There is no doubt that C.S. Lewis has left a profound legacy for us, which I will talk about a bit on Friday, the 50th anniversary of C.S. Lewis’ death.
What we know most is what he wrote down. He has sold literally hundreds of millions of books in dozens of different genres. He made modest but important contributions to literary criticism and the history of ideas–things I’ve only begun to read recently. He is most well known as the creator of Narnia. They are valuable in that they are simply great stories, but they also transformed the children’s book industry. C.S. Lewis was an early fantasy and science fiction writer, and tested boundaries with experimental literature like The Screwtape Letters and The Great Divorce. His last novel, Till We Have Faces, is almost forgotten, but could be a classic.
And then there are the Christian books. Again and again I hear from people that Mere Christianity, The Problem of Pain, and Surprised by Joy have been transformational books, drawing readers into faith for the first time, or helping them as they struggle Godwards. For many, The Screwtape Letters has helped them redefine Christian practice, Reflections on the Psalms has helped them recover sacred Scripture, and Letters from Malcolm has helped them find prayer in their lives for the first time.
Not to mention that during WWII, Lewis was the second most recognized voice in Britain, as he shared poignant faith ideas on the BBC. There is no doubt that C.S. Lewis has left an astounding legacy. He is among the most important Christian writers of the 20th century.
None of this is surprising. A digital friend of mine, William O’Flaherty of the “All About Jack” broadcast, has begun collecting legacy articles celebrating the semicentennial of Lewis’ death. I don’t need to retell that story.
Part of my overall project with Lewis, though, is not the general consideration of his legacy, but to think about his theological legacy. The question I am trying to ask is this: “What is the heart of C.S. Lewis’ spiritual theology?”
This is different than the question, “What did Lewis believe?” Lots of people have written about that. It is also different than Lewis’ understanding of morality, his sense of right and wrong. That’s a great question, and I think time in Mere Christianity and The Abolition of Man will get you there.
My question is a little different. Our spirituality or spiritual theology is the understanding we have of Christian discipleship. So I am trying to discern what principles Lewis followed in living out his conversion in every day life. While Lewis is known for words on a page, it is all the hours that fill up the day that really makes a man.
This hunt has been an adventure! I think, after a couple years of searching and considering, I have found one of these principles–a beginning, I hope, of an understanding of what is at the heart of Lewis’ understanding of discipleship. It is actually hinted at in his “conversion letters“–the letters he wrote to his best friend, Arthur Greeves, explaining his strange conversion to Christianity. On Sep 22, 1931, Lewis refers surreptitiously to “The Macdonald conception of death–or, to speak more correctly, St. Paul’s…..” He says that, “death is at the root of the whole matter,” though some of “the whole matter” is obscured in an ongoing conversation, of which we only have a few snatches. It is one of the limits of letters: we only have half the conversation, and of what we have, some includes things like, “I don’t think I left any pyjamas at Bernagh….”
On Oct 1st, Lewis refers back to “Addison’s Walk,” the famous night of conversation he had before the letter I just quoted:
How deep I am just now beginning to see: for I have just passed on from believing in God to definitely believing in Christ–in Christianity. I will try to explain this another time. My long night talk with Dyson and Tolkien had a good deal to do with it.
“Another time” is maddenly “never” in the letters we have–or at least not enough to satisfy us. But he does come back to this idea of “death” in a postscript:
I have just finished The Epistle to the Romans, the first Pauline epistle I have ever seriously read through. It contains many difficult and some horrible things, but the essential idea of Death (the Macdonald idea) is there alright.
His Oct 18th letter goes into more detail, but he doesn’t return to the idea of death in these letters.
As I have been reading through Lewis chronologically, I have also been looking at Galatians 2:20:
I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me (NIV).
This idea of death in Christ, a mystical, intentional, lifelong, Spirit-driven and Christ-initiated self-surrender has been on my mind for some time. I have been reading more about it in Chinese pastor Watchman Nee (see, The Life That Wins) and American scholar Michael Gorman. Gorman calls it “cruciformity.” It is a play on words, in that the word “cruciform” just means “cross-shaped,” and that the cross forms us. Gorman argues that we have a cross-shaped God, a God who dies and then initiates a program of self-death in us.
As I’ve been reading around this idea, I saw these themes emerge in Lewis. His first conversion narrative, the strange allegory of The Pilgrim’s Regress, hints at this idea at its climax. It seems to me that the characters in Narnia, as they come around to see things from a truly Narnian perspective, go through a kind of conversion that is like this self-death. The conversions of Eustace Scrubbs and Edmund Pevensie are like this, which I found intriguing.
Sometimes ideas catch in us, like a barb on fabric. As I tugged at these threads, I saw more. Mere Christianity features this idea, a giving up of self entirely at the heart of Lewis’ public spiritual theology. Even more, I think it is the most important idea in The Problem of Pain and The Great Divorce. Finally, I read Till We Have Faces this summer and these words pounded through my brain again and again:
“Die before you die. There is no chance after” (Till We Have Faces, 291).
“Die before you die”–it is, I think, St. Paul’s idea of death.
So when an idea catches, and the threads seem to fit together, you’ve got to do something with it. So I put the ideas together in a paper and am presenting the paper on Sat, Nov 23, in Halifax, at the Atlantic School of Theology. There happens to be a day-long conference on Discipleship in C.S. Lewis–the exact topic I was hoping to find. If you are in Halifax this weekend, check it out. Meanwhile, though, you can see my abstract for the paper below, and my prezi is here. My hope is that if we can clarify the centre of C.S. Lewis’ lived theology, his spirituality, his theological legacy can be re-asserted. And I think it is a rich and shocking idea, St. Paul’s idea of death.
“‘Die Before You Die’: St. Paul’s Cruciformity in C.S. Lewis’ Narrative Spirituality”
Abstract
Given the number of semicentenary conferences this year, it is clear what Lewis’ conversion meant historically. In what ways, though, did the pattern of his conversion to Christianity in 1931 imprint upon his understanding of spirituality? Described as a “most thoroughly converted man,” the principles behind Lewis’ conversion were thus Lewis’ operating principles for everyday Christian life. This paper argues that this conversion principle is at the centre of C.S. Lewis’ understanding of spiritual formation. In exploring the work of Pauline theologian Michael J. Gorman, we discover that what he calls “cruciformity” is at the core of Lewis’ apologetic books and Christian teaching. Moreover, this logic of cruciformity works itself through Lewis’ fiction, from the allegory that began his writing career, through popular books like The Great Divorce and Narnia, and into his last novel, Till We Have Faces.
A Pilgrim in Narnia 
Thoroughly agree with what you’ve written here. I would also add that Lewis seemed to place a great importance on the doctrine of Original Sin – particularly the idea that we were somehow all ‘in Adam’. This is something I’ve noticed a lot in his fiction (particularly Perelandra) and subsequently in his letters.
He seemed to recognise in this idea of corporate fall in Adam a profound mystery that cannot be analysed too closely, lest our understanding actually be thereby diminished, yet that had (and has) great power to makes sense of our human condition, and also the sense in which we are also ‘in’ the New Adam, in His Body, the Church.
I know this isn’t directly linked to your point about dying to oneself, but I feel there may be a connection here somewhere – perhaps looking at the issue through a Romans 6 lens may uncover the key. But I do feel there is a definite link between Lewis’ deep belief in the Fall (which he seemed to have appreciated in terms of the ‘real myth’ paradigm by which he also understood the Atonement) and his insistence on dying to self in everyday living.
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Well done Englishman.
The way I dealt with the Fall was that, in my understanding, it works as a premise. Lewis grants a fallen world. But what is the “Great sin?” In Mere Christianity he says it is pride–a classic answer. But in The Problem of Pain it is a sin behind pride, which is Independence, or “Other-Than-God-ness,” if I can coin a phrase. It is the opposite of self-death or self-surrender. Hence the need for a remedy.
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Thanks for your reply. I just have one more query (only one, honest!)
Granted that theme of self-surrender is key to understanding Lewis’ spiritual life and thought on Christian spirituality (which I wholeheartedly agree with), do you think Lewis saw this way of working out one’s salvation in terms of reversing the effects of the Fall? I.e.; Did he see this self-surrender as somehow making the grace of our redemption our own; as enacting the reality of our new lives in Christ?
As the theme of self-surrender is essentially (I think) Lewis’ living out of the core idea that we must lose ourself to find ourself, could it also be connected to the Pauline idea that we ‘complete what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ, for the sake of his body, the Church’?
This is why I mentioned Lewis’ view on Original Sin earlier – he does seem to have taken seriously the idea that our salvation involved being redeemed from a very real state of fallenness and being enabled to become ‘partakers of the divine nature’. How far, if at all, do you think Lewis beliefs re self-surrender are connected with this, if at all? If so, it has implications for his theology of the Church as well (and I’ve always found that a subject on which Lewis was more than a little vague, so it would certainly help!)
P.S. Apologies if this is covered in your talk – I have tried a few times to access the transcript, but my computer keeps crashing. It seems to be going through a ‘difficult’ period at the moment.
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Hi. Thanks for the response!
I don’t know if he worked things out along these lines. Certainly, Christ’s death helped us out of a hole, and after our own self-death we find new identity–a new kind of human we are–but I don’t know that he saw us participating in making up “what is lacking.”
Perhaps you could flesh out a bit more about this idea of making up the lack. I see the reversing the fall idea clearly, but I’m not sure I see how you connect the two.
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Hi,
Thanks for getting back to me again. I suppose what I meant by reference to Colossians 1:24 and the concept of making up what is ‘lacking’ in Christ’s afflictions, is the idea that by virtue of our deep union with Christ, we can offer up our sufferings to be united with His, and actually participate in His act of redemption. Through our baptism, we are united with Christ and become part of His Body – if this is true in a real, as opposed to just symbolic, sense, anything we enact or endure, consciously united with Him, can be part of His saving work.
This does sound like Christ’s once-and-for-all work of redemption is being undermined, but it is a necessary consequence of recognising this deep union with Christ that we have through our baptism. In a sense, by ‘offering up’ our sufferings and participating in redemption like this, we are simply enacting a work already done and affirming that His saving work continues through time and space in His Body, the Church.
Anyway, the point is that I was wondering whether Lewis’ concept of dying to self and living in Christ could be connected with this, as the offering up of our sufferings could be said to be an integral part of our new life in Christ – our new identity in Him requires us to live out a cruciform life, which involves the bearing of suffering in unity with His life and will. If it be granted that the dying to self and living in Christ is how we become ‘partakers in the divine nature’, then this path of redemptive suffering will also, and thus becomes part of how we reverse the effects of Original Sin in our lives, and within the entire Body of Christ.
As to whether Lewis saw that our sufferings could be used in this way, I recall him mentioning it a few times, but the only example I can find at the moment is in a letter written to Mrs D. Jessup on the 5th of January, 1954, where he says:
‘I don’t know whether anything an outsider can say is much use; and you know already the things we have been taught – that suffering can (but oh!, with what difficulty) be offered to God as our part in the whole redemptive suffering of the world beginning with Christ’s own suffering…that sufferings which (heaven knows) fell on us without and against our will can be so taken that they are as saving and purifying as the voluntary sufferings of martyrs and ascetics.’
There is also a brief mention in a letter to Mary Willis Sherburne on the 31st of March 1954, but I cannot locate any other sources at the moment. However, the above citation gives the gist of what he believed, I think. I wonder about the connection between what you have proposed in your talk (which I hope went well by the way!) and the concept of redemptive suffering in the members of the Body of Christ, as, if it were a true connection, it may shed more light on what seems to be a central aspect of Lewis’ spiritual thinking, and bring together some other core elements (such as his commitment to the mystical sense in which we are ‘in’ Adam and then Christ).
P.S. Many thanks for the tweet earlier!
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I like to tweet!
That Col passage is a puzzle to me, though your interpretation is one that could be included in the grammatical possibilities. The genitive “of the tribulations of Christ” have so many possibilities. But in that context we can say, minimally, that somehow Paul’s suffering has benefit for the Colossians in relationship to the suffering of Christ. I don’t know that Christ’s sufferings lack anything, or create lack. But the idea o f”union” there works.
I have to reread David Downing’s “Region of Awe”–available cheaply on Christianbook.com–who talks about mysticism.
Note that Lewis also borrowed Charles Williams’ idea of exchange or substitution. Lewis felt he took his wife Joy’s pain into his own body. So “sharing in suffering” took that perspective for Lewis.
I don’t know that your idea and Lewis’ reconcile intentionally, even if they are complementary. What do you think?
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Personally I think the key to understanding Colossians 1:24 is by examining how exactly we are ‘in’ Christ, and therefore what it is we mean by the Church. For example, in 1 Corinthians 12:27, Saint Paul says that ‘you are the body of Christ and individually members of it’ – i.e.; what we do as Christians is actually in some mystical sense the actions of Christ Himself. This concept is prefigured in John 15:5, where Jesus says ‘I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in me, and I in him, bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.’
Thus in both cases a deep identification is made between Christ and the Christian, so that the Church really IS Christ’s Body, continuing His saving work throughout time and space. This is where I see a connection with the dying-to-self-living-to-Christ thesis that you have identified, as if we do so die to ourselves and live ‘in’ Christ, it will necessarily be the case that ‘it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.’
So, with respect to Colossians 1:24, the sufferings we offer up and unite to Christ’s sufferings are not an addition to His, but a realisation of what is already the case at this deep sacramental level. Christ’s sufferings certainly do not, ultimately, ‘lack’ anything, but it is God’s will that we be co-workers in our own salvation. I think Lewis mentions this idea quite a few times actually, that God enjoys allowing us to join in with his work – anything that we can help with, though He could do Himself, we are allowed a part in.
This also connects with Lewis’ use of Williams’ idea of ‘the practice of substituted love’ – wherein we can literally bear one another’s burdens. I think the novelty of this idea has been overstated somewhat, since it is really only an elaboration of what takes place within the communion of saints at the sacramental level I mentioned. As for whether sharing in one another’s sufferings took on this role (e.g.; Williams’ idea) in Lewis’ thinking over and against the Colossians 1:24 model, I am not sure – though the letter excerpt I quoted earlier seems to suggest otherwise.
Regarding whether or not this idea of mine does reconcile with Lewis’ own, it is hard to say – I do see a connection personally, but it all seems to hinge on how Lewis saw the Church (and conversely, if it could be shown that there is a connection, I think it would shed enormous light on his ecclesiology!) The problem is, that not only did Lewis make a concerted effort not to discuss ecclesiology, since it was (and is) one of the main things that divided Christians, but any writings of his on the subject seem to be either a little vague or just contradictory – sometimes he subscribes to the view I outline above, but sometimes he sees the Church as simply a loose federation of baptised people without an organic connection between them. This may be due to his Anglican heritage – the Anglican ecclesiology, though resting on basically Protestant principles, has never been fully worked out or articulated. Perhaps he saw that exploring this area too deeply would lead him into areas he didn’t want to go. Honestly though, I don’t know – as I said before, if a connection between your idea and mine could be made, it may shed some light on the subject, but otherwise, Lewis’ theology of the Church remains a bit of a mystery!
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There was a paper this past weekend on Lewis & church, but I don’t know that it captured it all just yet. I don’t know that yet myself though.
On “in Christ.” Your option is basically that as the body of Christ we (collectively or individually) are Christ’s actions in the world.
I think that is a good idea, practically speaking, and it may capture the Col idea. But I see “in Christ” as more locative, being in the area/region/government of Christ. Perhaps the distinction is too fine. I’m just not ready to push the logic that far. I’ll have to think about it.
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Personally I think the key to understanding Colossians 1:24 is by examining how exactly we are ‘in’ Christ, and therefore what it is we mean by the Church. For example, in 1 Corinthians 12:27, Saint Paul says that ‘you are the body of Christ and individually members of it’ – i.e.; what we do as Christians is actually in some mystical sense the actions of Christ Himself. This concept is prefigured in John 15:5, where Jesus says ‘I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in me, and I in him, bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.’
Thus in both cases a deep identification is made between Christ and the Christian, so that the Church really IS Christ’s Body, continuing His saving work throughout time and space. This is where I see a connection with the dying-to-self-living-to-Christ thesis that you have identified, as if we do so die to ourselves and live ‘in’ Christ, it will necessarily be the case that ‘it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.’
So, with respect to Colossians 1:24, the sufferings we offer up and unite to Christ’s sufferings are not an addition to His, but a realisation of what is already the case at this deep sacramental level. Christ’s sufferings certainly do not, ultimately, ‘lack’ anything, but it is God’s will that we be co-workers in our own salvation. I think Lewis mentions this idea quite a few times actually, that God enjoys allowing us to join in with his work – anything that we can help with, though He could do Himself, we are allowed a part in.
This also connects with Lewis’ use of Williams’ idea of ‘the practice of substituted love’ – wherein we can literally bear one another’s burdens. I think the novelty of this idea has been overstated somewhat, since it is really only an elaboration of what takes place within the communion of saints at the sacramental level I mentioned. As for whether sharing in one another’s sufferings took on this role (e.g.; Williams’ idea) in Lewis’ thinking over and against the Colossians 1:24 model, I am not sure – though the letter excerpt I quoted earlier seems to suggest otherwise.
Regarding whether or not this idea of mine does reconcile with Lewis’ own, it is hard to say – I do see a connection personally, but it all seems to hinge on how Lewis saw the Church (and conversely, if it could be shown that there is a connection, I think it would shed enormous light on his ecclesiology!) The problem is, that not only did Lewis make a concerted effort not to discuss ecclesiology, since it was (and is) one of the main things that divided Christians, but any writings of his on the subject seem to be either a little vague or just contradictory – sometimes he subscribes to the view I outline above, but sometimes he sees the Church as simply a loose federation of baptised people without an organic connection between them. This may be due to his Anglican heritage – Anglican ecclesiology, though resting on basically Protestant principles, has never been fully worked out or articulated. Perhaps he saw that exploring this area too deeply would lead him into areas he didn’t want to go. Honestly though, I don’t know – as I said before, if a connection between your idea and mine could be made, it may shed some light on the subject, but otherwise, Lewis’ theology of the Church remains a bit of a mystery!
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That’s fair enough – I guess we’re just coming from two quite different conceptions of what the Church is. But then, that is what is interesting in Lewis himself – he seems to have had one or two (maybe more!) ecclesiologies knocking about in his head, and so his idea of what the Church is is rather hard to establish conclusively. Anyway, all this has made me want to go back and read some of his stuff – always a good thing!
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I do hope that your paper is well received today and I look forward to reading it in full. The idea of cruciformity should be universal in its extent and not limited to a personal spirituality (though it affects that profoundly, of course). What about cruciform economics, or a code of justice, or way of parenting, investment and even science? All reality is surely cruciform. I’m racking my brain to remember who stated the principle, Crux probat omnia, the Cross tests, tries, proves everything but can’t quite recall it. I think it might have been Aquinas. Whoever said it I think the principle is right and how wonderfully Lewis expressed it in his work.
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Thanks for the comment and the retweet.
I’ve made what might be an artificial separation in my mind on this that is tested by you. I’ve been thinking of spiritual theology–we die to self as Christ dies. And I always wonder what the “losing” principle of the gospel, of the cross, might mean in other contexts. You bring those together. It really is a startling question.
But, in economics for example, I don’t know how to move beyond capitalism–or to work under the cross-shaped pattern within it. To do business well means to “win”–an means in the logic of capitalism that someone will lose. I think some are called to be good business people, and are thus called to “win.”
Same thing in politics. Why enter the game to lose? To “win” the race and then attempt a self-dying approach to politics…. I’m not sure that would come.
It’s an intriguing parental model.
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I don’t really have an answer to my own question but I think that I would like to work at finding one. One or two Non-Answers come to mind straight away. It would not mean a theocracy of any kind, some kind of imposition upon human freedom. The cross deals with human freedom with frightening seriousness. Nor as Constantine took it at his victory at the Milvian Bridge would it be some kind of symbol behind which we can do as we like. Would a cross shaped economics or politics mean entering it with the intention of losing? I don’t think Martin Luther King saw it that way. I realise that I am trying to answer my question & it makes me nervous. The answer ought to be hard and to achieve as T.S.Eliot put, a “condition of complete simplicity costing not less than everything.” P.S I loved Bill’s Comment!
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Me too!
I might be in a similar spot to you, Stephen. I think we should ask the questions of a cruciform politics or economics, but answering it is complex. I’m not there yet.
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I’m a casual reader of Lewis, not a scholar by any means. What I most appreciate about his work (I’ve only read his nonfiction) is his intelligence and the way he discusses Christianity not as if truth was handed down to him by God on stone tablets, but rather as a seeker and a careful thinker. I’m not expressing that as well as I’d like, but I think the way he came to his faith has helped give him a voice that speaks to me (and many others) in a compelling way.
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Thanks for sharing Bill.
Someone at a conference I was at on Saturday made the point that Lewis’ ideas were always experimental, a little tentative. That’s probably right. That makes them fresh. But there is still a core search that connects with me more and more (I’m a latecomer to Lewis). I think it comes out in some of his fiction too: Screwtape, Great Divorce, Till We Have Faces, the Ransom books.
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