Why we need pain. A bad answer by C. S. Lewis

Why we need pain.  A bad answer by C. S. Lewis.

If God is all good and all powerful, why is there so much pain and evil in the world?  It’s a classic question, known as theodicy, or the justice of God.  The problem starts with the insight that the Lord who loves righteousness is at the same time an awesome and terrible presence.  God is not just good.  He is terrifying.  As Lewis puts it,

For it was the Jews who fully and unambiguously identified the awful Presence haunting black mountain tops and thunderclouds with “the righteous Lord” who “loveth righteousness.”  (pp 13-14)

It’s a simple point that sometimes gets lost.  We worship God not just because of his goodness, but because of his power, an experience that fills us with awe and dread.  Why else is it death to see the face of God? (Exodus 33:20) *

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Thoughts while reading A Grief Observed, by C. S. Lewis

Thoughts while reading A Grief Observed, by C. S. Lewis 

C. S. Lewis begins with a well-known line, at least among those who follow him.

No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. (p 15) 

A nervous stomach, constant swallowing–these are some of grief’s fear-like symptoms. 

The reason grief feels so much like fear

Grief feels so much like fear because it is fear.  The loss of a beloved person threatens to empty the world of value.  Saint Augustine writes about this empty world after the loss of a dear friend. 

My heart was utterly darkened by this grief, and everywhere I looked I saw nothing but death. . . . My eyes looked for him everywhere and they could not find him.  I hated all places because he was not there. . . . I wondered that other men should live when he was dead, for I had loved him as though he would never die.  Still more I wondered that he should die and I remain alive, for I was his second self. (Confessions, 4.4.9)

Lewis wonders if grief isn’t selfish.  After all, in grief what I really grieve is the loss of someone I held dear.  I’m not grieving for my beloved; I’m grieving for myself.  True enough, but consider what I am really grieving: the loss of who I was when I was with this other person.  The person who I was with this other person I can never be again.  I can never be this same self even should I love another.  That self is gone forever.

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C. S. Lewis is popular but wrong; we are not little Christs

C. S. Lewis is popular but wrong; we are not little Christs.

C. S. Lewis (1898-1963) was one of the most popular Christian writers of the twentieth century, and our century as well. Though he would have disliked being called a theologian, that is exactly what he was, even as he had no formal theological training. In fact, this is exactly what makes his works on Christianity so popular.  Mere Christianity, begun as a series of radio lectures during World War Two, is almost conversational in tone.  It is still taught in adult Christian education groups (Urban).  By the way, the fact that Lewis had no formal theological training does not imply that he lacked intellectual standing, having taught medieval history at both Oxford and Cambridge.  He also wrote the fictional Chronicles of Narnia.  Unless noted, all pages numbers refer to Mere Christianity.

Most critics of Lewis as theologian are Christian evangelicals, and others, who believe he was too loose with doctrine, such as saying that other religions might contain a portion of truth about God.  My take is somewhat the opposite.  He is too literal about what it means to follow Christ.  For Lewis it means to become “little Christs,” which to me makes no sense at all.  Nevertheless, there is a charm and simplicity to his religious writing which has no equal, though perhaps G. K. Chesterton comes close.

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