythical basis of all things sacred.  The exclusive claims of Christianity, to Freud, derived from its imaginative connections with God’s promises to a Chosen People.  The particular relationship these People enjoyed with God found its expression in the claims of a key historical figure, Moses.  His influence, in turn, stemmed from a mythical tale connected to an archetypal son, the “declared favorite of a dreaded father.”  To Freud, this primordial image of the favored son sacrificed by his brethren was the true basis of the Judeo-Christian worldview.  It was a grand cultural deception which needed to be revealed and discarded.

discarded image

C.S. Lewis gave the title, The Discarded Image, to the last book he wrote.  After a lifetime of teaching Medieval and Renaissance Literature, he gathered his lecture notes into a comprehensive thesis:  while the “worldview” of this period may suffer from scientific and naturalistic “inaccuracies,” it represents a cohesive and imaginative picture of humanity that is more genuinely “true.”   The Human “Image” that emerges from a pre-modern understanding of history, science, philosophy, and theology informed the most beautiful and influential literature in the Western world for its first two millennia.  Writers of all genres during this period drew from a richer understanding of humanity to tell stories filled with imaginative and enchanted images that have been largely discarded by their modern counterparts.   Most importantly, Ancient, Medieval, even Renaissance writers viewed the world itself and human experience as a cohesive, unified “whole” that found meaning outside of itself.  Modernity has fragmented all things—including humanity—into segments of specialization subject to individual scrutiny and interpretation.

Freud’s effort to “mythologize” humanity’s religious impulse reflects the post-Enlightenment determination to explain and de-mystify every aspect of the human story.  The result has been a world in which scientific analysis and empirical “accuracy” is the basis for truth and “fact.”   One of his primary disciples, Carl Jung, pursued a different course, using psychoanalysis to explore a “collective consciousness” in humanity which mythical imagery reveals meaning.  Jung’s famous “archetypes” provide the deep structure for human motivation and meaning. When we encounter them in art, literature, sacred texts, advertising—or in individuals or groups—they evoke deep feeling within us. These imprints, which are hardwired in our psyches, were projected outward by the ancients onto images of gods and goddesses.  They continue to inform and motivate us in the present.

To Lewis and his fellow “Christian Humanists” (Chesterton, Tolkien, Dorothy Sayers, Evelyn Waugh, and others), modernity had gravely disenchanted the world and left us disconnected from important “essences” that define our true humanity.  As Lewis finally accepts in this segment, Christianity is simply the “True Myth” from which all other stories draw their true meaning.   “Here and here only in all time the myth must have become fact; the Word, flesh; God, Man. This is not ‘a religion,’ nor ‘a philosophy.’  It is the summing up and actuality of them all.”

Learn more about Humanism, Modernity, and the Human Story—

C. S. Lewis, The Discarded Image (originally published in 1964; Cambridge ed. 1995); Donald Williams, Mere Humanity:  Chesterton, Lewis, Tolkien on the Human Condition (Broadman & Holman, 2008)

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True Statesmanship

This particular piece has been on my mind for some time and far too long neglected.  In response to one of my earlier “Civics” posts, written in response to last November’s elections, a former colleague of mine asked, “Where are the true statesmen?”

The tempting response, of course, is “Good Question.”  But I’ve been too long steeped in Classical and Christian traditions to let things go at that.  In fact, one of my most valued mentors, a now-retired (and highly influential) Professor of Political Philosophy, has long-ago provided the answer to this question.  He has graciously agreed to allow me to draw liberally from the well of his wisdom.  (For the full experience, see “Statesmanship and the Crisis of Political Leadership in America” by Dr. John Gueguen).

state of union

Dr. Gueguen originally presented these ideas on statesmanship to the freshmen members entering the U. S. House of Representatives in 1981.  His words ring true still, because they are rooted in truths that transcend time.  “A statesman,” he writes, “is to a politician what a master is to a painter or a composer in the arts; he is what a true champion is to an athlete in sports.”  A statesman’s aim is to “advance the common well-being of a people” through “custodial leadership” that seeks not to merely “administer affairs,” but rather to “transform them.”

True statesmanship is perhaps most difficult—but most direly needed—in the Constitutionally-based republican democracy we have in America.  In a society which so highly values equality and freedom (two values which, in obvious ways, often compromise one another), it is difficult to lead decisively because one must not be seen as “an authority standing above equals.”  Politicians thus find themselves inevitably motivated by self-interest or pandering to special interests.  A statesman has the difficult task of persuading his or her fellow citizens that a position which must be pursued is not the necessarily the popular one, nor the pragmatic one, but simply the right one.

Dr. Gueguen cites nine qualities which are essential to such a democratic statesman.

  1. One must possess “firm and consistent principles of life, convictions [held with] absolute certainty and [regarding] which nothing could [force] compromise.”
  2. One must, however, also “be flexible on matters that can and should be compromised,” this ability being dependent upon “uncommon prudence,” “abundant common sense” and careful discernment regarding “how far to concede.”
  3. One must act “energetically, aggressively, and courageously” when times call for it, resisting the temptation toward discouragement in the face of resistance, remaining optimistically confident in [one’s] ability to bring about [the right results].”
  4. One must be “able to dominate circumstances, to rise above them, to spot problems when they are still far off and easier to divert.”
  5. One must not be “content simply to lead,” but rather must “lead . . . along the path [toward] the common good.”  Self-interest must be sub-ordinated to the public interest, and “private agencies, the family, and the church [must be allowed] to exercise the leadership which belongs properly to them.”
  6. One must be “firmly grounded in classical liberal arts” in order to recognize “that universal human experience is a more valuable and objective guide” than one’s own or that of prevailing social trends and sentiments.
  7. One must be able to “come quickly to the heart of the matter, analyze cause-effect relationships, and reach accurate conclusions.”
  8. One must be personally rooted “at the deepest level of life” in faith in God, who provides “enlightenment beyond human resources” and gives authority to words and deeds which “transcend the worlds of political acumen.”
  9. One must possess “the humility that comes from true self-knowledge,” particularly in the awareness of one’s own “limitations and the limitations of the human condition.”  This fundamental quality allows one “to learn from one’s mistakes” and avoid “the false attractions of utopian fantasies.”

As we prepare to hear our President deliver his second “State of the Union” address tonight, take note of his demeanor and measure his words in light of these nine qualities.  But don’t stop there.  Use them as a lens through which to view the words and actions of every elected official who represents you in national, state, and local offices.

“Where are the true statesmen?”  I have faith that they are out there—though perhaps not as yet recognized or even elected.  These are the standards we should be looking for in our leaders.  They embody whatever hope we may hold for the future of this republican-democracy of ours.  We must resist the path of apathy and insist that true statesmen lead us.

 

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Return to Me

The Question of God, Part 4
(C.S. Lewis segment, “A Leap in the Dark”; Panel Discussion, “Why Believe?”)

C. S. Lewis seemed a reluctant atheist, keeping God at bay through intellectual pride and accusations of injustice and infidelity.  Yet the world of Classical and Medieval literature he called home was filled with stories of lost and forbidden love—and longing for redemption and restoration—that kept alive hopes for finding the “joy” of his childhood days.  Modernity increasingly seemed a cheap substitute for a more profound narrative.  He could not escape the nagging idea that he’d given his love to an altogether wrong object of desire.

The book Lewis is reading in this segment is the Greek tragedy Hippolytus by Euripides.  In this story young Hippolytus, the beloved son of Athens’ King Theseus, decides to devote himself in celibate faithfulness to Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt.  His choice offends the Goddess of Love, Aphrodite, who cannot believe such a magnificent figure of manliness could possible resist the call of love.  Aphrodite charms Phaedra, Hippolytus’ step-mother, inspiring in her heart an irresistible love for the handsome youth.  The shame of this forbidden desire drives Phaedra to suicide.  Her husband Theseus wrongly accuses his son of ravaging his wife and exiles him, an action which ultimately leads Hippolytus to a fatal end.  Dying Son and loving Father are reconciled when Aphrodite herself appears and reveals the truth of the matter.

The passage Lewis reads aloud speaks of a longing for a deeper fulfillment in the land of the gods that might transcend the limitations of early love—particularly a love both forbidden and denied.  This longing for eternal bliss in a real world where human hopes are shaped by both glorious aspirations and desperate disappointment plays an important role in Lewis’ transformation.  It also echoes the great spiritual paradox that we humans are simultaneously created in God’s image (including the “divine” impetus toward creation) and cursed by the consequences of the Fall (including the temptation toward our own “divinity”).  Lewis himself is puzzled by the paradox of his own attraction to the “idea of God” when everything in his “real” world not only rejects this idea, but has rendered it intellectually “forbidden.”

The desire for serenity and salvation rooted in religious expression is a recurring theme in the Human Story as well.  The Classical Age of ancient Greece gave way to several centuries in which Greek ideas were spread to cultures conquered first by Alexander the Great and ultimately by Rome.  During this “Hellenistic”Age, Greek thought intermingled with those of other cultures, giving rise a mélange of worldviews in which religion, philosophy, spirituality, and rationalism formed new syncretistic systems.  Cynics were “self-sufficient” skeptics; they found satisfaction in simplicity, valued individuality, and disregarded universal claims to truth.  Epicureans were “self-centered” materialists; they found solace in the pursuit of happiness and avoidance of pain.  Stoics were “self-controlled” fatalists; they sought serenity in accepting life’s vicissitudes and valued perseverance in the face of struggle. (note the role of “self” in all these views!)

Of course, into this world as well was born the Promised One of the Jews, whose coming “in the fullness of time” would transform the world.  Lewis is not yet ready to go that deep in his return to belief in God, but here we see him take important steps in the right direction

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“I gave in, and admitted that God was God … perhaps that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”

Learn more about the religious impulse and the Human Story—
G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man (originally 1925, Dodd, Mead & Co.; 2008 edition, Wilder); J. G. Frazer, The Golden Bough (originally published in 1890, many modern printings available)

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The Odyssey of Captain America

From my mid-20s until my early 40s, I walked away from my adolescent comic-book habit.  I sold off my original collection (large tears now welling up . . .) and was relatively ignorant of the goings-on in the Marvel Universe.  I did pick up the amazing Marvels series by Ed Busiek and Alex Ross in 1994, and that rekindled my love for the “classic” continuity I’d so loved.  It also re-connected me with the “Golden Age” heroics of Captain America, Marvel’s WW II icon, whom I’d gotten a taste of back in the 70s through Roy Thomas’ amazing Invaders “retro-continuity” series.

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Within a few years I’d jumped back in with both feet, gathering up and reading every comic book appearance of the “Living Legend” I could find (which, thanks to the magic of reprints, I’ve pretty much managed to do).  My experience as a Civics teacher resonated with the patriotic metaphors that abound in the Cap mythos, and my interest in Classics helped me begin to understand the Star-Spangled Sentinel in more grandly heroic terms.  Captain America, I think, is an American Odysseus.  The glory days of WW II are his Illiad, and his life since being “revived” in the 1960s are his Odyssey.

In his introduction to Robert Fagles’ popular translation of Homer’s , Bernard Knox begins, “’Odyssey’ is a familiar English word, meaning, according to Webster, ‘a series of adventurous journeys usually marked by many changes of fortune.’” Of course, the word itself derives from the Greek Odusseia, meaning simply “the story of Odysseus,” the classic tale of the fabled king’s journey home to Ithaca after the Trojan Wars.

While the Odyssey is certainly an “adventurous journey” filled with many “changes of fortune,” Knox reminds us that this classic hero returns “to find at home a situation more dangerous than anything he faced on the plains of Troy or in his wanderings over uncharted seas.” For Odysseus, returning “home” defines him. His country, his family, his values—all have been simultaneously defended and sacrificed during his time at war. The Great Question before him as he returns is, can they be restored? Or have they been lost for all time during his absence? And if lost—what is his place in this place that is no longer “home”?

No modern hero emulates the spirit of the Odyssey as well as Captain America. He is “born” into a world in which the ideal of the American Dream was as formative and motivating for him as ever experienced by noble Greek. His mettle and values–tested in his own Iliad, World War Two–have been sacrificed during his two-decade Great Sleep that followed. Since his revival, his life has certainly been “a series of adventures” marked by “many changes of fortune.” His return has always been shaped by the same central question faced by Odysseus: can his country, his family, his values–which he embodies as surely as did Ithaca’s King—ever be restored? Or have they been lost for all time during his absence and the struggle to find his way home? Perhaps even more powerfully, Steve Rogers has wrestled for four decades with the real possibility that all has been lost, and his story has been much more defined by his efforts to find his place in a world that is no longer “home”.

Steve Rogers/Captain America has been at the center of almost every major development in the Marvel Universe since its inception.  He’s survived “death” at least a half-dozen times, always brought back to continue “fighting the good fight.”  In the series of posts which will follow this, I’ll comment on some highlights of that start-spangled career.  And I’ll try to make the case that it is finally time (more likely way past time) for him to be allowed to find his way home.  Although I would dearly miss him, I truly hope Marvel Comics has the courage to let him go.

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