"Then some natural feelings are really better than others-I mean, are a better starting-point for the real thing?"
"Better and worse. There's something in natural affection which will lead it on to eternal love more easily than natural appetite could be led on. But there's also something in it which makes it easier to stop at the natural level and mistake it for the heavenly."
This little blip of conversation between George and 'the writer' contains such simple knowledge...but also incredibly profound. The fact that our 'natural feelings' can be used in such a good way- pointing us towards eternal love- is great; however, these feelings might just as easily be used to gain contentment. So, what determines how these feelings are practiced? This question is answered a couple of pages later.
"Everything else [not God] is good when it looks to Him and bad when it turns from Him."
I have found this to be a theme throughout Lewis's books. Though this statement seems extremely obvious- in real life it's not that easy. What is looking at God? What is turning from Him? Of course there are black and white areas...but what about the grey ones? How can we judge these aspects of life?
In an earlier reading (I'm not sure if it was this book or a previous one) it was said that one's fate is determined when they say to God, "Thy will be done" or when God says to them, "thy will be done". So...perhaps the difference between right and wrong comes down to who's will is being done. If this is true we should be judging all our actions on this standard.
When I actually think about applying this principle to my life, I shrink back from it. You see, I have lived my life being "ok" with not knowing certain things, claiming they are far too complex for me to wrap my mind around. However, if I apply this seemingly 'simple' idea to my belief system I find that I may have to make some hard choices...many that people may scorn, or call judgemental. I think this is why many people choose to ignore the tougher issues, we believe in a God of love- who understands and forgives ignorance. Perhaps we should take God a little more seriously? I think so.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Something to think about.
I have had the idea put on me about how hell can be a present state a lot lately. First in class with all of the different books with Lewis, from the Great Divorce, to problem of pain, to the hell on earth like state that Orule was in during Until We Have Faces, to Decent into Hell. It was just a very interesting something to think about and a sweet idea that Lewis introduced me too, then I listened to Rob bell give a sermon on Hell that I would like to share with you all because it is so cool with what we have been talking about it class.
The majority of the times "hell" is talked about in the bible is said by Jesus and referred to an actual place. In hell in Greek was Henna or Valley of Henna. This was a valley south of Jerusalem in a valley. Before Jesus it was used as a place of child sacrifice to the God Melech, this was later outlawed and the area began to be used as a dump. In the dump wild Dogs fought each other over food and squealed and bit each other, the people also always kept fire going in the valley in order to keep down the smell. This is where "fire that never goes out and weeping and gnashing of teeth comes from." (so interesting) So when Jesus was talking to the people of the time when he was talking about being cast in to the Henna he was talking about a place that could be identified with physically. The people knew what it was and what it was like there.
After listening to this sermon it kind of shed a new light on all of the ideas that we had covered in class about hell, it seamed to me that this idea was actually Biblical. I particularly liked the idea in the great divorce where what you want and what you do on earth becomes what you do later. So the more you lust over things and the more selfish you are the more you want those things in the after life. The life people live on earth becomes their own hell for eternity.
The majority of the times "hell" is talked about in the bible is said by Jesus and referred to an actual place. In hell in Greek was Henna or Valley of Henna. This was a valley south of Jerusalem in a valley. Before Jesus it was used as a place of child sacrifice to the God Melech, this was later outlawed and the area began to be used as a dump. In the dump wild Dogs fought each other over food and squealed and bit each other, the people also always kept fire going in the valley in order to keep down the smell. This is where "fire that never goes out and weeping and gnashing of teeth comes from." (so interesting) So when Jesus was talking to the people of the time when he was talking about being cast in to the Henna he was talking about a place that could be identified with physically. The people knew what it was and what it was like there.
After listening to this sermon it kind of shed a new light on all of the ideas that we had covered in class about hell, it seamed to me that this idea was actually Biblical. I particularly liked the idea in the great divorce where what you want and what you do on earth becomes what you do later. So the more you lust over things and the more selfish you are the more you want those things in the after life. The life people live on earth becomes their own hell for eternity.
Shrinking Into Ourselves
While reading "The Great Divorce", i loved the imagery created by Lewis' description of the dwarf. I lead me to start thinking, when do i act like the dwarf, when do i get so caught up into myself, and worrying and carrying, only about my problems. When is my faith dwarf, and i keep trying to save myself, and not worrying about the bigger picture, and choosing me time over you time. I just am amazed by the power of just small part of stories that can affect you in Lewis' writing, "While it sounds merciful," he writes, "see what lurks behind it. The demand of the loveless and the self-imprisoned that they should be allowed to blackmail the universe: that till they consent to be happy (on their own terms) no one else shall taste joy: that theirs should be the final power; that Hell should be able to veto Heaven. "Great Divorce"
I can only imagine...
So, I was sitting back to start enjoying "The Screwtape Letters" for the second time, and it struck me quite forcefully that I was not yet finished with "The Great Divorce." So, here I set about writing my initial conclusion after reading this book. I'm sure as I reflect on this work again later on and throughout my life, this conclusion will change, but for now, I find myself terrified.
We've all heard songs like "I Can Only Imagine" by MercyMe. Heaven is portrayed as overwhelmingly beautiful. Our beings will be consumed by Love itself, and we will overflow with worship for him. These images are certainly found in "The Great Divorce." You would be hard-pressed to argue that Lewis disagrees with this picture of heaven. There is another picture here, however, which strikes me even more.
As fallen humans, potential residents of hell or heaven, visit heaven's foyer on refrigerium, we see the ultimate shame of humanity: we are insubstantial, only remnants of reality. The stark real-ness of heaven shows us what we really are. Humans are immaterial, vulnerable, uncomprehending, stubborn. Heaven is found to be a dangerous place full of burning Spirits, ferocious beasts, and painful terrain. Lewis, as the narrator of the novel, soon is struck by fear: "Terror whispered, 'This is no place for you' " (p. 58).
This is not the first or only instance where Lewis correlates the great with the terrible. Think of Aslan. Williams also references a "terrible good." I refuse to change my opinion of heaven; I am assured of the beauty and peace of the coming paradise. This, however, is the first inkling I have had that heaven may also be dreadful.
Tragedians and treasures.
Of all the different ways that the characters in The Great Divorce disappear, I think the most interesting to me was Frank and the Tragedian. Frank was loved by the most blessed woman, but he doesn't speak for himself, instead he lets this Tragedian speak for him. Frank begins to shrink, and the Tragedian stays the same size as he talks to his wife. Frank shrinks until all that's left is the Tragedian, and the blessed woman realizes she has been speaking to him all along. "I cannot love a lie." said the Lady. "I cannot love the thing which is not. I am in Love, and out of it I will not go." Then the Tragedian vanishes. The blessed woman was so in love with God that it didn't matter that she hadn't really known Frank. Through Frank's shrinking, the narrator realizes that the ghosts and everyone in the grey town are nothing compared to the vastness of Heaven. We are nothing compared to the vastness of Heaven. What we think is so important on earth, will be obsolete when we enter Heaven. It reminds me of Matthew 6:19, the treasures on earth vs. treasures in Heaven verse (I'm not going into it, I think you all probably know the verse I'm referring to). It makes all this stuff I have seem worthless when compared to the treasures in Heaven I'm going to recieve, treasures I can't even imagine yet.
A Ferris Wheel of Thought: Burdens, Abandonment, and Counterfeits
In my last post, I assessed Charles Williams’ idea of substitution through the lens of Christ’s teaching and Paul’s admonitions. Incidentally, two encounters in the resplendent heaven of The Great Divorce indicate the danger of carrying burdens, as the ghosts involved become so identified with their respective “burdens” that they cease to exist apart from them. In Chapter 10, a female ghost bears the “burden” of her husband Robert for the sake of “improving” him, and in Chapter 11, a mother bears the “burden” of supposed caring for her son, Michael. Although these examples are a distortion of Williams’ portrayal of substitution, Lewis succeeds in illustrating the danger of so seemingly noble a thing as carrying another’s burdens, even if the motivation be “love.” In both instances, dialogue reveals that the ghosts desire to have husband or son back is actually based upon destructive self-interest. Though the ghost of the wife snuffed out like “a dying candle flame” and the fate of the mother’s ghost is untold, we know that both ghosts are ultimately kept from becoming real and from loving God best by refusing to give up their “burdens.”
Paul admonishes in Galatians 6:2, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” While this is an imperative, The Great Divorce cautions our handling of “burdens,” even if they be familial connections. This brings to mind Jesus’ words in Luke 14: 26, 27, and 33: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple….In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.” This is a difficult teaching, and while I am not going to attempt a textual exegesis of the word hate, I am reminded that following Christ requires us to give up everything and love Christ above all else, even our own family and especially ourselves. As The Great Divorce illustrates, those who held some other love more highly than their desire for God were prevented from journeying toward the sunlit mountains.
In creating the characters of the ghosts, one of the things Lewis does so well is to draw upon elements of human nature that lie within all of us. Although the ghosts that essentially refuse salvation are maddening and exasperating, I find that Lewis creates space for empathy with them. While the ghosts are unable to see what glory they miss in refusing to give up their burdens, facades, and selves, we as readers do. Even through this fictional narrative, perhaps we can be spurred on toward greater abandonment to God – deliberately surrendering our false selves and other loves to Him. As The Great Divorce illustrates, it is not until we give up what is most precious to us that we begin to experience the abundance of life that God longs to give us. This again reminds me of Jesus’ words in Matthew 16:25: “For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.”
On one final note, I would like to mention the little red lizard. Although this passage could be interpreted differently, I think it provides a powerful illustration of how things that seem good or provide pleasure can deceive us into believing that they are real. The man with the lizard on his shoulder was afraid of the pain it might cost him to give up the creature. It was not until he willingly endured the pain that the lizard was exposed as a counterfeit of the real thing. He had been terrified of parting with the sniveling little thing when all the while the creature was actually meant to be a stallion! To me, this was a powerful example of evil as a distortion of good, and what could be a more poignant illustration than lust. Ultimately, lust is a distortion of desire, and though it may speak into our ear and tell us it will be good, it is a counterfeit and bondage. I really appreciated Taylor’s honesty in the difficulty of giving it up, but when we do choose to go through that pain of letting it be killed daily within us, we draw closer to experiencing the strength and splendor of desire as God designed.
Paul admonishes in Galatians 6:2, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” While this is an imperative, The Great Divorce cautions our handling of “burdens,” even if they be familial connections. This brings to mind Jesus’ words in Luke 14: 26, 27, and 33: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple….In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.” This is a difficult teaching, and while I am not going to attempt a textual exegesis of the word hate, I am reminded that following Christ requires us to give up everything and love Christ above all else, even our own family and especially ourselves. As The Great Divorce illustrates, those who held some other love more highly than their desire for God were prevented from journeying toward the sunlit mountains.
In creating the characters of the ghosts, one of the things Lewis does so well is to draw upon elements of human nature that lie within all of us. Although the ghosts that essentially refuse salvation are maddening and exasperating, I find that Lewis creates space for empathy with them. While the ghosts are unable to see what glory they miss in refusing to give up their burdens, facades, and selves, we as readers do. Even through this fictional narrative, perhaps we can be spurred on toward greater abandonment to God – deliberately surrendering our false selves and other loves to Him. As The Great Divorce illustrates, it is not until we give up what is most precious to us that we begin to experience the abundance of life that God longs to give us. This again reminds me of Jesus’ words in Matthew 16:25: “For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.”
On one final note, I would like to mention the little red lizard. Although this passage could be interpreted differently, I think it provides a powerful illustration of how things that seem good or provide pleasure can deceive us into believing that they are real. The man with the lizard on his shoulder was afraid of the pain it might cost him to give up the creature. It was not until he willingly endured the pain that the lizard was exposed as a counterfeit of the real thing. He had been terrified of parting with the sniveling little thing when all the while the creature was actually meant to be a stallion! To me, this was a powerful example of evil as a distortion of good, and what could be a more poignant illustration than lust. Ultimately, lust is a distortion of desire, and though it may speak into our ear and tell us it will be good, it is a counterfeit and bondage. I really appreciated Taylor’s honesty in the difficulty of giving it up, but when we do choose to go through that pain of letting it be killed daily within us, we draw closer to experiencing the strength and splendor of desire as God designed.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Spread the Joy
"Pity was meant to be a spur that drives joy to help misery." (p.131)
The first time I read this sentence, I was confused and couldn't figure how pity could be used to bring joy. Joy is the last thing I would think could result from pity. After reading it over and over again, I'm still uncertain, but feel that I have a better grasp on the idea behind this statement.
When someone pities someone else, they are feeling sorry for them. In a way, they are unconsciously elevating themselves above that other person. After seeing someone who has it worse off, you feel more optimistic about whatever it was that you were going through.
I am reading this statement as the "pity-er" bringing joy to the subject of their pity. Pity is the cause whose effect is a desire to bring that person out of their misery. Which makes sense. But how often does someone actually go through the work of helping the one they pity? And maybe that is what Lewis is getting at when he writes that "pity was MEANT to be . . . ." Pity in its original state was meant to make you want to help that other person. But it has become twisted and has now evolved into something completely different.
It's like when you complain to your friend about all the things you have to do and how the professors are out to get you and nothing is going right and . . . the list goes on. This kind of dialogue is meant to make the other person say something like "Oh, I'm so sorry. That's rough." and then continue with more consoling words to make us feel better. This makes them think of all the things THEY have going on, and we return the favor of consoling them. Then we sit in mutual solemness and ponder the chaos that is our lives. Our need for someone to "make things better" has in turn brought them down.
"Pity was meant to be a spur that drives joy to help misery." Every day, pity is being twisted into a tool used to bring joy, however momentarily, to oneself. What if, the next time we felt pity, we were to use that to make good? Can you imagine what the world would be like if we were to act on our feelings and bring joy to others in order to end their misery, rather than bring joy to ourselves?
The first time I read this sentence, I was confused and couldn't figure how pity could be used to bring joy. Joy is the last thing I would think could result from pity. After reading it over and over again, I'm still uncertain, but feel that I have a better grasp on the idea behind this statement.
When someone pities someone else, they are feeling sorry for them. In a way, they are unconsciously elevating themselves above that other person. After seeing someone who has it worse off, you feel more optimistic about whatever it was that you were going through.
I am reading this statement as the "pity-er" bringing joy to the subject of their pity. Pity is the cause whose effect is a desire to bring that person out of their misery. Which makes sense. But how often does someone actually go through the work of helping the one they pity? And maybe that is what Lewis is getting at when he writes that "pity was MEANT to be . . . ." Pity in its original state was meant to make you want to help that other person. But it has become twisted and has now evolved into something completely different.
It's like when you complain to your friend about all the things you have to do and how the professors are out to get you and nothing is going right and . . . the list goes on. This kind of dialogue is meant to make the other person say something like "Oh, I'm so sorry. That's rough." and then continue with more consoling words to make us feel better. This makes them think of all the things THEY have going on, and we return the favor of consoling them. Then we sit in mutual solemness and ponder the chaos that is our lives. Our need for someone to "make things better" has in turn brought them down.
"Pity was meant to be a spur that drives joy to help misery." Every day, pity is being twisted into a tool used to bring joy, however momentarily, to oneself. What if, the next time we felt pity, we were to use that to make good? Can you imagine what the world would be like if we were to act on our feelings and bring joy to others in order to end their misery, rather than bring joy to ourselves?
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